#you know usually i’m angry about more abstract stuff? like it’s not something i could set on fire or punch or Direct in any way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heliza24 · 11 months

Note

I just stumbled onto your page and I love reading your insights and analysis of Young Royals. I’d like to hear your take on this if you don’t mind ofc.

When Simon tried to tell Marcus that he was not ready for a relationship, Marcus ignored him and said that they could take things slow with no stress and that he can wait. And when you wait for someone, there are two outcomes, either they’ll get together or they won’t. And in this situation where Simon said that he’ll never be ready, it was obviously not going to happen. They never had a mutual discussion about them being exclusive (boyfriends) and Simon made no promises to Marcus. So what was Marcus expecting?

My question is why was Marcus pissed at Simon in the end? Marcus was the one who said that he could wait for someone who would never be ready. Ig the only thing that Marcus can be angry about is Simon using him at the ball. But he barely talked about it and instead insults Simon with assumptions about who Simon is even though Marcus knows nothing about him.

Thanks anon! I’m glad you’ve enjoyed my analysis!

So I’ve already written a bit about the breakup scene. I think Marcus is exhibiting some subtle classism and racism in his reaction to the breakup, and I also think Marcus is operating on a very heteronormative relationship timeline which impacts how annoyed he gets with Simon.

But I thought your question might be a good excuse to talk about character and scene writing in a more technical way, since people still have questions about Marcus’s motivations. I am a playwright and I like thinking and talking about this stuff a lot.

So, when we design a character in playwriting and screenwriting, we always think about their goals. These are big desires that help motivate a character over the course of the whole script. (Or in this case, season of television). But in any specific scene, a character isn’t usually thinking about their big, defining goal. They’re dealing with the small piece of that desire that is right in front of them. Usually they’re interacting with another character, and they want something from that other character that is going to get them closer to their big goal. That little want is their objective, and the way they go about getting it drives the scene. A character usually doesn’t try just one method for reaching their objective; they’ll try different techniques, rephrase their words, etc. All of those methods are called actions.

(By the way, when people say that scripts require conflict to work, this is what they mean. Characters always have objectives and want something from each other. It doesn’t mean they have to be fighting; their objective could be to make friends. But that exchange is necessary to make a scene work).

This is pretty abstract, so let’s do a silly example to make things clearer. Meet John, my made-up character. John’s overarching goal is to have a closer relationship with his dad, who is a chef. In the scene I’m writing, John wants his dad to try the brownies he just baked because he thinks they will impress his dad. That’s his objective. He might try different actions to get that to happen. First he might set up a fan so the delicious smell wafts over to his dad. He might eat one in front of his dad and remark upon how delicious they are. If neither of those things work, he might resort to begging his dad directly to just try one!

But what if John’s dad still refuses to try his brownies? He’s probably not going to keep trying. After a certain point, trying more and more actions against an unresponsive scene partner feels unrealistic. So John’s objective might change. He might say to his dad: “Mom will eat these and tell me how great they. She’s a better parent than you.” Boom. New objective: make Dad jealous. It still connects to John’s overarching goal. If Dad gets jealous of John’s connection with Mom, he might invest more in his own relationship with John. It’s not a smart or emotionally healthy or reasonable tactic! But you can see how someone who is upset might resort to it.

Scenes can be broken down into smaller units called beats. A new beat starts whenever a character switches to a new action (so using the fan, remarking upon the brownies, and begging would all be distinct beats). Switching to a new objective would also create a new beat. You can think of a beat as the smallest unit of dramatic writing.

(This is not to be confused with the stage direction “he takes a beat” which is sometimes just used interchangeably with “he pauses before speaking”. Confusing but true).

Thank you for hanging with me through that extremely goofy example I just made up. Now let’s use these concepts and see if they can help us understand Marcus as a character and the way that his relationship with Simon unfolds.

I would say that Marcus’s goal across season 2 of YR is to make Simon his boyfriend. Marcus is a pretty minor character, all things considered, so I don’t think his goal needs to be very complex. (If we were talking about Wilhelm or Simon’s goal in the season, it would probably be a lot harder to summarize so succinctly.)

We don’t know a ton about Marcus’s backstory, but we know a few things that might point to character motivation that would make this goal make sense. He’s an older kid, with his own apartment and car. He’s at the point in his life where he might really want a partner to fit in with this grownup conception of himself. And he likes Simon!

So how does he accomplish his goal? In early scenes his objective is to get Simon to like him. He offers to drive him to campus, he asks him to karaoke, he invites him over. Those are all pretty simple actions. And they are at least partially successful! Simon agrees to go out with him.

In that first awkward hookup scene, his and Simon’s objectives are in conflict. Simon is there to hookup and forget his problems. Marcus is there to make Simon his very serious, very committed boyfriend, which to him means no sex yet. So it makes sense that Simon makes a move and that Marcus shuts him down. Those conflicting actions are a good example of how conflict drives a scene forward.

Ok, now let’s look at the scene in 2.3 where Simon first tries to break up with Marcus. Now Marcus’ objective has changed a little bit. Instead of trying to create the relationship with Simon, he’s trying to prevent Simon from ending it. (Simon’s objective in this scene is to breakup with Marcus). There are a few different beats in this scene where Marcus tries different actions to get Simon to stay. First, he offers Simon time. He’ll wait until Simon is ready. When Simon says that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready, then Marcus compares himself to Wilhelm. He tries to make himself seem a safer and better person than Wilhelm (“I won’t hurt you like he did”). When Simon acknowledges his goodness (“I think you’re like, perfect”) but that doesn’t change his mind, Marcus brings up Simon’s family. Marcus asserts that Simon must not recognize how lucky he is to be dating Marcus because Simon’s parents didn’t model a healthy relationship. Marcus ends up “winning” this scene; after those three beats Simon agrees to keep dating him.

Now we’re at the final breakup scene in 2.6. Things have really changed when this scene opens. Marcus already knows that he has failed at his goal. Simon hasn’t been talking to him, and he knows that he hooked up with Wilhelm in some capacity. So Marcus goes through a pretty dramatic shift here. Instead of trying to win over Simon, I think his main goal is now to try to preserve his own feelings. That’s pretty relatable if you’ve ever been broken up with. You’re just trying to get out of there with your heart as intact as possible. A great way to do this is to make it very clear that the breakup was not your fault. That way you don’t have to accept any blame or feel guilty. I would say that this is Marcus’s objective in this scene: make it very clear that the breakup is Simon’s fault, not his. The first action that he tries to accomplish this is to blame Wilhelm. Marcus is a great guy, but how was he supposed to compete with a prince, especially when Simon is clearly just starstruck by Wilhelm’s status? (This is not true of Simon, I would say, but remember that we’re just in Marcus’s head trying to think of ways to deflect blame right now). Here's where the scene shifts in a really interesting way. Instead of just accepting this, Simon pushes back with a new action of his own. He directly points out the ways that Marcus is at fault for their breakup: Marcus didn’t listen to Simon when he said he didn’t want a serious relationship. That’s a new beat in the scene, and I can almost physically see Simon lob the blame back over the fence onto Marcus (good for him tbh). So now Marcus is on the back foot. He’s about to totally fail to reach his objective in this scene. No more Mr. Nice Guy, time to play dirty. So he reaches for the most effective action he can think of, insulting Simon directly. More specifically, he accuses Simon of the thing that he himself is doing: deflecting blame. He even says to Simon “everything just happens, and it’s never your fault”. Simon plays the victim, he’s turned on by drama, so this breakup MUST be Simon’s fault. And then he tells Simon to get lost, effectively ending the scene on that final, very strong action. He makes sure he gets the last word.

I hope that helps explain why Marcus reacts so angrily, even if his anger doesn’t seem reasonable to an outside, neutral observer. Everything Marcus does is motivated by his larger goal. Every action he takes, even the ways in which he insults Simon, are tactics he uses to try to meet his objectives in each scene. If you’re living inside of Marcus’s head, all of those steps make perfect sense.

This is a good technique to use in general when you’re trying to understand and evaluate a dramatic text (Play, movie, tv show, etc). Does each character have a goal? Does each scene have distinct objectives for all of its characters? Do the actions they take align with those objectives? Asking these questions will help you understand characters but also help you evaluate the overall strength of the writing. Obviously I think Young Royals does a great job with this generally, and I had a good time breaking down Marcus into his component parts so to speak.

Thanks for the ask!

#young royals #ask box #my meta #marcus young royals #simon eriksson #writing breakdown #in which I wear my playwright hat for a bit

111 notes · View notes

bearsgrove · 3 years

Text

#fern.txt #haven't been seething with rage towards One Singular person SO intensely in quite a while #oh don't misunderstand me. i am filled with rage for various reasons by default. angery on a daily basis. there is always something.#but this is different because it's simply. Focused #and so it’s somehow worse #you know usually i’m angry about more abstract stuff? like it’s not something i could set on fire or punch or Direct in any way #a human? in theory. yes. but in practice............... unfortunately no.#god just. fucking choke. bitch. i hate them i hate them i hate themmmmmmmm #i want to scream about this but i will just sound petty and/or insane so. quietly seething with rage it is <3 #one day i will snap

4 notes · View notes

that-was-anticlimactic · 3 years

Text

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like “i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

130 notes · View notes

whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

The Oncoming Storm Part 21: Huangshan

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Listen, I am giving myself whiplash with how much I keep wildly swinging between whether I prefer Liu or Lao LOL. Hope you guys are having just as much fun! I missed Liu. Lawd, did I miss him. Also I did not intend for it to take this long to get to the CHOICE. It's coming after the part with Liu and some plot stuff that has to happen to trigger it! Also, I miss Chen, so she'll be back after Huangshan. ALSO have you looked at pictures of this place?? SO PRETTY!! Much love, hope you are all well. <3 Thank you for the love as always. I appreciate you so much.

Next Update on Saturday. New story on Sunday!!

Part 20 Part 22 Chapter Index

Kung Lao was a bruised, bloodied, and pale mess the next morning and much of your spare moments were spent tending to wounds and trying to get him to sit for a damn minute. He fought you at every second, as if taking care of himself would somehow make it worse.

The morning dragged on, and you were grateful to check out and make your way to the roof. Kung Lao closed his eyes, praying, and lightning struck the roof for you to travel through. It was still weird and a little beyond belief, but you’d fought a monster last night, so you had to suspend your inner skeptic and go with the flow. You handed over the carefully wrapped bell which Raiden set behind him on a pedestal that had been added since you left.

He thanked you for your duty and you offered Kung Lao a hug and tried to convince him, again, to take care of himself. He insisted he was fine, of course, but also wished you good luck. You wasted no time. Raiden summoned his magic lightning again, offered you a neatly written note from Liu, and then you were alone.

The weather in Huangshan was gloomy, just the way you liked it. The sky was gray and rumbling with thunder, the slightest hint of sun peeking through to offer warmth between the gaps in the clouds. You unfolded the note as you walked along the tourist filled streets. He’d even started the note with niceties. Oh, Liu. He hoped you were well, he found you a place to stay and took some liberties that he hoped you were okay with. He also left you a time and place to meet him. It was the lobby of the hotel that he had booked for the occasion.

You were early and it felt nice to be alone. Your nerves were shot from the lack of sleep the night before and from Kung Lao’s… everything. A walk alone would do you some good. The small town halfway up the mountain was geared toward tourists. Hotels, boutiques, restaurants, and the like.

You’d missed China. Japan had been beautiful but this was home.

You stopped a man who looked confident in his way around town and asked him for directions to the hotel that Liu had written about. You bowed politely as he pointed you in the right direction. As you turned the corner, you heard a choir of angels in your head. Clothing stores. Real clothing stores. This was how you were going to blow the rest of your money.

You spent the rest of your alone time shopping and afterward you were proud to say you’d had enough clothing for an actual wardrobe. Different kinds of shoes, cute and practical, underthings, things to wear to bed, casual things, dressy things. Things you never would have allowed yourself to spend money on before. Money didn’t seem to matter as much as it had before all this. Then you’d bought a little bag to pack it all in and shoved it away. You’d got some other necessities too, things that had seemed everyday basics had become luxuries.

You’d changed after purchasing your clothing and jeans and a t-shirt had never felt so good. Even though you’d bought a bunch of new things you decided to keep the hanfu and gi that you had been gifted. You liked them well enough. It was the lack of choice that had bothered you.

The Huangshan Yeechoi hotel was more modern than the one in Japan had been and much tidier. You felt out of place, but no one gave you a second glance, so you were grateful. It wasn’t that it was fancy, just that it was different than you had expected. There had been no room number in the note Liu had left you, just instructions to meet him in the lobby.

Thankfully, Liu Kang came from the stairwell moments after you arrived. You’d been just about to ask the clerk behind the desk for his room number and so instead you dismissed the clerk and walked to join Liu. He’d gotten new clothes too! How nice. Not much different from what he usually wore but it was novel to see him in something other than the three gi that he rotated daily. It was mostly black, except for the red sash around the middle, a different shade of red than usual, and the sleeves looked like they had been torn off- as if he had been terribly angry that they existed. There was a subtle pattern stitched in white on the side of the gi. It looked to you like an abstract dragon, but you didn’t linger long on it. As always, his prayer beads were wrapped around his wrist.

He greeted you with a smile and stopped just before you with a respectful bow. “It’s good to see you, Y/N.” His smile faded quickly as he stood upright, and you averted your eyes immediately. Bruises. There were bruises and you knew he was going to hate it. You’d briefly forgotten about them with all the other craziness.

“Good to see you too, Liu!” You tried to save face, but it was too late.

“Japan must have been something.” He furrowed his brow with concern and tilted your chin up to get a better look at your neck. Your face was instantly red. “Are you okay?” That had been the worst of it, but you’d barely had time to think of it that morning because Kung Lao had been so much worse off than you were. You should have worn a scarf. Damnit. It looked bad when you thought about it. Like you were either being abused or had a very specific kink.

“It was an adventure but I’m fine. I promise. It’s obviously sore and bruised but I feel great otherwise.” You were tired, so that was an exaggeration, but it felt good to have accomplished something and to be out of the temple. He continued to examine the bruise as if he didn’t believe you, so you swiped his hand from your chin, gave it a squeeze and then set it down. His disbelief faded and his smile returned. Your nerves about your connection, your friendship, returned screaming into your brain.

“You brought a bag?” He gestured behind you. You realized that probably seemed funny since you had no intention of staying for too long.

“…yes.”

“Well, the woman at the front desk will make sure it gets to our room. We have plenty to do.” Liu rested his hand on the middle of your back and guided you to the front desk. You spoke to the clerk there. She was incredibly accommodating. Liu offered her your room information and you handed over the bag. Then you went on your way. He led you from the lobby of the hotel and walked slowly through the streets of the tourist town. “Tell me about Japan.”

Boy, there was a lot to say about Japan, but you figured he probably meant the artifact and how you’d fared.

“There was a monster which I didn’t think existed so, processing that.” You were surprised to hear Liu Kang laugh. You’d had a lot to process that had been otherwise beyond belief. “It was protecting a dotaku which I now know is a decorative bell used in rituals during ancient times. The monster was very grabby.” You gestured to your neck. At least it hadn’t left a bruise when it had backhanded you across the room. The last thing you needed was people looking at you like you were in an abusive relationship. At least the neck thing could be explained away for the most part.

“Tell me about the monster.”

“Monster is maybe not the right word for it uh… okay, never mind, it’s the only word for it. It was made from tar and stunk to high heaven, and it was huge.” You jumped so you could reach the height of the monster, which was higher than your jump, but Liu would get the point. He was an excellent listener.

“How did Kung Lao handle that?”

“Oh, you know, like Kung Lao does.”

“Chaotically?” Liu chuckled.

“I’ve never seen one man thrown through so many doors.” You drifted off and he laughed again. The sound of his laughter was sweet, not as hearty as Lao’s but more under his breath and twisting his face into the cutest smile. You’d made Kung Lao out of ink to protect you. That seemed important but you hadn’t processed it yet, really. Your brain was buffering.

“Really though, is he okay?”

“Much worse off than I was because of all the doors and walls but I took care of him the best he would allow. I’m hoping he’ll actually keep his promise to go to the infirmary.”

“Raiden will make sure he does.” Liu reassured you. “Trust me, this won’t be the first time he has to be dragged there. Or likely the last.” He stopped, looked you over and then continued, purposely avoiding eye contact. “Was he on his best behavior?”

“Is he so often in trouble that I should have been that worried?”

“Kung Lao doesn’t like to listen to directions, and he was with you and I know how he is so…” He glanced at you curiously again and you laughed in disbelief. Liu Kang was fishing for information! Interesting. Now that you knew they gossiped about you, you wondered what exactly the gossip consisted of. They were up to something, and you were going to get to the bottom of it. Maybe you had spent too much time with Kung Lao. Liu Kang had always been honest with you, you thought, and now you were suspicious of every word. “He has a track record for trouble, that’s all. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t give you a hard time.”

“If you have something to ask me, Liu, then you should just ask me instead of this little word dance you’re doing. Are you feeling me out for information and what about?”

“I say what I mean, Y/N.” Liu knit his brow in confusion but still smiled at you. You sighed because that didn’t seem right. Something was off. He could be frustrating too sometimes, you supposed. He had a way of saying things without saying what he meant to say and leaving you guessing at what he had meant. You’d had so many close calls between you now romantically. At least four that you could think of offhand that had nearly killed you. But then it was like nothing had happened. You didn’t talk about it. There was no follow through. If he said what he meant to say, then what did saying nothing mean?

That hurt.

And they’d gossiped about you. Kung Lao and Liu Kang had in some way gossiped about you. You clenched your jaw in frustration. You didn’t have time for this. You had work to do.

“We can talk about it later.” You decided. “Have you figured out anything about where we should go?” That had been the reason he’d gone early you’d been told but you had no idea what was true and what wasn’t anymore. Your head was mixed up and your brain was buzzing.

“Yes. One of the areas from your vision is called the Seas of Cloud. Raiden mentioned that you saw images of deceased emperors, so I was looking into that too.”

“It was in quick flashes. I didn’t understand what they were at first.”

“There are tales about this place and the yellow emperor after which it is named. He used the waters of the springs here to gain eternal life in these stories.”

“Is that your way of saying that you think the springs might be related?”

“Anything is possible, but I figured it was worth looking into. There were springs in your vision too if I recall.”

“Yeah. I saw a bunch of dead emperors and a spring, but it wasn’t… it was different than I expect the ones here to be? It was in a cavern. It felt secret.” You admired the gray sky but still felt tense all over. You had to breathe and let it go but the more you tried the more frustrated you became. “So, we’re narrowing it down to the springs and the Cloud Sea?”

“Yes. We aren’t too far from either of them but it’s still an endeavor to explore. Yet, it is less than the whole of Huangshan.”

“Probably somewhere between if I had to guess. I followed him in my vision through the mountains up to the clouds and into this cavern that had a spring inside it. Oh! Do they have maps of the mountain? Sometimes with places like this they will list caves on the little brochure to explore.”

“I thought of that. Regrettably, the caves are not mapped out and most are off limits without a tour guide.”

“What if we told them that we lived in a cave. Do you think that would help or cast aspersions?” You considered. There you were, trying to defer your frustration and inner struggle with sarcasm again. Liu chuckled.

“Probably the latter. We know what we’re looking for at least and it shouldn’t take terribly long to hike the area. If we don’t find it then we can start to worry.”

“I have a feeling that it’s secret. I don’t think it’s going to be easy to find. Maybe we should try to feel around for information instead of wandering blind?” You stopped walking, trying to take things more seriously. That was hard.

“I suppose that we can play tourist. We’ll stop at the springs and ask an attendant if they know anything about a secret or hidden spring in the caves.” Liu suggested. At least it was a better lie than fake date.

“Fine.” You said flatly and were annoyed with yourself almost immediately. This would be so much easier if your visions weren’t all over the place and fuzzy.

“You seem irritated.”

“Oh?” You bounced on your heels and shook it off. You were sulking. You had to cut it out. “No. I’m sorry, Liu. I didn’t mean to come off that way.”

“Are you sure, Y/N? Because you seem… annoyed and that’s not like you. If I’ve done something to offend you then we should discuss it.”

Oh no. He was good at confrontation. Damnit. “No, you didn’t do anything like that, Liu.” He had but not on purpose, you were sure. You were just touchy after the day before and overthinking. You had to stomp out that inner voice, but it was so loud. Your anxiety hadn’t been this bad since you were a kid. “I’m annoyed with myself. I’m sorry it’s coming out at you. It’s not intentional.”

“Y/N, you…”

“Don’t tell me not to be annoyed with myself, please. If I could navigate these visions in a way that made sense, then we wouldn’t be so lost on where to look and having to spin ridiculous tales and theories of where to go and what we might find. I could just lead us there and that would be that. And if my brain would just calm down, I wouldn’t be so annoyed. It’s a perpetual cycle.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself. Besides, I don’t mind spending a day or two in Huangshan with you, Y/N. It’s a nice change of pace from Raiden’s Temple.” He smiled sympathetically.

“It’s just like you to put a positive spin on everything.” You scoffed.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”

“No!” You huffed defensively and then pouted. “I’m coming off grumpy, aren’t I?”

“You are.” He smiled, but amusement danced in his eyes. He thought that your frustration was either funny or cute. You supposed you were grateful for that.

“I don’t mean to. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m surprisingly sore from the whole monster thing too so there’s that.” You rubbed nervously at your neck.

“That is a pretty bad bruise, Y/N.” He tilted your chin up again and you grabbed his hand and pushed it away.

“I really should have worn a scarf so you wouldn’t keep pointing it out.”

He laughed and led you through town and along the path that went to the springs. Liu had picked the perfect location for you to begin your search. It was a short walk from your hotel. There were buses that offered transport, but it seemed such a short walk that it was likely for those who were elderly or drunk.

“This is a popular tourist spot. It was difficult to get a room. I don’t usually stay in places like that, but it was the only vacancy that would accommodate us both and be close enough to where we needed to look. I figured that we didn’t know how long it would take us so the luxury would be a nice break.”

“Makes sense.” Why was he trying to justify his selection to you? You liked the hotel. It was nice.

“Grumpy,” he whispered, leaning close on one foot with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I’m trying so hard, Liu.”

You reached the gate to the springs. You couldn’t see the water beyond it, but you could hear people within, and you could feel the steam and heat even from outside. There was a large building with two doors separated by male and female for changing. In front of that was a booth where a young man sat reading a magazine and looking extremely bored.

“Should I meet you inside? We can see if anyone knows anything?”

“Or we could try the attendant first.”

“Him? He’s a distracted kid who has no interest in our questions, Liu. Look at him.” You nodded discreetly toward the young man. He was likely in his early twenties and doing this just for a paycheck by the look of him.

“Yes, but you’re well… you.” He gestured to you, and you looked down at yourself, brow furrowed in confusion.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You laughed in disbelief.

“You know what it means.” He turned his gaze away from you, hiding his smile but you saw his cheeks turn pink just enough. As quickly as you had noticed it, it had passed. “Now, go be charming and ask that kid about a private spring in a cavern closer to the Seas of Cloud.” He grasped your shoulders gently and turned you toward the booth then gave you a gentle nudge forward. You stuttered on your words and stared forward in complete awe. What the fuck?

Fine. You’d try but he was biased, at the very least. You weren’t built for this kind of thing. You’d always been awkward and terrible at flirting. Gah, you were blushing now too. This was the worst. Okay, deep breaths. You could do this. You didn’t have to be flirty or cute. You could just ask the question. Liu waited behind you, but you didn’t think he was far enough away to be as subtle as he thought he was being.

“Excuse me,” you began politely.

“Just you? Or your friend too?” The attendant didn’t bother looking up at you from the magazine that he was reading.

“I have a question for you, actually.”

“I’ll try to help if I can. Go ahead.” He closed his magazine and finally looked up at you, looked you over, and then was still clearly disinterested. He was working. You knew he would be!

“I heard some stories that there’s a spring in a cavern offsite. Further up the mountain and closer to the Seas of Cloud. I think that it’s considered private. Maybe even off-limits. I was curious if you knew anything about it.” You did your best to sound curious and charming, but you had no idea how it actually came off since you’d been so damn grumpy. The attendant looked from you and then peered around you to Liu. He closed his magazine, folded his hands, sighed heavily, and gave you a knowing look. Oh no, he’d immediately misinterpreted your intentions.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you.”

That was a bad start.

“Oh, I think you maybe…”

“I’m just filling in for my sister today. I needed the extra cash, and she has a date this afternoon.”

You laughed nervously and looked back to Liu since that was where the attendant kept looking suspiciously. “I think that you misinterpreted my intentions. This doesn’t have anything to do with him. I just had heard a story and was curious. A private spring sounds really beautiful.” You were the world’s worst liar. You couldn’t even come up with an excuse other than you thought it might be pretty.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Do you not know then?” You were grumpy again. Damn.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t help you.”

You were flustered beyond recovery now. He had misinterpreted your desire to see a secret spring and the only thing you could think to do was stutter that he had done so. Then Liu was standing behind you, one hand on your back, the other on the counter.

“Is there a problem?” Liu sounded curious and offered a smile, but the attendant rolled his head back and groaned.

“I am not making enough money today to deal with this.”

Liu straightened his posture in surprise and looked to you for further explanation. At least you weren’t the only one flustered. That made you feel a bit better. You turned toward him and he placed his hand on your arm gently. That was probably not helping your case, but it felt nice. “I asked him about an off-limits spring closer to the Seas of Cloud and now he seems to have confused my desire to see this beautiful spring with something…” You stuttered in a frustrated whisper and couldn’t seem to find the word, the obvious word. Instead, you smooshed your hands together in front of you.

“Oh?” Liu tried to interpret your hand motion and then laughed in realization. “Oh. Intimate.”

“That’s it.” You pointed at him. “That’s the word.”

Liu let go of your arm and leaned against the counter with a sigh. “How much would it take for you to give us an answer?” You snapped your head back to Liu so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

“Look, dude, I don’t even work here usually and…”

Liu Kang placed some yuan on the counter and you stared at it in horror, mouth hanging open. Then you had to close your mouth tight to keep from bursting into hysterics. Your eyes were burning, trying not to cry with tears of laughter. Liu Kang was bribing a stranger to give you directions to a romantic hot spring instead of just explaining himself. Of all the possible outcomes you had expected this was the funniest one.

“Whoa, man… look I…” The attendant stared at the money on the counter and Liu tapped the bills before sliding them toward him. You were dying. This was where you died. RIP. Tears. You blinked them away. Your cheeks hurt from keeping it together. This was amazing. “If you take the main path up it branches about an hour in. Take the left fork and then walk for a bit. As you get close to the Seas of Cloud there’s a few caves. One of them has a spring in it but it’s hard to find with all the trees and not exactly safe. Gives me the creeps. That’s all I got.” He scooped up the bills. “Have fun man and if you get caught it wasn’t me who told you.”

“Thank you.” Liu bowed his head politely and then, hand on your back, led you away from the booth. You started up the hiking trail that had been pointed out to you and then you burst into hysterical laughter, practically hyperventilating from having held it in for so long. Liu pulled his hand back and stared at you with some concern as if he didn’t understand why this was hilarious.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He gently brushed his hand over your shoulder.

“What the hell was that?”

“Oh. I guess it was funny. He was going to think whatever he was going to think, Y/N. Sometimes we have to use other resources to get what we need.”

“Oh my god, does that mean you bribe people often? I didn’t expect this. I’m sorry. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for how funny that would be.”

“Only when they’re more convinced by money than words, Y/N.”

You took deep breaths to get yourself together and cleared your throat.

“How very Zen of you.”

“Come on, now.” He chuckled and placed his hand again at your back to lead you along the path that would start your hike. “We have private springs to find.”

“This day keeps getting weirder by the second.” You blinked away the remaining tears from your fit of laughter.

“Was it really that funny?”

“Liu. My stomach hurts from laughing.”

He shook his head with a smile as you continued on your way.

63 notes · View notes

alwaysalreadyangry · 3 years

Note

Charlotte, I've wanted to get into poetry for a while but haven't really known where or how to start, mostly because I have this kind of maybe weird tendency to rush through poems like I'm gulping down water. Curious how one actually like, reads and enjoys a poem; would love to hear your thoughts on reading and reception. Also I'm looking for lush, angry, queer, weird poems filled with longing, and would love to hear any suggestions or recs you might have!

ooh this has been really interesting to think about!! have been rolling it around in my brain for a while.

so, first off, a disclaimer: i don’t necessarily think i am a great or even a very good reader of poetry a lot of the time, and that’s fine -- if it’s worth doing it’s worth doing badly, etc. i am easily distracted and i tire out quickly and my magpie brain will focus on like, the language of a poem to the detraction of all else, and unless i’m being paid to write about a book or a poem or something then i don’t think reading in a way that feels wrong or inadequate is a problem on its own. sometimes i just enjoy quickly skimming for the language, and that’s good, that’s fine.

BUT for wanting to read to get more pleasure from poetry: i tend to say to read it like this the first time if that comes naturally to you, as it often does to me. skim, read it through without paying attention to the narrative or syntactical structure, but instead just looking for anything that makes your brain sparkle -- for me it’s going to usually be imagery and/or sound-patterning. see if there’s anything that makes you curious enough to dig in, any lines or sentiments that you like on their own. the surface-level or immediate pleasures with poetry are great and often what makes it worth digging down into the other stuff.

then, if you want to dig into a poem, it’s time to re-read! this time i’d recommend reading with closer attention to the most straightforward level of narrative or meaning: what is the poem most obviously saying? i am not someone who subvocalises, and sometimes my instinctively fast reading speed makes it hard for me to actually do this if the poem is at all playing around with language. in that case, it helps to read out loud, and to only move on from one sentence or stanza (or whatever unit of meaning the poem is using) once i have figured out what it means on a semantic level. depending on the length of the poem, once you’ve figured out as much of it as you can or care to, i’d recommend another quick read through to try and consolidate all of that in your mind.

then -- well, then you’ve kind of got the basics and the stuff that you’re interested in, and it can be fun to look back at the bits you liked in the first place to see what they mean to the rest of the poem, what they mean in terms of what the poem is saying. it could be that a rhyme or a repeated use of assonance emphasises something... you might find that two words are being linked by internal rhyme that don’t seem to have much to say to one another otherwise. is there any meaning there, in that connection? does it change what the poem says? how does the poem and what it does make you feel?

and depending on the poem you then want to just read again looking for anything else significant. is there a part of the poem you dislike? if you reread looking out for that, can you work out what’s going on there and why you dislike that aspect of it?

this will only work with certain types of poem, admittedly. i like a lot of poetry that is more innovative and abstract, where i have no clue what a poem is saying or doing, but i like the language and the feeling of the syntax inside my brain. so i’ll reread those a few times but don’t really have a semantic framework to get into them. it’s more about the language.

and then there’s visual poetry which doesn’t make use of words but of like -- shapes or the relation of shapes to space, and then it’s just about, idk. how i decide to try and “read” those relations and shapes, which i have no real roadmap for. i often just find myself staring at it like i would visual art, or trying to somehow reenact the shapes with my body as i “read” (like when i read a visual poem earlier today that is just a sequence of bells ringing in different directions -- to keep track of it i followed the bell’s movement with my head, tilting it right and then left).

does that make sense? i truly think that we don’t need to understand poetry to enjoy it; that there’s no right way to read or enjoy poetry, and that if we find we’re reading a poem that doesn’t interest us or make us happy, you can just stop. although if a poem makes a reader uncomfortable it can be a good idea to follow this kind of reading pattern to try and work out why! i hope this makes sense -- i’m afraid my answer is essentially just “reread the poems a lot”, but it’s good to go in knowing what to pay attention to each time, even if it’s just “this time i pay attention to what i like” and “this time i pay attention to what i dislike”. my brain needs structure like that because otherwise it is too flighty and sticky and will just roll around one phrase it likes in there for hours.

in terms of poetry recommendations, this is oddly tricky because there’s such an unexpected gulf between UK and US poetry -- i read more UK poetry and while there’s been a big explosion in the amount of interesting & vital queer poetry being published here over the past decade or so, a lot of it is relatively hard to get hold of unless you’re constantly keeping track of all of the new presses publishing pamphlets. so this is going to swing more US-focused but i will see if there’s any UK stuff i can think of too.

so first off, a cheat: i would recommend getting hold of these two big anthologies of trans poetry and having a look through to see if any of the writers grab your attention. hopefully academic libraries will have these or will get them on request? i say, hopefully. there is we want it all: an anthology of radical trans poetics, which came out recently (and i don’t have a copy yet). and then there’s troubling the line: trans and genderqueer poetry and poetics, from 2013. not as politically radical i’m guessing, but still could be worth looking through to see which writers you connect with.

i am drawing a blank on other anthologies right now, but in terms of exploring UK poetry, you can access issues of the zine zarf online here and i recommend it. not all queer but the editor is and there’s a great collection of stuff in there. i also recommend getting hold of their pamphlets as PDFs here, try alison rumfitt and gloria dawson.

second off, these are some poets i think you might like, i will link to some sample poems. mostly contemporary but not all:

dawn lundy martin

CAConrad

jackie wang

robert duncan

jack spicer (PDF)

jay bernard

miriam bird greenberg

sofia samatar

samuel the nagid

vahni capildeo

sophie robinson

frank o’hara

agha shahid ali

i am sure there are many many others i am forgetting but! i hope this is helpful!!!

#answers #poetry

25 notes · View notes

goatbi · 3 years

Note

Thoughts about Uryu?

you know exactly what you're doing here

Uryu was, and still kinda is, a complete mama's boy. Never really connected to his father when he was young and his mom was still around, and then when his mom died, well... Ryuken's a fucking dick, let's just go with that. When he was younger, Katagiri would hold him in her lap while she knitted or sewed, and he would watch her. Ryuken would wander in, make some comment, and Katagiri would wave him off with a smile, and Ryuken would indulge her, because for all his faults, I do believe Ryuken loved Katagiri. So that's where Uryu started learning to sew.

When Katagiri died, Uryu was devastated, as one may expect, especially with it coming so closely with his Sensei's death (his grandfather's, but I cannot remember that man's name rn) so Uryu was very withdrawn. Does not help that Ryuken also withdrew even more than he did before, and this was basically the moment that their relationship really took a turn for the worst. They could not say a kind word to each other, and for a grieving nine year old, that's fine, but Ryuken's a grown ass man, so he should choke.

So while that whole grieving was going on, Uryu started getting really really into sewing, because Katagiri enjoyed it, and he wanted to feel closer to his mother in any way possible. His original Quincy bracelet was hers, since Uryu had to sneak it so Ryuken wouldn't confiscate it, since, y'know, Uryu wasn't allowed to be a Quincy at the time. He started sewing a lot, and got himself a good amount of times, and would always come to school with a bunch of bandaids on his fingers. Teacher would ask this nine-ten year old why, and Uryu would either dodge the question or flat out lie, and sometimes Ryuken would get a call, but Ryuken couldn't care less if Uryu was hurt or not.

Uryu got a job at fourteen, with the help of a very kind shop owner, who was very willing to keep the whole thing under the table for the time being, so he could start saving money up for an apartment. This is a moment that I think Ryuken was not a complete ass. He does care about his son, in a weird abstract way, I think, but it doesn't excuse shit. He knew Uryu wanted out, and Ryuken still sometimes looked at him and saw Katagiri, so it was in both of their best interests to get out. So sometimes, more money than Uryu had on his paycheck would end up in his account. Uryu knew, but said nothing about it.

When we see him at the start of the anime, he's freshly moved out of his father's house, in an apartment close to the high school, ignoring the random money that still sometimes appears in his bank account, and still filled with rage, which he takes out on the wrong people. It gets to the point where he forces himself to be angry more often than not, since anger is preferable to any other emotion, but he gets so tired of being angry once he starts that duel that the duel was his way of proving, once and for all, that he didn't have to be angry at anybody anymore.

And we all know exactly how down hill that fucking went. Looks at the menos grande. Looks at the sword tied to head plan. Looks at the chop chop plan. Everything was hell there.

So Uryu is like, finally getting close to people, and getting friends, and I'm convinced he actually has a shrine to his mother like Orihime has to Sora, somewhere in his home. It's small, and he usually sits there to talk to her about everything, all his little regrets, and he sews at the same time. I'm pretty sure that Uryu also, without thinking, started making people things.

Up until this point, he's really not had many friends. The moment someone shows even the weird rivalry friendship he and Ichigo have, he's hooked. Pretty sure he's touch starved too, which is not a fun time, but Uryu's really trying, and he's so excited, in private and only to his mother, to finally have someone to care about him.

Even if it shocks him the first time Ichigo does something that shows he cares, even if it shocks him each time anyone does, even if it's so weird and confusing when they're just unrelentingly kind to him, without him having to do anything back, even when he tries to pay back their simple kindness a hundred fold.

Orihime is the first to sit him down and go 'you don't need to pay us with gifts for us to care about you' and she's also the first to see Uryu completely break down, because my man is full of Trauma(tm). Captial T and trademarked.

I have some other thoughts floating in this brain of mine, but a lot of this is meant to be headcanons and stuff, so, here's this nonsense ramble !

#bleach #uryu ishida #bleach headcanons #long post

17 notes · View notes

angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

dirtbags // 4: Lola

Summary: High school AU. 1985. Winter. Heather’s party is huge; Lola makes new friends, get better acquainted with some underclassmen, and turns out to be far cozier with the hostess than anyone could guess. The next day, Nikki comes to work despite his hangover, while Charlotte and Eileen plan Vince’s murder. Razzle’s just there to have fun.

A/N: 6603 words. For @misscharlottelee and @julymotel , my beloveds, as always. Sorry it's late, it's been a hell of a week. But, here's the kids. I should say that this chapter does include slight, implied internalised homophobia, just as a warning.

judge if you want, we are all going to die. i intend to deserve it.

For the record, Lola isn’t a party-goer by nature, and the fact that she’s been to two in as many months is baffling her. Usually she just goes to see bands, and sometimes hangs out at peoples’ houses, but high school parties specifically alluded her for most of her time in Boston. It’s not that she wasn’t invited, but her mom had been something of a hardass, and the closest she’d ever gotten was when drunk kids made their way to the diner right before closing on a Friday or Saturday.

Her dad’s fully supportive of her going out and partying, which is weird in it’s own right. He writes down their home phone number on a piece of paper, in case Lola can’t remember it when she’s drunk - his words - and tells her to call whenever she needs a lift. Don’t go get into a car with strangers. Drink plenty of water. Be safe. Have fun.

“Dad, you’re being weird,” she’d told him flatly, applying eyeliner to her waterline in the bathroom. Leo, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, was watching her with a fond expression.

“If I was a hardass and banned you from going out, you’d probably still sneak out anyways -” Lola goes to protest, which Leo finds sweet, but he holds a hand up, and she lets him continue, “not that I don’t think you respect me, but I just know what it was like being a teenager; if you got into trouble while sneaking out, you wouldn’t feel like you could call me for help,” he explained, giving pause, “but I always will, you know that, right?” And Lola nods, but goes back to applying eyeliner, knowing her father’s tone of voice too well, anticipating the fact that he was about to dive into a story of his own to help prove his point.

“When I was your age, or maybe a bit younger, fifteen or sixteen, me and some friends snuck out to a bonfire one night that my parents had absolutely forbidden me from going to, and I ended up needing to go to the emergency room from a burn I got on my hand from being an idiot around the fire,” and he raised his left hand, to show the still visible, large scar on his palm, “I was more terrified of what my father would do than of the burn itself so I didn’t try and call him or mum; I walked home from the hospital alone the next morning, and lied about how I got the burn.”

Lola paused, lowering the eyeliner pencil, meeting her father’s gaze in the mirror. Leo’s smile had turned a little sad at the memory; Lola doesn’t hear much about her grandparents, and she wonders if stories like this are the reason why.

“You’re my kid, Keola, I never want you to think you can’t come to me for help, okay?” It’s rare for Leo to use Lola’s full first name, usually reserving it for more poignant and earnest moments, so every comment about how he’s being a sap, or that she already knows, dies on Lola’s tongue.

“Thanks, dad,” she smiles soft, and Leo smiles back, all crows feet and laugh lines, before he tells her that she looks badass, and he steps out of the doorframe, heading back downstairs to the diner.

By the time Lola shows up, it’s just edging past eight-thirty, though the party still seems to be in its early stages. There’s music that can be heard down the street, and fairy lights scattered throughout the garden, though most of the partygoers who had already arrived are still confined to the house. Apart from a gangly, dark-haired boy whose face she knows, but whose name she doesn’t, sitting on the wide, ostentatious front steps, looking up at the stars glittering overhead. There’s a cigarette in a loose grip between two fingers, though the ash has already burnt down half of it without him tapping it off; it’s almost comical, she’s pretty sure he hasn’t even put it to his lips yet.

“You’re wasting that,” Lola points out, and the guy is jolted from his thoughts, the movement sharp enough to have the ash falling from the cigarette and to the ground by his shoes. He looks to the cigarette, which has gone out, and then to Lola, a little helpless, “I could take it off your hands,” she offers, unsure of how to proceed, and he holds the cigarette out, smile blooming on his face.

“I can’t get the hang of it; I’m playing a smoker in this play I’m doing in a month, and I’ve been trying, you know, make it feel natural, never seems to,” his mouth is curved into a bemused smile as he shrugs helplessly, watching Lola tuck the half a cigarette behind her ear. For a moment, his eyes roam his face, like he’s searching for something to recognize, and she can read it all over him when he finds it, his eyes alight with familiarity, “you work at the diner!”

Lola hates how disarming she finds his earnestness. He doesn’t mention her reputation or the rumours around her, which she’s pretty sure he would have heard since she’s eighty-percent sure he goes to her school.

“Lola,” she offers her hand, and he takes it, using it as leverage to get to his feet before he gives it a proper shake.

“Keanu,” he says, matter-of-factly, still grinning, and Lola suddenly knows where she knows him from. The school musical sign-up sheet is on the Art Faculty’s notice board right outside her art classroom, and she’s been staring at his name amongst a small list of others, including Eileen’s, much to Lola’s surprise, while she and the rest of her art class wait to get into their room.

At least she’s pretty sure it’s him; Keanu’s not exactly a common name. The only other time she’d heard it was in one of her dad’s stories, it was the name of one of his childhood friends -

She leaves it be; he groans and stretches, and there’s an idle moment where his shirt rides up, and Lola reminds herself to focus on the person who actually invited her, and to stop getting fleeting feelings for people she barely knows just because they’re pretty. Lola mutters that she needs a drink, and Keanu claps her on the shoulder and agrees, the two of them heading inside.

Heather’s house is in the same part of town as Vince’s, almost an hour’s walk from the diner, but somehow Heather’s is even nicer. Sprawling front lawn, abstract paintings and movie props on little, pristine pedestals inside, Lola feels like she’s lowering the property value just by stepping foot inside. The party was easily both the nicest and most raucous Lola had ever been to, which, granted, wasn’t saying a lot, but their house was wired with speakers, all connected back to the jukebox in the living room, and Heather’s parents had even let her hire coloured lights.

“As long as the cops aren’t called, we can do whatever we want,” was the message passed around the school from Heather herself. Lola’s feels as though that probably won’t bode well for her parents’ elegantly displayed collectables, but whatever, it’s not like it’s Lola’s problem.

Already there’s a decent crowd inside, and Lola loses Keanu amongst them, making a beeline for the kitchen, manoeuvring around the house with easy familiarity. She reaches pushes past several people to get to the fridge, reaching all the way to the back, past a set of tupperware, to the bottle of wine Heather’s mom had stashed there. Lola removes the sticky note telling everyone not to touch it, and uncorks the bottle over the sink, scowling.

It feels like she’s floating through the night, no-one around that she knows just yet, disconnected from everyone else, carrying the bottle of wine by her side, occasionally taking a drink. Moving from room to room, she takes her time people watching, and guessing how long before the various, expensive props and bric-a-brac were being used for things counter to their intended purpose.

In the front room, there’s finally someone she recognises, kind of; the the young redhead, the fruit one- Peach! She’s unsteady on her feet, beautiful and angry, defiantly making her way through a can of cheap beer, and Lola wonders where the rest of her clique is, that sister of hers, Eileen, even Charlotte.

“You okay?” Lola’s never been great at comforting people, but Peach is currently leaning against a wall at a forty-five degree angle after losing her balance, and scowling. She’s drunk. Already. Fuck.

“I’m fine! Freaking- fucking great!” She’s not even looking at Lola properly, glaring out the window she’d narrowly missed falling on. Lola follows her gaze. It’s just passed nine, and Tommy and Charlotte can be seen walking up to the door; they don’t see Peach or Lola, thankfully.

“You - you’re friends with that... that mean, asshole, punk guy, right?” Peach asks, standing upright so suddenly she overbalances again, and Lola has to catch her elbow to keep her from topping. Peach slaps her hand away, but keeps her balance, obviously with a bee in her bonnet about something that Lola couldn’t even begin it fathom.

“Nikki?” Lola clarifies flatly, amused but not wanting it to show. Peach nods solemnly. Lola bites back a laugh, “yes, I’m friends with him, why?”

“Is he coming tonight?” Peach asks, tone almost forcibly coy and casual, raising her can of drink, taking large gulps as Lola says that he mentioned that he should be, and then asks why. Peach goes quiet. Lola had thought it impossible for Peach’s scowl to grow deeper, but it did, as a blush began to creep up her neck.

“You know my sister, right? Eileen?” Peach says, instead, and Lola nods slowly, and she takes a swig of wine, “she’s a year - a single goddamn year - older than me; I’m sixteen, Lola, she said I was too young to go to a party like this.” And yeah, okay, Lola makes a face at that; she was the same age as Tommy, and he’s done objectively worse stuff in front of Eileen and Charlotte with no complaints. The last house party flashes through Lola’s mind, and she grimaces - “exactly, it’s dumb! Charlie had been dating Duff for a year by the time she was my age, and let me tell you, they were proper gross!” Peach sways a little, and Lola reminds her that she has no idea who Duff is; Peach calls him a word that shocks Lola to hear her say it, especially for a girl who had to correct herself from saying freaking to fucking just moments ago.

“Noted,” Lola nods, and takes another drink; she’s almost a third through the bottle.

“I’m not a child, Lola,” Peach says, as seriously as she can muster, and, as if light a lightbulb has gone off above Lola’s head, she realises why Peach was asking after Nikki.

“You’re not,” Lola agrees slowly, and looks around, hoping to spot Charlotte or Tommy around, someone better suited to talking an angry, determined Peach out of something she’d regret.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Peach huffed, standing to her full height, which unfortunately for Lola, made her taller by a few inches, “you know what, fuck you, Lola -”

“Peach -”

“No, fuck that, I know that tone -”

“Never thought I’d see you out at a place like this, Peach,” there’s a warm familiarity in the voice that joins them, and Peach visibly relaxes. Lola turns, and sees Vince Neil, bleach blonde, decked out in his usual, obnoxious white.

“Fuck off, Vince,” Peach mumbles, turning back to the window in an attempt to hide her sudden blush. Lola raises her eyebrows and looks to Vince, intrigued. The moment his gaze meets Lola’s, Vince turns quietly awkward, and can do little more than offer a shrug.

“Peach?” He tries again, and Peach finishes her drink, tipping her head back, and doesn’t even seem to notice that she’s started to topple back until he catches her, “fuck, Peach.” He says, still holding her.

“You really should fuck off,” Peach says, softer this time, leaning into him, and something pained flashes across Vince’s expression for the barest moment; Peach doesn’t notice in her state, but Lola sees it.

“Eileen been in your ear lately?” Vince asks through gritted teeth. Peach’s scowl back in full force, and she’s righting herself.

“No,” she snaps, an obvious lie, and she pushes past Lola, making her unsteady way to the kitchen, Vince obviously feeling some sort of obligation to her, following quickly in her wake. Thank God. Lola really didn’t want to take care of a girl she barely knows all night.

She’s two thirds of the way through the bottle of wine, feeling good and buzzed, and she’s made polite conversation with the people she knows and the people she doesn’t, the people who know her by reputation, or from the diner, polite to a fault, knowing too much and too little about her all at once.

Tommy’s roped them into a conversation with a few kids from his year that Lola doesn’t recognize any of them, and one, drunk, brunette, stupid, asks her about the rumours, in a crude, roundabout way. Tommy’s hand is firm on Lola’s shoulder, apology in his eyes as he silently pleads with her to not make a scene. Lola kicks his asshole friend in the shin anyways, and spits that he has terrible taste in friends.

Charlotte waves to her, but Lola doesn’t see it in her angry state, storming up the stairs to the second floor. It’s quieter up here, mostly. There’s a group in a side room playing spin the bottle, and people taking advantage of Heather’s parents’ bedroom, and the door to Heather’s room is closed. Lola bangs her closed fist on the nondescript door.

“Who is it?” Heather’s voice, strained, rings out from the other side.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Lola whined through a lie, banging again. There’s scuffling on the other side, Heather hissing for whoever’s with her to go, to get out the window, anything. Lola smirks, “please, all the other bathrooms are -” and she fake gags, right as the door wrenches open to show Heather’s flustered face, hair a mess, scowling.

“What?”

“I’m lying,” Lola whispered, leaning against the doorframe, pushing down all her annoyance at Tommy and his asshole friends, and playing at being coy. Heather huffs an annoyed breath through her nose.

“I know,” she snaps, but lets Lola in anyways, and Lola automatically closes the door behind herself, leaning her back against it, watching Heather try and act casual, heading to her bed, “should I be jealous?” Lola smirks, and Heather shoots her a filthy look. Lola takes a long drink of the wine, and Heather’s expression turns from angry, to simply annoyed.

“Of course, of fucking course, you, the only asshole who actually knew about it-”

“Your mom can buy another one, it’s not like you’re not -”

“Don’t say it,” Heather warns, sitting on the edge of her bed, and Lola’s smile grows sly and amused. Heather’s gaze flicks to the door handle, “lock that.”

“Yes, Princess,” Lola smirks, reaching over with her free hand, making quick work of locking the door.

“Do not,” Heather hisses at the pet name, and Lola pushes off the door, heading towards her, and offers her the bottle. Heather’s lips press into a thin line as the regards the drink she knows is completely illicit for a number of reasons, before taking it, and taking a drink - “fuck, how much of this have you had?”

In answer, Lola takes the bottle back and finishes it off.

“You’re a pig and a thief,” Heather tells her, but Lola’s smile is all teeth.

“And you kicked out someone - a boy, I’m guessing - for this thieving pig,” Lola reminds her, placing the empty bottle carefully on the nightstand of her luxurious double bed. Heather turns scarlet.

“I thought you’d at least wait until eleven to find me,” she deflects, defensive at the truth in Lola’s words, to which Lola herself actually laughs, flopping back onto the bed, arms spread, two fingers hooking into the back waistband of Heather’s flirty, short skirt.

“The fact that I’m here at all is a miracle, Princess -”

“Don’t.”

“And you know you could have told me to throw up in the garden,” Lola points out. A moment of silence follows, she tugs at Heather’s waistband, and Heather follows the unspoken prompt, leaning back onto the bed.

“Boys don’t know what they’re doing,” she says, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded but feet still planted firmly on the floor, and Lola’s eyes go wide, delighted, twisting onto her side to look at Heather’s blushing face.

“I knew you liked me,” Lola teases, grinning sharp.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Heather scoffs, angling her head back to level a glare at Lola, after a beat, she reaches back, fingers nimble and cold but her grip on Lola’s jaw secure. She frowns at Lola’s lips, rubbing her thumb none too gently over the bottom lip, taking off the black lipstick painted there, staining her own thumb in the process.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Heather prompts, frustrated, tone icy. Lola raises her eyebrows at the blonde's impatience.

“As you command, your highness,” Lola pushes herself up on her elbows, and off the bed, smirking in the face of Heather’s annoyance, before she scrubs at her mouth with the back of her hand, getting rid of the rest of her lipstick.

“I’ll be quick so you can get back to your boytoy,” Lola smirks up at Heather, kneeling between her knees, and in the next moment Heather’s legs clamp painfully tight around her head, bony knees pressing into her temples.

“If you tell fucking anyone I did anything other than get you water while you threw up in my bathroom, I will ruin your fucking life,” she spits, and Lola’s expression contorts into one of furious annoyance as she wrenches her head free, sitting back on her heels.

“As if I’d tell anyone; if you tell anyone, I’ll burn your fucking house down, do not test me on that,” she warns in return, before Heather relaxes and lays back, eyes back on the ceiling, waiting, “fucking pillow princess, I wish you’d get me a glass of water once in a while,” Lola muttered, leaning back in.

“Hey!” Heather objects, looking down, only to see the barely concealed fury smouldering in Lola’s eyes as she looks at Heather through her lashes. Lola orders her to shut up, presses a pointed kiss to her inner thigh, and Heather obeys without any more fuss.

All it took, in the beginning, was for Lola to confront Heather and ask why the fuck she couldn’t keep her eyes to herself during class, fully expecting a fight. It was after school, Lola had followed her into the bathroom after class as the school was emptying. Heather’s lip had curled, derisive, giving Lola a look like she was a bug beneath her shoe.

“You see something you fucking like?” Lola had snarled, ready to square up, chest puffed out, and Heather had rolled her eyes, scoffing about how Lola wasn’t even close to her type, before she’d realised what she’d said.

Neither had known how to proceed in that moment, both terrified of how the other would react, Lola could see the sudden fear in Heather’s eyes at the admission. Very deliberately, Lola had relaxed her posture, looking Heather over with a new appreciation, and Heather had flushed under her gaze.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” Lola had smirked, gaze locking onto Heather’s. The blonde was embarrassed, furious at herself, “well if I ever become your type -” those seven words had changed everything. Immediately, Heather knew exactly what Lola had meant, that she wasn’t a threat in the way she’d feared, and that Lola was like her, in some way, in a way that was safe.

“You’re -?” Heather raised a single, perfect eyebrow at her.

“I don’t advertise it,” Lola said, voice flat, hands in her pockets and shoulders carefully relaxed, “don’t know, you know, who else is... like me.”

“Like you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it here,” Lola had muttered, gaze flicking to the empty stalls, and Heather had given her a long, evaluative look, before stepping forward, apparently finding something she likes.

Heather’s kind of pinning over a straight girl and none of the rest of the school has any idea she likes anything other than boys, and she’d like to keep it that way. No-one really cares about Lola the way they do about Heather, so they feel safe fooling around together at Heather’s under the guise of ‘studying’; they don’t really even like each other as people, it’s more mutually beneficial than anything else, but it’s kind of nice to have this understanding between them, free to be themselves without fear, even if it’s only for short amounts of time.

Now, at the party, when Lola goes to leave the room after all is said and done, hair checked in the mirror, lipstick reapplied neatly, Heather grabs her arm, quiet but no longer irritate in Lola’s presence, and Lola’s eyes go wide with question, but she too is silent. Heather steels herself, steps up to Lola, and then she’s got her fingers carding through Lola’s hair, and holding tight, and Lola lets herself be maneuverer, her head tipping and Heather’s lips on her neck.

When Heather steps back, there’s the beginning of a hickey blooming on the juncture where Lola’s shoulder meets her throat, aching faintly, pleasantly, and her hands are soft on Heather’s hips, lips twitching into a smirk.

“You could have just said thank you,” Lola snorted, and Heather’s frowning, but it doesn’t seem to be specifically at Lola; she rolls her eyes. Lola presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, quick and chaste, and scrubs at the mark she leaves behind before Heather slaps her hand away and tells her to get out, though there’s no anger behind it.

When Lola opens the door, she puts on a show of being a little more unsteady than she really was, and is surprised to see Nikki leaning against the wall a few feet away, chatting to Tommy, looking so carefully casual. Lola’s pretty sure she hears Nikki sigh something about needing to find a guitarist, but that’s the moment Tommy spots Lola. He tries to apologise for his friends, but Lola shrugs, letting the incident go easily.

And then Nikki’s eyes flick to hers, and he asks if she’s okay, and Tommy seems confused but Lola’s hit with a realization. She pulls back her act and tries not to smile too wide.

“I’m fine now, great actually, it’s sweet of you to care,” its absolutely and completely innocent, but she raises an eyebrow at him, as if asking how he knows that she was unwell. In lieu of response, Nikki stands to his full height, walks to the door, and knocks. Lola and Tommy watch, the former far more confused than the latter.

Heather opens the door wide, not a hair out of place, makeup immaculate and untouched, and tells Nikki to fuck off, swanning past him and down to the rest of her party. Nikki turns on Lola.

“You couldn’t have thrown your guts up in a bush somewhere?” Nikki hissed, frustrated, and Lola does a great job at biting back her laughter, shaking her head and shrugging helplessly.

“We’re you waiting out here that whole time?” Lola asks, and Nikki turns amusingly pink, stalking past her to the stairs, to which both Lola and Tommy followed, with Lola calling out a half-hearted apology, and Nikki telling her to shove it up her ass.

gandhi said 'be the change you want to see in the world.' fuck that. be the trouble you want to see in the world.

“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last night,” the morning after the party, or was it afternoon - midday after Heather’s party - Lola’s tying her red bandana around her head, hip leaning against the counter out the back by the fryer where Nikki was scowling at an order of fries that was bubbling away.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Lola,” Nikki snaps back, looking up at her, still frowning, and Lola’s smile widens, just a little. Nikki sighs, relenting, his voice dropping low, “I’m hungover as fuck, just piss off, can you?” But it doesn’t sound half as cruel as the words themselves imply, and Lola dips to press her cheek to his shoulder in a moment of affectionate familiarity before heading out to start serving customers.

It’s almost one when Charlotte and that English kid, Razzle, walk in, with the tall, pretty ginger, Eileen, sans their usual extras, but they take their spot at their usual booth by the window, talking quietly but animatedly.

“- the nerve on him! Hi, Lola,” Eileen’s practically vibrating with pent up, frustrated energy, greeting Lola with what Eileen probably assumed was a smile, but was still definitely a scowl.

“Everything alright here?” Lola asked, forcing her voice even brighter than she’d usually attempt, and Eileen’s gaze dropped to the menu, going quiet, brooding, while Charlotte sat up a little straighter and smiled, clearly not on such an intense wavelength as her friend.

“Everything’s just great; plotting Vince’s murder, kind of starving, the usual,” she shrugs, and Razzle, by her side, snorts a laugh.

“Good to see you survived the night, Honky Cat,” he adds in lieu of a greeting of his own, and Lola takes a moment to process all the information she’d just been exposed to.

“’course I did, I drank my weight in water between shots,” Lola smirks at Razzle, before her gaze slides to Charlotte, “and that’s very fair; I’d ask what he’s done now, but I think I’ll take care of your order first,” she grins amicably and pulls out her notepad and pen, as the three of them order their usual drinks and lunch preferences.

Lola heads back to the counter, calling out the order to the kitchen, taking another few order to their various destinations, before getting her friends’ drinks together to take them over.

“- home and didn’t even call, Razz, she didn’t even -” Eileen was still ranting by the time Lola deposits their drinks before them. Lola’s pretty sure she saw Razzle and Charlotte deliberately knocking knees beneath the table, but doesn’t think about it too hard. Nor does she dwell on the memory of seeing them at the party last night, of a gaggle of cheerleaders around talking to Razzle, though he just kept trying to talk to Charlotte. Later, she’d definitely seen them on the sofas, talking with Tommy and some of Charlotte’s other friends, leaning in to each other, Razzle’s arm around her shoulders, playing with the whispy ends of her hair. Lola hadn’t thought much of it at the time; she’d made out with Tommy at her first house party in the area, it hadn’t developed past friendship.

It was cute, if it was anything.

“Lola, you were there!” Eileen turned very suddenly, the moment her cup had been placed in front of her, and Lola’s eyebrows shot up, “did you see my sister last night?”

It feels like a trap, because yes, Lola definitely did, but also -

“Yes, why?” Lola asks, slowly, cocking a hip.

“They’re in the middle of a blue,” Razzle said, with a fond smile at Eileen’s carefully neutral expression, while she stirred her drink with intent.

“A fight,” Charlotte translated, “and Peach went to Heather’s last night, and got kind of shitfaced, and Vince took care of her, was really quite sweet, but she stayed with him because his place was closer and Peach refused to call Eileen.”

“She stayed with Vince?” Lola said carefully, trying not to imply she was jumping to conclusions, but Eileen’s stirring ceased in favour of vigorous drinking of the drink, obviously stuck on a similar train of thought.

“She slept on the couch,” Razzle filled in quickly, “was still there when I left, tucked in with a blanket, all above board.”

“And you didn’t know where she was -?” Lola frowns, confused.

“Vince called at three in the morning,” Eileen glowered out the window, voice low and even, “dad was mad until he was grateful; the man’s backbone is made of marshmallow fluff. She was meant to be home at one.”

“But she’s okay?”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Lola,” Eileen had said, giving Lola a look far older and longsuffering than her seventeen years.

“If we brought in Vince’s heart, would your dad batter it up and fry it for Eileen to eat?” Charlotte asked, tone teasing and light, to which Eileen rolled her eyes, but at least it got her to smile, even a little. Even when Lola snorted a laugh and told her ‘absolutely not’.

Later, on their break, Lola and Nikki sit on the roof of the building and share a serve of chips that he’d overcooked, and a cigarette, and Lola asks about Vince. Turns out Nikki doesn’t know much; he hadn’t grown up with the rest of them, had moved to the neighbourhood near the start of high school, and all he really knows is that girls apparently think Vince’s dick developed some sort of Midas touch over Summer.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been stupid pretty,” Nikki shoves a chip in his mouth before leaning back on his elbows, “far as I know, but you’ve seen his car, right? That fuck-off, expensive red one that sits in the teacher’s carpark, with the massive scratch in the paint along the left? Yeah that’s his; got it for his birthday last year and he’s been getting tail like nobody’s business ever since.” And Lola tries to process all this information before he’s barrelling right on ahead with, “speaking of; if you’re gonna nail Tommy, can you do it soon and put the poor kid out of his misery?”

“Excuse me?!” Lola had choked on her lungful of smoke, turning red at the suggestion.

“Yeah, poor kid was pretty convinced we were a thing and didn’t want to make a move; kinda stupid, but I dunno, admirable? Noble?” Nikki groaned through his words, laying back against the gravel of the roof, hand out for the cigarette. Lola passed it to him, glad he couldn’t see her vaguely guilty expression, knowing she’d slept with the girl he’d been hitting on the night before.

“Tommy has a thing for anything halfway pretty that’s not related to him, he’d be just as happy to boink any other girl,” Lola points out, and Nikki snorts a laugh in mild agreement, “and the only reason we’re not fucking is because you’re afraid my dad’s gonna rip of your arms like he’s the fucking Wampa from Star Wars.” She punctuates it by eating the last chip, laying out beside Nikki on the gravel, checking her watch. Five minutes before their break ends.

“Leo wouldn’t rip off my arms- I don’t think Leo would rip off my arms!” Nikki counters defensively, but that just has Lola laughing as she corrects -

“Sorry, no, your exact wording was ‘I don’t want your dad to Kali Ma my fucking heart like I’m that little bastard from Indiana Jones’,” Lola does an absolutely atrocious impersonation of Nikki, who’s laughing despite himself, “which you only took back because I told you he wasn’t Indian, and even if he was, it’s kind of a fucked thing to say,” Lola tells him pointedly, shifting onto her side, propping her head up on her hand as she smirked at Nikki.

When Nikki looks at her, green eyes shining in the overcast, afternoon light, there’s something unreadable, teasing and soft all at once, like he’s entertaining an idea he’d considered unthinkable.

“I don’t think I could look Leo in the eye if I banged his daughter,” Nikki’s voice is soft and low, though he’s grinning wide, tone coy, eyes creasing in the corners, and Lola’s gaze flicks to his lips.

“For Leo’s sake, then,” Lola matches his tone, corner of her mouth twitching into a sharp smirk when she finally looks back to his eyes, “and Tommy’s too,” she teases, pushing herself into a sitting position; she can hear it when he presses his head further into the gravel in exasperation, swearing under his breath. When Lola stands and smiles, the picture of innocence, she offers Nikki her hand to help him up; Nikki rolls his eyes, but is still smiling when he accepts.

“Your hair looks dorky like that,” Lola teases as she climbs down the fire escape.

“I know,” Nikki sighs, “but its better than getting hair in everyone’s food; I’m not gonna be the reason your dad fails a health inspection,” Nikki adds, a strange hint of protectiveness in his voice that warms Lola’s heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Leo’s never failed a health inspection, he doesn’t intend to start any time soon.”

love is a dream someone else had last night.

Eileen and Razzle see fit to join their ragtag bunch of misfits at lunch the following Monday by the open gate and the science carpark, which Lola had been informed was the teachers’ carpark.

Lola doesn’t care who sits with them, except for the fact that she’d taken the leftover lemon merengue tart from the diner since it was being replaced with an apple crumble, and there was only enough for four. For the past week, Eileen’s been alternating sitting with them and sitting elsewhere, but she hadn’t been here last Monday, so Lola had assumed - anyways, now she’s worried she looks like a bitch, and not for an actual reasonable reason.

“What do you mean you almost got with Heather on Friday?!” Charlotte’s voice was somewhere between a horrified and disbelieving squeak where she was picking at the crust of the piece of tart she was sharing with Eileen. The lemon merengue debacle turned out to not be much of an issue, with Charlotte and Eileen sharing, and Tommy and Lola sharing too. Lola was incredibly focused on picking at a scab through the hole in the knee of her jeans.

“I mean I had my hand in her fucking panties when someone -” Nikki cast a very pointed look to Lola, “knocked on the door threatening to throw up, and I got shoved out a window,” Nikki played up being irritated, despite the fact that he was laying out on his side directly behind Lola, while she was leaning into him.

“You’re my hero,” Eileen told Lola, serious as ever, while Charlotte cackled with delight, and Razzle snickered from where he was touching up the left hand of Tommy’s sharpie-nails.

“You guys are a bunch of assholes,” Nikki huffed, shoving the remained or his own piece of tart into his mouth.

“I brought you food, show some fuckin’ respect,” Lola smirked despite herself, gently elbowing him in the ribs; he flicks her knee in retaliation.

“Absolutely not; you’re a cockblocking traitor and the worst friend I’ve got,” Nikki announced, nose in the air, and Lola leans all her weight back suddenly, tipping Nikki onto his back and laying heavy across his stomach as she demanded he take it back, the two of them getting into a petty squabbling match, shoving at each other while the others could only look on in exasperated amusement.

“I thought Heather had a boyfriend,” Eileen pipes up, to which Charlotte makes a a gentle ‘eh’ noise in the back of her throat.

“She’s getting laid,” Charlotte corrects with half a smirk, and everyone who was paying half attention understand easily. Tommy sighs, but it’s not nearly as dejected as he’s known for whenever the topic of girls he fancies being with other people comes up.

“Whatever, I got to second base with Pam that night, and no-one can take that away from me,” Tommy announces, watching Razzle finish off his pinkie.

“Good for you, man,” Razzle says, with his trademark sincerity. Eileen and Charlotte still can’t believe it happened, but unfortunately both Razzle and Vince had seen with their own two eyes and been able to confirm; Vince may be biased, but Charlotte trusted Razzle.

“Everyone got some fuckin’ action that night except for me,” Nikki whines, finally shoving himself off, “and the fuckin’ Vomit Comet over here,” he jerked his thumb to where Lola was righting herself; Lola flips him off in response.

“I didn’t,” Eileen points out.

“You weren’t there,” Nikki rolls his eyes, “you don’t count.”

Meanwhile Razzle and Charlotte had both gone very quiet, and very pink. However Lola, who had no patience for people trying to hide their somewhere-between-pining-and-sincere feelings from each other and from other people, instead turns her attention to Eileen as she’s sweeping her hair out of her face.

“Have things gotten any better with Peach?” She tried, tone hopeful, and Eileen’s expression barely changed, just the barest crease of a frown upon her forehead, though judging by the way Charlotte’s whole expression soured, things had not, in fact, gotten better.

“Came back on Saturday afternoon all sunny and smiley and mom was thrilled,” Eileen’s deadpan irritation really sold her exasperation at the whole situation, “that she was friends with Vince again, and she hasn’t said a word to me yet.” Eileen takes a deep breath, straightening up from where she’d been slouched without realizing, taking a deep breath, nose in the air as if rising above it all, “which is fine with me, because I have a ton of dialogue to learn and they want us off-book in a month.”

This only sets them off fondly teasing the ever-unflappable Eileen, for her seemingly out of character choice to join the school’s musical, though they were all very proud of the fact that she scored the lead, even Nikki had voiced that he thought it was pretty cool.

When Lola had asked about it, Eileen had made mention that it filled in a lot of free time, that it was something she could add to college applications, and that a friend had convinced her to do it; Keanu -

“I keep hearing that name around,” Lola muses, leaning back in her seat while they were waiting for their French teacher to arrive. Eileen raises her eyebrows, “is that the pretty, dark haired Senior?” Eileen, surprisingly, had flushed scarlet when nodding. Lola hummed thoughtfully, leaning back further until the front legs of her chair lifted from the ground; she hooked her feet around the legs of her desk as she contemplated.

“It’s a musical right?” Lola asked, and Eileen hummed in confirmation, “if you can sing, you know Nikki and Tommy are -”

“I’d rather eat an entire microphone,” Eileen responds flatly, already knowing what Lola was about to suggest before she’d even finished her sentence, and Lola really tries not to laugh, but she knows Eileen well enough by now that that response makes entirely too much sense.

“You make a fair -” and that’s when Lola’s grip on the table slips, her feet sliding quickly up the legs of the desk as she topples backwards, the momentum pulling the desk up with her legs and directly on top of her, winding her. At least it made Eileen laugh, mostly from shock, sure, but Lola counts it as a win.

#motley crue #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #the dirt #the dirt fanfiction #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx x oc #Razzle Dingley #lola&charlotte #charlotte & lola #the pack

9 notes · View notes

funkymbtifiction · 3 years

Text

Hi, Charity. I’ve been having some trouble figuring out my judging functions. I’ve read all the descriptions, and interactions between Fi-Te and Ti-Fe but I’m still unsure.

I have this scenario that I think accurately represents my reaction to a lot of situations [I’ve oriented it towards a social focus because I think I am probably a feeler - but I want to know what functions I have before I begin working out the stacking]:

A couple of years ago, there was a collective outrage against an action that a celebrity had done.

For me, I was both curious about the extent that people were angry and frustrated that I didn’t have the same visceral reaction against them, apart from understanding - on what seems to be on a detached level only - why people would be angry.

I could identify a core human principle that this person openly and proudly violated. So, of course, I agreed that it was wrong. But it felt like a verbal agreement rather than an instinctual rejection of the action.

I had a hard time conjuring up the same type of emotional reaction and fixation on the issue that others had, which persisted even after apologies were made. I just couldn’t relate. But I find myself getting more riled up at the fact that I didn’t relate when it seemed almost everyone else did.

Even after the controversy had died down, I find myself drawn to residual comments on social media, berating the celebrity. To assuage this feeling of social defectiveness, I try to identify more distinct reasons why people would be upset, reasons that specific demographics might have. Maybe then I can truly understand why. But it’s not long until I get more annoyed with myself, for being on the outside, for not demonstrating the same outspokenness that most people seem to have against this issue.

After all, there are clear reasons why I should be particularly mad, given that I am part of one of the groups that could feel immediately invalidated by the action. Still, it surprises me more when I notice that groups of people that don’t usually seem to care (or don’t have an explicit reason) are also pushing back. But. Why. Don’t. I. Feel. The. Same.

Then I continue to wonder. This is an individual and isolated controversy. Very unique. But I have not seen the same outrage against similar variations, which have may certain variables missing. What exactly makes this one so different and universally panned?

I feel the need to dissect the overall conversation about it, otherwise, it feels like there’s a glob of people who get why this action is so wrong, yet I can’t seem to summon up the same (what seems like an organic) amount of emotion although I agree as a matter of principle.

Conversely, there are times when it feels like I am the only one who is riled up about an issue and most people seem so casual and matter-of-fact about it. Then again, I feel a little disheartened and alienate myself for not ‘getting’ why it’s not a problem.

Any thoughts? I think that I relate more to Fi-Te but I’ve recently been told that I have Ti but it doesn’t fully resonate with me. I’m not drawn to impersonal systems as much as I am to personal ones.

You sound very much like an ENFP to me. First there’s the intellectual openness without judgment in which you are collecting data rather than reaching an immediate moral / ethical judgment, and then you are wondering WHY your judgment (you simply don’t care) doesn’t match the outer world’s response of OMG WTF HOW AWFUL OF THIS PERSON. EFPs can sometimes feel out of sync with the outside world’s emotional consensus and judgments, because Fi doesn’t know how it feels about something (or if it even cares) until it’s in the thick of something -- until it directly happens to them. ESFPs are more prone to instant reactions because Se is directly engaging with the environment, but ENFPs have an abstracting function to act as a barrier between them and the object -- they abstract away from it, as you are doing. Instead of focusing on the celebrity’s actions, you started wondering what causes other people to overreact in such a way, what is wrong with you by comparison (the focus is on ‘me’ and how ‘I do not fit the Fe mold I am seeing’), and ... it no longer really became about this person’s actions, but fell into Ne-dom philosophizing. An ENTP would likely start to mirror the public outrage, rather than remaining distant from it, and continuously pondering to figure out if something in your internal self (Fi) is ‘broken’ because it’s not reacting (overreacting?) like everyone else.

This sounds... a lot like my mental process. I spend a great deal of time wondering why dominant feelers are so emotional about everything, and blow up stuff into such radical instant moral judgments, and comparing myself to them and noticing a certain ‘inner dead-ness’ about most things that seem to upset them, then I wonder if my emotions suck and if I should be more like other people, but I can’t escape the fact that I literally do not care about what that person did most of the time, and can think of many psychological reasons for their actions, and... I go back into a self-pondering loop of “why don’t I care more? Does this make me a bad person?” that is characteristic of Ne/Fi and being a head type (rationality, detachment, thoughts, instead of an emotional response) on the Enneagram rather than a gut (this is bad!!) or a heart (emotional responses) type. So you may want to consider a head type Enneagram (6w7 or 7w6) in addition to your ENFP-ness.

#question #mbti #enfp #enneagram #submission

27 notes · View notes

marriael · 4 years

Text

Be my Latibule? (Changbin x Reader)

@skzrequests

Request: My pace 24 w changbin? uwu im a sucker for the idea of tattooist bin lmao I so vibed with this request, I love thinking about tattoist bin

Word count: 3717

a/n: part of the reason this took so long is I had to restart it twice :(

You walk into work at Insomnia Coffee Shop and your co-worker, Sohee, greets you.

“Anyone fun yet?” You ask. She's usually in when the store opens and often gets the most interesting customers.

“Not today. But yesterday a cute guy came in and ordered 3 americanos. Turns out it was for him and 2 friends. I tried to give them for free cause he looked half dead but he wouldn't let me. Who even does that?“

While she was talking you had slipped on the ugly orange apron and scowl when you noticed someone double knotted and didn't untie the strings.

You shake your head, “probably a college student pulling an all-nighter. What college student turns down free anything? Ugh, I wish some cute barista offered me free coffee, just, ever.”

Sohee turns and passes the drink over the counter. “For Jeno!”

A cute guy comes up to grab and winks at her before he turns to the door. Your jaw drops a little and you slap her shoulder.

“Is he a regular?” You ask.

“Nope. Said he got a recommendation from a friend and went out of his way to come. Weird day to do it though.”

You hum as the next customer comes in and you get thoroughly distracted. It isn’t until he comes up to the counter and speaks that you stop staring blankly.

“1 latte, 1 americano,” his voice is low and rough and he’s a little bit intimidating honestly. He’s got a small bit of a tattoo poking out one of the sleeves and you try and look at it before you have to turn around.

“Is that a tattoo?” You ask him when you turn around.

He rolls the short sleeve up to his shoulder to expose the full tattoo and you stare at the simple beauty of the moon and stars.

“Woah, that’s cool!” Sohee must’ve seen him just in her peripheral… or she was staring like you. You nod emphatically in agreement.

He blushes a little and says “thanks. Couldn’t reach this part of my arm or else I would’ve done it myself, but I still drew it.”

“Do you work at a tattoo parlour then?”

“Yeah, I do a lot of the designs for our place,”

You gasp, “can I come look at them? Please?” You pout trying to convince him to accept your strange request. You just felt something pulling you towards these drawings and the man who made them.

He looks at you for a moment then says, “yeah, let me give you the address. When you come in just ask for Changbin.”

He pulls out a random business card, not his unfortunately, and writes down the address. He slides it over and covers his smile with a sip.

You turn back to the coffee machines as he walks out the door but Mina stops you.

“Changbin huh? He was pretty cute,” she smirks.

“Hush your mouth and get back to work, brat.”

“Nuh-uh! I get to leave now but if, no no not if when, you meet him we're talking about this later.”

The next day was Tuesday and, thankfully, it was mostly empty of things for you. So you pull out the piece of paper Changbin gave you and looked up the address.

It was just a couple blocks down from the coffee shop and you head out. The building is small and squished right between a bakery and a florist, basically some cheesy romance just waiting to happen.

You walked in and looked around. There were corkboards on either sidewall and they were filled with drawings pinned to them. The bottoms of them fluttered a little at the draft you brought with you.

When you looked at him the man behind the counter raised an eyebrow at you. Ah, so it was very obvious you wouldn't be in here often.

You let out a little nervous laugh, “hi, Changbin told me to come see him here?”

The man raised both eyebrows at that. You fiddled as he looked you over again then laughed a little. “Changbin!” He suddenly yelled.

From one of the closed side rooms comes a muffled voice “go away Chan, I’m busy!”

The man at the desk, Chan, turns back to you “sorry, he’s always like this. He’s probably just sketching a custom.”

“Oh, I can come back later if he’s busy.”

Chan doesn’t answer you and instead yells at Changbin again “I know you’re not actually busy. Your partner is here to see you!”

“Hey!” You protest but Chan just grins at you as you hear the door open.

“Chan what the hell are you-” Changbin cuts himself off and gently smiles when he sees you “hey, didn’t think you were actually gonna come.”

You smile back at him. He looks much softer when he’s smiling and you were briefly caught off guard.

“Tell me again about how you’re not dating or at least interested, “ Chan’s eyes flick between the shy but wide smiles on yours and Changbin’s faces.

Changbin rolls his eyes but inclines his head towards the door he was behind and you follow behind him. He closes the door most of the way behind you and then moves to sit at the desk in the far corner. There are more drawings in here and you assume all of them are his. It’s a wide variety of subjects, from small sketches of animals and plants to large and detailed fantasy creatures.

“Sorry about Chan, he’s always delighted in teasing anyone who’s younger than him,” Changbin shakes his head, probably at Chan even though he can’t see or hear in the room.

“Have you two known each other a long time then?” You ask and tilt your head a little.

“Ah, yeah,” Changbin looks at you again, “most of us met in high school and a couple joined right at the start of college. College was really when our whole group started getting close, too.”

“Sounds nice,” you were paying attention to him, promise, but with such wonderful drawings surrounding you, you really couldn’t help it if your attention drifted a bit.

Changbin notices and raises an eyebrow slightly, “interested in getting one?”

“What? Oh, no no, not right now at least. They’re just… really, really good.”

Changbin immediately looks down and smiles, and you could swear he was blushing a bit but when he looks back up it's gone.

“There’s a couple hidden ones in here that aren’t mine. Think you can spot ‘em?” He challenges.

You immediately head up to one of the boards and stand about 5 centimetres away. You push a couple of them up and out of the way, making sure to be careful. There really is all sorts of stuff, Changbin must be pretty busy. A rushing river done with such detail you can almost see it moving. Swirls that when you look just right suddenly snap into focus to make an abstract, soaring bird. Nature moulded with a person or item in such a seamless way that there is not a difference between them, they are simply one continuous sight.

You’re looking for hidden drawings, not ogling at Changbin’s skills. Right. When you move one more there is a small piece of paper. There is… something on it. Either Changbin drew this when he was about 5 years old or it was someone else.

“Hey, I found one. I don’t even know what this is though, it looks like a squiggle.”

Changbin laughs, “hold on.”

He comes and looks right over your shoulder. You can feel his hot breath on your ear and feel his chest move when he laughs at the drawing again. You quickly reign in the slight disappointment when he moves away.

“Yeah, that’s the thing Chan keeps trying to make our mascot. Felix and I won’t let him so until one of us breaks it’s two against one,” he shrugs and it doesn’t look like he feels bad at all.

“Do all your friends have a drawing stashed in here somewhere?”

“Well, I’ve seen at least 16 drawings put in here so yes they all have one. Some of them and Felix, Jisung’s special twin, has hidden at least 4. There’s probably more that he did when I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Ugh, how many friends do you even have. If it’s more than, like, 6 I might be genuinely angry.”

Changbin practically cackles, “well then get ready to be absolutely furious. There’s 9 of us, including myself and everyone I’ve already mentioned.”

“That’s not even fair! How have you all been friends for so long without someone murdering someone else.”

“Oh, believe me. Seungmin’s wanted to. Unfortunately, his best friends are some of our greatest problem children. Though sometimes I'm pretty sure he'll murder them first.”

“Any other possible murderers I should worry about seeing?” You flip a couple more pictures up, still passively looking for any other weird drawings.

“Hm, Minho's murderous intentions are usually directed at Jisung. He'd do it for his cats too, though. He definitely fits in well.”

“Were there concerns about him not fitting in?”

“Yeah 'cause, he was the last one to join us, but he’s just as chaotic if not more. For Chan’s graduation night he insisted on using some mini firework things he found. Nearly lit himself and Jisung on fire with the very first one.”

Something clicks in your brain. You’ve heard this story before, from one of your random classmates. He was… interesting, to put it politely.

“Are you talking about Lee Minho? The smug bastard who tried to get everyone to call him Lee Know for like 5 months? And Han Jisung, my co-worker kind of, that I’m pretty sure hates me for some reason?”

“Wait, you know them? And why do you think Jisung hates you?”

“Yeah, Minho was my weird classmate. I’m like 90% sure Jisung hates me because he barely looks at me and gives one-word answers to all of my questions. I don’t really see him other than during shift switches but still!”

“I think Minho actually might have mentioned you before. And Jisung is just like that around people he doesn’t know. Trust me, he actually has the capacity to be the loudest person in the room. By far.”

“Huh, I wonder how many of your friends I actually know.”

"Well, we're hanging out on Thursday. Do you want to come with and meet some more of them?”

You hum thoughtfully, thinking of any possible commitments you had made lately, “I probably can but can I bring Sohee? Just so I know someone there?”

“Do I still not count as someone you know?” He whines and pouts a little for the extra effect.

“Not enough. If you all go off on some inside joke I need someone to be confused with.”

“Actually fair, because it might happen. I’ll let you know when and where we’re going later then.”

You pull out your phone and extend it to him, when he looks at it confused you raise an eyebrow, “unless you plan to send it by bird I recommend putting your number in my phone.”

He makes a surprised noise and keeps his eyes away from you and on your phone. It has not spread to his face but under his dark hair his bright red ears peek out just enough for you to see. Even when handing it back he doesn’t look at you and you smile at his bashfulness.

“See ya soon, Bin. I work again tomorrow.”

Directions are not always your strong suit. You’d like to believe they are and that’s how you end up like this, no map and unsure of what direction you should even look in.

“You look lost,” a voice comes from behind you.

You spin around. A tall puppy-like guy is standing behind you, he looks slightly amused and you’re betting it’s at your expense.

“Yeah, do you know where M.I.A Café is?”

“Oh,” he nods, “yeah I’m going there. Let’s go.”

It’s slightly awkward, walking this distance with someone you don’t know. You search your brain with how to start a conversation with someone.

“Are you… meeting someone at the café?” You ask, slightly awkward.

“Yeah, a couple of my friends.”

“Huh, so am I. Well, actually, it’s someone else’s friends and I’m just kinda tagging along,” you shrug, realizing how awkward this will probably be.

“Good luck with that,” he says as he holds the door for you.

You enter and scan the tables for Changbin’s face. You wave and slip into the chair opposite him. On the edge of the table thankfully, hopefully Sohee can recognize the back of your head. Someone sits next to you and you get a little shock seeing who it is.

He grins at you, “hey stranger.”

The guy you walked all that way with one of Changbin’s friends!

Changbin looks between you confusedly, “you know Seungmin?”

“He helped me get here. I might have gotten a little lost.”

“A little, ok. You had no idea where you were,” Seungmin snarks.

“Maybe so!”

“Well good to know you get along with another one of my friends already,” Changbin interjects.

Someone comes up and sits beside Changbin.

“Hey, I’m Hyunjin,” he greets you simply.

You give him a little wave. You don’t like judging people so fast but he’s a little intimidating.

You hear a little scrape of a chair beside and Sohee pops down at the end of the table.

“Sohee, you made it!”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” she sticks out her tongue at you.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before,” Hyunjin speaks up and you whip your head towards him.

Sohee looks at him and squints for a moment. They start looking at each other for so long that you think they’re actually just having a staring contest. You think you recognize someone walking outside but when you actually look out the window you have no idea who any of them are. It’s still a nice day out, maybe you can go out somewhere after this.

“Oh! You’re the guy I thought was going to drink 3 americanos the other day!”

“Sohee~” you sing.

“What?” She looks at you, annoyed.

“You forgot an important detail that you told me about him.”

She looks genuinely confused for a moment before catching on and shaking her head, “shut up, nope nope nope.”

“You think he’s cute!” You cackle.

You, Changbin, and Seungmin make fun of Sohee and Hyunjin for a little while. It backfires when Sohee manages to sneakily turn the attention on you, well you and Changbin. Together, you being together.

“Yeah, and you stared at him for so long when he came in!” Sohee says.

“Sohee, kindly shut your mouth,” you reply, smiling the most pained and fake smile ever.

“Ok, please don’t pour your drink on me, I’m afraid. Also we work together so I’m coming for you.”

You just roll your eyes at her, you didn’t actually scare her and you both know that. She just likes to be some sort of annoying sister to you.

Hyunjin clears his throat and when you look at him his eyes are bright. He smiles sneakily and says, “you should hear about the time Changbin actually poured his drink on someone.”

“Hyunjin that was an accident and you know it!” Changbin exclaims, attempting to shoulder check a giggling Hyunjin.

You breeze into Blueprint Tattoos and Chan looks up in surprise.

“Hey there, didn’t know you were coming in today.”

You let out a single, unnatural ‘ha’, “I didn’t know either but uh, here I am.”

“Well, Changbin’s in his usual spot. I don’t think he has anything today.”

“Thanks,” you nod stiffly.

Looking around at the cork boards you can see some of them definitely done in Changbin’s style and a handful more you suspect would be his. You breathe out heavily and slouch a little before straightening and walking towards where Changbin should be, full of false confidence.

“Are you ok?” Chan asks and when you look over his eyebrows are furrowed and his forehead pinched down a little. The concern from someone you barely know is a little unusual but the warmth you get from it is welcoming.

“Yeah, just a little nervous you know?” You force a small laugh but you know it’s not convincing.

“Oh!” Chan exclaims, “well if this is what I think it is then good luck.”

Chan’s face is completely relaxed and you feel a little bit bad for making him worry so much. You’re not entirely sure what he thinks you’re doing but you smile at his kindness as you open Changbin’s door.

He has headphones in and doesn’t hear when you close the door behind you. You stand there for a minute, back against the door, just looking at him. Most people move to what they’re listening to but the only thing moving is his hand and it glides across the page. You have no idea what he’s doing but you just hope he’ll show it to you when he’s done.

You take a big breath in and out before approaching him. Tapping his shoulder gently you hope not to cause him to jerk his arm and ruin a line or anything. He stops completely and pulls his headphones out. He looks a little annoyed but then he looks up to see you and his face eases.

“Hi! I didn’t know you were coming today. Anything specific on the brain or did you just want to hang out with Best Friend Binnie?” He gives you an exaggerated and comical wink.

“Give me a tattoo?” You say, surprisingly calm for how jittery you actually feel.

“Wait, what? Are you sure? Like really sure?”

You roll your eyes like a stereotypical teenager would at their parents, that is to say, so far back it felt like they would disappear into your head, “no, Changbin, I’m not sure. I’ve really only been thinking about it basically since the first time I walked into this room.”

“That was only a week ago,” Changbin deadpans.

“Yeah, and?”

Changbin shakes his head, “I’m not going to give you a tattoo you’ll regret.”

You look around at the drawings. Feeling like that one action gave this decision away as way more spontaneous than it had originally seemed. Yes, you had been thinking about getting one and getting Changbin to do it for you but doing it today specifically was a complete impulse.

“I’m not going to regret it! Bin, please,” you pout at him.

Changbin tilts his head to look at the ceiling as if it will give him some guidance.

“What do you want?”

You clap your hands excitedly and then hesitate again.

“Well, I know I want a flower but… I want you to choose which one. I want it to be a flower with a good meaning behind it.”

Changbin nods and stands there considering your request. You take the time to look around his office again. Staring at all the intricate drawings on the walls you feel a bit dorky choosing to get a simple flower. Your eyes briefly catch on two stylized drawings of the word SpearB. One of them has a cute little ‘Binnie~’ under it and the other has a messy ‘Chanathan’ in English and Korean.

There are a couple of flowers scattered throughout the room so you’re a bit surprised when you hear Changbin ripping a page out of his sketchbook. His back is to you so you can’t see him cutting it down to a size to la and trace on your body. You can hear the gentle snips of scissors as you distract yourself with rows of flowers connected and individual petals with such detail you could believe them being real.

You watch as he gently traces the pattern onto your skin. You don’t recognize the flower right away but it looks delicate and beautiful. You think you catch him glancing up at you a few times but you’re pretty sure the clock is behind you and he’s looking at that.

You zone out almost entirely as he prepares. Well, it’s not exactly zoning out. You’d say it’s appreciation of an attractive man, your friends would say that you’re just checking him out.

Ok, so what if you are? Changbin’s shirt has no sleeves which means his arms are on full display which means that you can’t stop looking at the muscles flexing as he moves. Thankfully you’re conscious enough to look away when he turns back around.

The buzz of the gun wakes you up and Changbin is looking at you.

“All good?” He asks.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

You watch for a moment as he starts going and the ink sinks permanently into your skin. It’s a strange thing to conceptualize, something being on your body forever. You catch a glimpse of Changbin’s concentrated face and you get completely distracted by him. If this is what he looks like everytime he gives a tattoo then you want to observe, even study, him.

His mouth is set in a firm line and eyebrows pinched slight inwards and downwards. His eyes are wide and focused and if you look closely enough you can see every slight movement of his irises following his hand around.

Neither of you say a word and you don’t dare move to try and look at the clock or your phone. Just watching and waiting in silence, but together. A shared silence is different than one had alone.

Silences by yourself can feel wrong sometimes but this kind of silence with Changbin feels so right that you almost never want it to end.

Good things often come quicker than they should and soon the buzzing stops. You can hear phantom buzzing still and suspect you will for quite a while. You lift your arm and look at it, it’s finished now but you’re still not sure what it is and certainly not what it means.

“What is it?” You ask.

“An almond blossom. It, uh, it means promise.”

“Promise, huh?” You grin and look at Changbin's pink-ish face.

You expect him to have some witty comment but instead, he just smiles goofily and breathlessly says, “yeah.”

92 notes · View notes

city-of-spooks · 3 years

Text

There is a Selkie in our bathtub.

A short story about casting off your skin, fishfingers and a dog called Dennis.

She’s quiet now, but usually, you can hear her moving about because the water splashes over the rim and Dad goes mad about the floor.

“Fish don’t pay the deposit,” he says.

“Miss McColl says seals are mammals, not fish,” I explain.

We had a lesson about animals and their families at the beginning of term and there was a whole bit on seals. They raise their pups on milk, like people do, and the mums look after them until they are ready to go out and swim on their own.

Dad does not find this helpful. His mouth goes all thin when he’s unhappy, like someone has pulled on the other side of his beard. A lot of it is grey, now.

The couple on the bottom floor has a big dog that always sniffs my pockets, with fur like silvery wire. It’s called Dennis. Sometimes he comes and watches me tie my laces in the morning, eyes like jawbreakers. He just sits there. And then the lady will whistle for him and he pads home, big paws slapping like welly boots.

•

I think Dennis might have been a person.

Sometimes I dream about things like that. My mouth opens and bubbles come out, floating towards the ceiling, and the blankets go soft and slippery. You can pull them over you like a cocoon. My bones go to jelly inside my skin - but it’s a good thing. It makes sense, somehow.

Then I wake up and I feel even weirder; like someone has bundled all of my left shoes into a bag and dumped them off the pier.

“I don’t know where you get all this shite from,’ says Dad.

I try not to talk too much when he gets back from work, so mornings are the best time to ask him things.

How big can the waves get? Big.

Why doesn’t Gilly sink? Good boats don’t sink.

Do you have to go? I needed this shift. The old woman said she’ll have you.

Hmm. What’s the weirdest fish you’ve ever fished? It wasn’t a fish.

•

Dad doesn’t like talk after work. He’s always quiet. Angry, I think. Always smells like fish and salt and the sticky seaweed that gathers under the pier. He used to get straight into the shower and stay in there for ages, coming out all red and scrubbed like a shiny lobster.

I don’t think flannel ‘once-overs’ are helping because he still stinks of Gilly.

Dad still goes straight into the bathroom, but he can’t use the tub because it’s got… her in it. Sometimes he goes in with a bucket full of glassy-eyed fishies.

It always comes out empty. No bones in the plughole.

I eat my tea in front of the TV, leaving four fish-fingers in the oven for Dad.

The volume has to be loud to drown out Mr Kinney’s radio upstairs - but sometimes I can hear him talking in the bathroom. It echoes. His voice is low, rumbly. There might be a splash, the taps running, buckets being filled and brought out onto the landing. I brush my teeth there and spit into the toilet next door.

When I’m feeling brave, I can hold my breath and push my ear to the wall.

Thump. Murmurs. Low. Dad. Thump. Quiet. Splash. Thump. Quiet. Dad again. Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m there for ages. A lot longer than I thought, because I’m getting sleepy and my toes are going all stiff in the cold from under the door. Then... a click. It’s loud and I scramble into my bed, thinking it’s Dad turning the light switch.

It isn’t.

•

He doesn’t eat his dinner. He talks to the tiles all night.

I’m not supposed to tell anybody, but Dad says not to especially tell Granny about the Selkie.

She’s not my real Granny, she’s actually the old lady who owns the flats, but she’s been here for as long as I can remember. Her eyes are watery like milk and she smells like smoke, but she always stops to give me these little chewy toffees whenever I see her on the stairs.

Dad says I shouldn’t take sweets from strangers, even Mrs Keeley. He doesn’t like me calling her Granny. His nose wrinkles like he’s smelt something off.

Once she came and hammered on the door really loudly when I was in bed, yelling about lots of things. Dad’s weird hours and the water pipes clanging when she’s trying to watch the news. She’s always watching the news.

Sometimes she braids my hair when I stay over. Her fingers curl where they shouldn’t, but they still manage to brush out the tangles Dad can’t get when we’re rushing for the bus.

“You’re really good at that,” I say. My mouth is full of peppermint chew.

I don’t take my shoes off, sitting with my school bag tucked between my legs. I want to curl around it like seaweed.

“My Lorna was always head sore.”

Mrs Keeley sounds like she’s smiling.

“I had to get her hair done quick or it wouldn’t get done at all.”

She ties off my plait with a bow. Blue ribbon. Her fingers hold onto the ends of it like she doesn’t know when to stop - and the jelly-bones feeling comes back, just for a moment.

“You never lose it.”

•

When I go back upstairs to our flat, Dad still isn’t home.

If this happens I’m meant to go back to Mrs Keeley and stay with her a bit longer, even though her rooms are always a bit too warm, like she’s trying to heat the entire place up from top to bottom.

Our bit is quiet. And cold.

I want to show Dad my hair and how pretty it is - it looks like how Shauna’s Mum does hers. Sometimes I stare at it when I’m in science.

The tap drips. Once, twice, three times.

I’m supposed to be in bed, but if I’m hungry the fridge has those leftover fish-fingers from the other night. But I’m not hungry. My stomach is full of peppermint chews.

When I pass the bathroom, my foot catches the spot where the carpet has rolled up. The floor is squeakiest there - and it groans when I go to catch myself from falling. My hand loudly slaps the landing wall. Ouch.

Water hits the tiles on the other side of the wall, a huge spray clattering against the old shampoo bottles and soaking the shower-curtain. I can almost feel it under my stinging palm, and just know that Dad’s going to be really angry about the floor this time.

But I don’t care. I want to see her. Selkie.

My voice comes out all wobbly.

“It’s me...”

I don’t want to scare her, even though I sound a lot different than Dad.

She still hasn’t seen me yet - but knows I exist. My name gets passed around the taps during those late-night chats. I think that’s enough.

•

Dad was in a rush that morning. He went to bed angry and woke up groggy, nearly putting his foot in the sink-that’s-actually-a-bucket. I think everyone had weird dreams, even if we didn’t dream the same thing.

I dreamt that the bedroom was full of water again. Fish swam in shoals through the wardrobe, picking at Dad’s thick mariner’s socks and hiding in the blankets. My shoes floated past me, hitting our bobbly ceiling with a thunk.

I looked down at the bed, the pillows billowing like jellyfish, mattress lifting from rusty springs.

Something is there, right at the edge-

•

I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door. It’s cold, smelling of fish and the underbelly of the pier. Buckets are everywhere - some full of water, some with half-eaten fish guts sloshed up the sides. I feel a bit sick.

Now, our bath is pretty deep. It’s very old, the kind that takes up the whole boiler if you let it, so we have to top it off with pans heated on the stove if it runs short. I can’t peer into it from the doorway, but I can see long, browning lines painted on the tiles. We have those markers on my classroom wall, groups of five scrunched together in a weird pattern.

I think they’re called tally-

A CLICK sounds from the bottom of the tub, the noise loud and sharp.

I drop my bag.

The oily blanket stuffed at the bottom tumbles out of it, along with my sandwich crusts, landing by one of the buckets with a thump. I’d go to reach it, but my feet won’t move.

Jelly-bones again. The world has gone quiet. All I can hear is my heart thumping loudly and the grumble-rumble of Mr Kinney’s radio. Dennis is barking from the bottom flat. Someone is yelling outside.

The tap isn’t dripping anymore.

I step closer to the tub and my mouth flops open, like one of Dad’s biggest catches.

Dead fish. Hook-in-lip.

Stoppered in the spout is a toe, with silvery webbing connected between each one. There’s a long foot, leading up to a shaky knee crisscrossed with streaks of pearly white. It’s hard to make out over the mottled brown patches blooming across her skin, but it’s a very pretty pattern. Like Mrs Keeley’s swirly carpet and-

“Coira.”

•••

Author’s note: I could have ended it there, but I am a slut for the poetic and always over-egg my stuff - especially when I’m stressed. So here’s a Director’s Cut finish.

There’s nothing else to know.

I’m older - and yet younger than I’ve ever been.

My home is spread over miles of water, mountainous waves and my stomach is full of fish.

I have siblings now. A whole colony, rookery and herd of family. We go by many things.

Sometimes the men in the boats call us a ‘Bob.’

It’s a name that hurts the back of my head but the memory always slips away before too long, for I am coated in an oil-slick. Soft and sleek. Quick.

We spend our days playing in the long weeds, hunting, playing, nudging - sometimes we even stretch out onto the beaches and soak up the sun. Children come to watch us, their sticky fingers reaching to pull at our coats but the parents always steer them away.

They never let on to what they really know.

On a handful of nights, when the moon is full and bright, we walk on the shore. My skin is bundled up and always kept within my sight, tucked behind a stump of the old pier.

It’s been years since I’ve seen myself like this. Longer legs, thick thighs and stomach to keep warm in the winter currents. The brown and white mottles running up and down my skin are less graceful on me, more abstract.

I think of a painting made with fingers - maybe mine? - from many years ago. It hung on the fridge for months, until it got swallowed by angry red letters.

But we continue to dance. My eyes, which can see through shifting silt and roaring tides, do not search beyond the beach. I simply spin faster and the seagrass tied in my hair shimmers in the moonlight.

Sometimes I feel a person or two watching us.

One of my sisters laughs and it cracks through the silence like a bark, more voices rising with it until the calls of early morning gulls are drowned out.

It’s the darkest moment before dawn. In this light, the seagrass looks like a dark blue ribbon.

#my writing #writing #celtic #celtic mythology #selkie #mermaids #short story #story #mythology

2 notes · View notes

werevulvi · 3 years

Text

It is the first day of yet another of my menstrual periods. Yes, I wanted to share that information with you. I want to be vulnerable and honest, for a moment. Being a woman can be a bloody mess sometimes, painful and feel shameful. And I'm writing this post to tell you why I'm not ashamed. After I've told you all about those embarrassing little things that no one wants to talk about, or hear about. That alone, you see, makes me wanna talk about it. You're welcome. This post might be very triggering for dysphoric females, but this is written with especially you in mind. But because healing is painful, I won't hold it against you if you'd rather choose to scroll past this. That is entirely up to you. The author of this post (me) is a mostly desisted/detrans woman, still male-presenting, formerly trans man. But despite my first hand knowledge of sex dysphoria, I am not particularly smooth when talking about what used to cause me dysphoria but no longer does. Sorry about that. Otherwise, I do mean well. And secondly, this post is for any women/females who get periods and just don't like it for any reasons, obviously. Now let's get right in there. *

At this point, a little over 2 years of not taking testosterone anymore, I know my body so well that I know exactly when my period will arrive, from a few days prior. I can literally feel my estrogen levels plummeting, which it typically does a few days before the uterus lining starts shedding, and this drop in estrogen production is a perfectly normal part of the cycle as a whole. Then progresterone will rise sometime during the period, and the estrogen will start increasing slowly again after you're done bleeding, and will be at the highest typically somewhere right in between periods. I tend to feel the worst when my estrogen is low, and the best when it's high.

I googled that stuff for my own sake, and I found it fascinating, and that it helps me understand what practical hell my poor body is going through.

How I feel that my estrogen is plummeting, is mostly physical, and a little bit psychological. First I get bloated and no matter how much I fart, my stomach feels tense and sometimes slightly painful. Then comes the hot flashes. First just one in a day, fairly mild. The next day it's stronger, and more than just one. That day I usually also get easily irritated, and my skin feels more sensitive. Everything feels more sensitive. It's as if I'm more exposed in some abstract way. The third day the hot flashes are really intense and often, I'm very bloated and the irritations are exchanged for a hightened awareness of everything I feel. Happier, curiouser, sadder, angrier, more of everything. Kinda like being drunk, but without the rush. I'm getting mild cramps, a light pressure deep within my lower abdomen. Like a gentle tapping on my door.

That is when I really need to make sure I have a pad put securely in my underwear, because she's close now, my period. Tapping on my door. I can feel it.

Late that day, or early the next day, I will get my period. It's always like that. Bloated, hot flashes, light cramps, hightened senses, then bam. First it's medium flow with mild cramps, so I can continue whatever I was doing and not really overthink what's going on. And no panic about staining my underwear, because I was already padded up to begin with. That gives me a feeling of security and control. Like already having coffee prepared for your untimely guest.

On the second day, however, and the following 2 after that, I will need to keep on my toes, change often and be very mindful of my clothes not getting stained, as well as exist carefully because of the pain and lack of energy. Those 3 days my flow will be extremely heavy, which requires an hourly change of the thickest possible pads, slow movements, and being generally very gentle with myself. My body needs to focus 100% on this intense process of shedding my uterus lining very fast and effectively. It's very delicate business, apparently. I will not be able to exercise, or do much of anything, during these 3 days, but I don't mind. I let my body do her thing, because she knows what she's doing, and I know best to be helpful, but not controlling. And I'm thankful that my body lets it all out so fast and effectively, allowing me to resume my normal life quickly after my period's arrival.

I'm also thankful for those 3 days of completely unashamed self-care. Yes, I will indulge in a lot of tea-drinking, movie-watching, hot showers, playing of World of Warcraft, doing low energy arts and crafts, incense burning and cupcake eating. Those 3 days are painful and draining, but they are also very healing, soothing and bring me closer to myself. They ground me, a lot. They are the painful reality that I need to sober up from my previous weeks of ranting about gender dysphoria, the up's and down's of living as a man while female, missing being on testosterone, obsessing about my gender expression, and so on. Those 3 days are when I close the door on that gender noise and... just exist with myself, my material reality, and remind myself that fresh pads, warm rice bags to soothe cramps, the need for comfortable clothes, and standing up for women's rights - are the only gender struggles I really need to be concerned with. Perhaps relatable to you as well. Perhaps not.

In other words, those 3 days may be the worst 3 days of the month for me, but they are also... kinda the best 3 days, and I don't want for my period to behave in any other way. It's perfect the way it is.

The 5th day, after the first mild-ish day and then the 3 heavy, is a medium flow again, and I'm starting to feel better physically. The cramps ease up and the bloating is gone. The hot flashes typically end sometime during the heavy flow. Then on the 6th day, my period is practically over, by my standards. Light flow, no cramps or any other issues, my life resumes to normal. The 7th and 8th day there will be some light spotting, enough to just wear a pantiliner, or even go bold and free-bleed in black briefs.

So that's how I experience my period, every time. But enough about the presumably cringey, awkward, gross, whatever you wanna call them, parts.

I wanted to talk more about how getting my period effects me mentally. It acts kind of like a "reset", not only in my endless gender chaos, but in everything. Those 3 days that I dedicate to self-care, as my body forces me to slow down and focus on being mindful, stop spinning about, sit the fuck down and re-think my situation. It definitely works as a natural "restart" similarly to going to sleep at night, but in a way that instead of just knocking me out, makes me more awake and more aware.

That sense of increased awareness and awakening, which hyper-activates my senses yet slows me down, is what also grounds me. It has become kinda like an unintentional meditation ritual. That as soon as the toilet paper turns red, everything slows down and I change. This change is vital to my mental health. It helps me rebuild myself a little, and I believe that has a lot of valuable healing properties. And that makes me thankful that I'm a woman, because I get to experience this very healing, grounding process, every month - which I had entirely forgotten about, for 5 years, when I was taking testosterone and my period didn't come.

I was of course relieved back then, that I could go on for years without a single period happening. I'm not gonna brush aside that it was a huge relief at that time, back when I was still busy being angry at my body and at nature for causing any females to bleed monthly, because it felt like a punishment for the crime of simply having been born female - but now that I have her back, my period, I don't want for her to go away. It's the ONE thing that makes me hesitate and doubt if I even wanna go back on testosterone again, despite really badly wanting most other changes. And I will grieve losing my period again, if I go back on it!

I need my period. I do not hate it. I do not feel ashamed of it. It's a painful process to go through, which I have somehow managed to turn into something beautiful, and something to be celebrated. Every time it arrives, my instant self-care routine is also a celebration. I look forward to this celebration, every month. I look forward to my period. Every. Single. Month. This is something I thought I would never, ever say. But there it is. I am thanking nature for that wonderful opportunity to sit back, relax, reflect and focus on what really matters: loving myself, and making the most out of the one life that I have.

I hope this post gave you something to think about.

#how i ended my own period stigma and dysphoria #periods #ftm detrans #a desisters rant #self care #healing is painful #poetic rant #my text #feel free to reblog

12 notes · View notes

ketsuyuki-hibana-typed · 5 years

Note

ah. A giyuu x reader modern au where they're already married and have a child?Kind of like those family domestic things, if you don't mind and also, please take your time

Nope, I don't mind, not a single bit. I EVEN THANKED YOU FOR REQUESTING THEM

DomesticAU is kinda my power because I like this little stuffs happening everyday, I HOPE ONE OF THESE DOMESTIC HCS WILL HAPPEN TO ME *cries in single*

In this timeline, you have 2 kids named Mako (kindergarten) and Hibito (elementary school) You already know why :))

Giyuu x Reader (Domestic FamilyAU)

Giyuu is a P. E. teacher, and you are freelance designer. Both of you have cute and awesome children, Mako and Hibito.

They are 3 years apart

Unlike high-spirited Mako, Hibito is more like his father, calm and strategic (in children way)

Like always, Giyuu will wake you up on time in the morning. He also woke his children up

"Mako, Hibito, time to wake up." He patted Mako's head slowly, and shaking Hibito's body

His daughter, Mako, will immediately wake up while rubbing her eyes with her tiny hand

His son, Hibito, on the other hand, covered himself with blanket while letting out small groan, not wanted to wake up

"Brother, wake up!!" Mako will go back to their room and jumped on the bed, until he get annoyed enough and finally went to the bathroom while scratched his tummy

Giyuu prepared the milk and coffees while you preparing the breakfast and Mako's stuffs

"Good morning, Daddy, Mommy!!" Mako ran to the dining table, Hibito followed from behind

"Morning, Mako." She sat and started to gulp down her strawberry milk.

Hibito asked his father if he could go to his friend's house, and Giyuu nodded. Hibito smiled tenderly towards his father.

"Thanks, Da-"

"...After you've done homework." Giyuu said that, not averting his eyes from newspaper

He pouted on his sit, you just chuckled while putting eggs, bacons and rice on the table

It's about time to go to school

"Okay, Mako. Do you have everything on your bag?" Giyuu lowered his body, he put her cap on top of her head.

"Yes!"

"Your milk?"

"Always ready to drink it!"

"Your crayons?"

"I'll draw so much picture with them!"

"What do we say to teacher?"

"Good morning! Have a nice day!"

"And what do we say to the boys except your dad?"

"Go away!"

Giyuu smirked. "Good Girl."

Before went out, you gave Giyuu his lunch.

Giyuu kissed your lips and hugged you at the front door.

Mako will admire both of you, wondering if this will happen to her someday while Hibito showing disgusted face

"Seatbelts, Mako, Hibito."

"Dad, just drop me on next block." said his son. Giyuu nodded.

"Can you drop me with Brother too, Daddy?"

Hibito caressed and pinched her cheek, "Not yet."

"Muuu, it's not fair!! I wanted to pet the dog while walking to kindergarten!"

Giyuu flinched a bit and said that it's not a good idea

Since you're not going anywhere and the freelance stuff is relaxed a bit, you cleaned the house.

You often found Mako's abstract drawing on the table, under the couch and mostly in their room

Sometimes you found drawing about Giyuu holding swords and you wondered why

At school, the other teachers often asked about Giyuu's kids and like to look at your children photos

The students wondering how the hell a stoic and stiff-dude like Giyuu could produce these cute and healthy children

"They are so cute!!" rambled the teachers while he showing their "Play in the mini pool" photos at lunch time.

Giyuu was a little bit proud like, hahaha that's my kiddos

"Of course." He opened his lunch box and found a little note in there.

'Dad, please eat your tomato. I don't like it when Mom got angry. She isn't beautiful anymore when she's angry and I don't want to look at her sad face when she had to trash the tomato. ' -Hibito 🍅

He finally, ate his tomato, while making weird face.

Rengoku cheered on him

"Go Go! Don't make your wife sad!!"

You are the one who picked up Mako from kindergarten

She smiled when the teacher told her you finally came to pick her up

"Mommy!!"

Sometimes, the teacher informed you that she fought with boys

You sighed. You usually ask her at home.

"You fight again." You caressed you daughter's face. Mako turned her eyes away. "Why are you doing that? What did your dad told you about boys? They clearly have strength more than you."

"..."

"...Mommy, if I told you, would you promise that you will not angry?" You shook your head.

"Of course not, dear."

She started his conversation on why did she fight. You listened to her carefully. You told her that protecting something she cherished isn't wrong as long as she didn't hurt people

You didn't know why but your children like to tease their own father, and Giyuu magically didn't get annoyed by their act

They will jump into the sofa, started to climb their dad while he watching TV

He suddenly grabbed their body, hugged them and make them sit on his lap

In one fast motion

Both Mako and Hibito shocked but actually watch TV in peace

There is elementary school agenda, where the parents visited school and monitored their children from behind the class

The teacher will ask the student some questions and usually, they will raise their hand quickly, eagerly to answer the question

Giyuu looked at his son from behind. Hibito rarely raised his hand, and answer the question in small voice

In their way on home, Hibito's face looked gloomy.

"What's with the long face, Hibito?"

"Dad, are you angry because I rarely raise my hand, today?"

"It doesn't matter. It is not the subject you like, right?" He changed his gear. "As long as you like a certain subject and you enjoyed about it, it doesn't matter to me."

Hibito looked at his father with glistened eyes. He nodded and promised himself he will do better

Hibito and Mako like to go to playing-park on weekend

Both of you and Giyuu sat down and prepared the food, while watching your kid from afar

Hibito always protected his sister when she played, he didn't mind if he couldn't play too

But of course, Mako didn't want let him like that, so they will end up play together

If your family don't go anywhere on weekends, your children will watch TV while laying down onto their dad.

"Brother, it looks like in one of your book."

"Mhm."

"Daddy, can we go to the zoo next time? My teacher said there are so many animals there."

"Ok."

Mako likes to show her drawing to her dad and gave them to him

Her dad's face probably stoic but he will let out smile and Mako's eyes will blimmer with shines

Giyuu secretly keep all of them in his file

When you cooked for dinner, Hibito peeked up from your sleeves.

"Mom, is that curry?" "Yeah."

He didn't say anything but smiled widely, while preparinh the table

Giyuu dried Mako's hair and you dried Hibito's after bath

After make sure Hibito did his homework, you put both of them to sleep. Giyuu kissed Mako's forehead.

"Good night."

When both of them finally asleep, you and Giyuu went to your room, ready for sleep too

"You're still beautiful even after we had 2 children."

He said that with the straighest face he had. You suddenly blushed so hard and hit his hand shyly.

"No, I'm serious." He pushed you to bed. "What about a 3rd?"

Ah, it's going to be a long night

#kimetsu no yaiba imagines #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu anime #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba giyuu #tomioka giyu x reader #tomioka giyuu x reader #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyū #demon slayer tomioka #giyuu tomioka x reader #giyuu x reader #kny giyuu #kimetsu no yaiba scenarios #family au

339 notes · View notes

silenthillmutual · 4 years

Note

Could I request a prompt with non-binary dankovsky coming out/being outed? With any character being loving and accepting of them? I love ur writing!

I’m sorry this is so late, I’ve had terrible writer’s block recently. I just...wanted to write Sticky & Daniil interacting more, I hope that’s okay!! ----------

Of all the people he expects to encounter on his way out of the house on this horrible Tuesday in the pouring rain, Burakh’s would-be assistant is not exactly high up on the list. He sees him from time to time, it’s true, usually in the shack where the rest of the kids play or hauling some stolen goods to the tailor’s in hopes of better payment. What he’s doing standing just outside the door instead of in is anyone’s guess, but Dankovsky doesn’t need the boy dying of hypothermia. “Good lord, child. Come in.”

She’s about half-ready for there to be some sort of argument, but perhaps because the boy is already shaking from the cold, he doesn’t offer one. His shoes are loud against the wood of the floor, feet stomping as he enters. Daniil wonders if he was sent down here on some sort of errand gone awry, but it doesn’t exactly explain what he was doing out in the rain.

And he doesn’t look at Dankovsky, either. In one of those moody phases, if Daniil had to guess.

“What brings you to my door, young Matchstick?” they ask, and they’re hoping the ridiculousness of the tone or at least the usage of his full name will drag something out of him, but Sticky just keeps glowering at the wall. Daniil waits, but there’s only so much waiting they can do while the boy is making puddles of the floor. Eva’s not in at the moment, but Daniil can’t just leave the mess for her to clean when she gets back.

By now, he knows where the linens are kept. He’s always been too anxious at spills, about messes, took to cleaning his room when he couldn’t get to sleep. It’s not too much of a bother to find some clean towels and throw them at Sticky’s head, but the youth still doesn’t have much of a reaction to the motion, just taking it and rubbing at his hair in a daze.

Which is a problem all its own. Daniil’s not a damn mind reader. “All right,” she sighs, “What’s got you in such a foul mood? More gang warfare I should know about?” Sticky shakes his head, eyes on the ground. “Well? Don’t tell me Burakh’s kicked you out -”

Sitcky throws the towel to the floor.

Daniil is startled, to say the least. And more than a little angry. “I can’t believe that. What happened?”

“I didn’t get kicked out,” Sticky clarifies, kicking at the towel. “I ran off.”

“You ‘ran off’?” they parrot. “That won’t do. You are his ward, he must be looking for you -”

“I don’t care!” Sticky snaps. “I heard him - urgh!” he throws his hands up, and back down, smacking against the wall. “I heard him call you Dankovskaya.” He turns on Daniil, eyes wide. “Dankovskaya! And then I think he wanted to say something else, but - Ah!” he slaps the wall, frustrated. “I didn’t expect that from him, of all people!”

“Ah.” Daniil says. He picks at his gloves, trying to think of the best way to go about this conversation. He wasn’t planning on it so soon. Or, really, at all. Should’ve seen this coming, he thinks; but then, it hadn’t occurred to him that someone might take it the wrong way. That someone would even care. “We should have a talk about that, then.”

“You don’t need to. I gave him an earful.” He sounds awfully proud of himself, through the anger in his face. “I told him that just because you’re - you. You know, you can be difficult sometimes - that he couldn’t just. Get your name wrong, and stuff!”

“Not Burakh and I, Sticky. I meant you and I.”

He frowns at Daniil, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know, doctor. About the testerone. I didn’t mean to look! I was just going through your stuff -” he puts his hands out. “Not to steal anything! I just think medical equipment is cool. And I saw it -”

Daniil snorts. “Is that why my beg is such a disorganized wreck?”

“It was like that before I got there,” he defends. Daniil rolls her eyes. “Anyway. I’ve met other people like that before. I mean, not yet, but some of the kids around town wanna be like that when they get older. So I already know about not ungendering and stuff.”

“Misgendering,” Daniil corrects. “But, ah...” He clears his throat. “He wasn’t.”

“I heard him, doctor. He definitely said -”

“I asked him to,” Daniil interrupts. Sticky blinks back at them, owlish. Daniil sighs, running a gloved hand through their hair. “I asked him to alternate between Dankovsky and Dankovskaya, between pronouns. I like all of them.” He still doesn’t seem to be getting it, or at least not digesting it. “I don’t have a gender, Sticky. I take hormones to feel more comfortable in my body, but my gender is...” they wave their hand. “Not really existent.”

There’s a soft sound of confusion as Sticky opens his mouth, then closes it again. Bewildered, he asks, “You can do that?”

Daniil smirks. “My dear child, you can do anything you want.”

“But I thought you had to choose one or the other,” Sticky says, perplexed. “Like, you had to be a boy or a girl. That’s what they keep saying in class -”

“And this town is horribly backwards! Oh, but I can’t say the Capital is much better,” he admits. “Colleagues at my lab are aware, and many of them are the same. But you really needn’t choose, if indeed you feel it is a choice for you. Which, may I remind you - for many, it isn’t.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Sticky scratches his head. “So what are you if you’re...neither? Can you be both?”

“Absolutely you can,” Daniil says. “And somedays you can be one, or the other. It’s not dichotomy. It’s...more of a spectrum. Or a mess.”

“Like your bag,” Sticky says. Daniil glowers. “Wait, can your bag be your gender? Serious question!”

“If you feel so inclined, yes. Any thing or abstract concept that gives you euphoria in that direction, sure. But It’s not mine,” they emphasize.

Sticky nods, and shuffles his feet around. “That’s a lot to think about, honestly. Now I’m gonna...” he ruffles his hair. “Is it normal to have to think about it a lot?”

“What, your gender?” he nods. “Damned if I know what normal is. For me, it’s always been a question, though I doubt that that answer helps you very much.”

“Uh-huh. No. It kinda does,” he says. “But it’s.” He looks up, and very earnestly. “You’re really cool, you know that?” Daniil laughs. “I’m serious! You know all this cool stuff I wouldn’t have learned if you hadn’t come here. I hope you stay, when it’s all over.”

Daniil blinks. It’s the first time the idea has been brought up to her. Not even Eva has asked. She doesn’t have to ask if the question is serious. She can tell just from the look on his face that it is. “I’ll consider it,” she says softly.

#he's nb transmasc here #misgendering mention #sticky thinks transphobia is going on but it isn't #daniil dankovsky #sticky (pathologic)#ok to rb #nori writes #also it occurs to me i've never written someone switching b/w pronouns #so i hope i did that. okay #Anonymous #mine #icarus.docx

13 notes · View notes

official-ilvermorny · 4 years

Text

Ilvermorny Sorting Game: @aromantic-pride

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff. Being kind and tolerant has always meant more to me than your talents or abilities. My life motto is that everyone should be free to do as they please so long as they don’t hurt themselves or others.

Patronus: Dolphin. I’m relatively open and nice to everyone, including people I don’t know. I want everyone to be included and have a good time, so I try to do that when possible. I’m also not afraid to express myself and be who I am, even if I don’t know people that well.

Wand Details: Beech wood with a unicorn hair core, 14 1/2” and slightly yielding flexibility.

Most Trusted Means of Decision Making: Intuition, though logic is a close second. I tend to go with my gut unless it makes no logical sense, but it is often the push that sends me in the right direction.

Greatest Goals: I want to live my life as happy as I can be, because I know we only have so much time to live. And I want to help others do that too. I want to help them reach their full potentials and realize how special they actually are.

Most Anticipated Class: Healing classes! The art of healing (especislly the mind) is so cool to me, though I would also love to take some magical creature classes.

No-Maj Career: If I could choose anything, it would be a therapist or counselor. However, the current economic climate is not ideal for that, so I’d probably go with a psychiatrist or psychiatric nurse practicioner.

Wizarding Career: In a perfect world, I could be both a healer and teach the healing classes at Ilvermorny. Then I can help others reach their full potential while fulfilling mine as well!

Summer Break: I’d spend lots of time with my family since I don’t see them at all throughout the school year. I would also do some volunteering, and maybe take some local classes in things I’m interested in. It would also be a great time to improve my skills, like a foreign language or music playing.

Hard Facts or Abstract Concepts: Abstract concepts. There’s so much more to them and you can have your own take on many of them, allowing for more personal connection and self expression. However, hard facts are a necessary and important part of learning.

Close Friend Bullying: I would be extremely surprised if I had a friend who was bullying someone. However, I’d pull them aside and (in the nicest way possible so as not to turn them away) tell them why that is unacceptable, full stop. I’d explain how that can seriously impact a person and ask them to stop. If they refuse, I would seriously reconsider our friendship.

Stressed: I get it out of the way as soon as possible. No point waiting around while the stress eats away at me. If this is not possible, I often try to address why it stresses me or distract myself from it.

Angry: I rarely get angry, and it is usually toward my brother who isn’t at school. That usually results in some mean words and angry tickling. However, in other circumstances I try to distance myself from whatever makes me angry and let it go.

Sad: I cry a lot. And usually it just happens as soon as I become sad. I usually need that though, so I can seep into the catharsis and let it go. I’ll listen to sad songs and cry it out alone, and afterwards take a nap. (Crying is exhausting.)

Happy: I take in the moment as much as I can. I’ll smile, laugh, and enjoy every second. Usually I’m most happy when spending time with those I love, so I’ll stick around for as long as possible.

Amortenia: I’m aromantic so my option are pretty limited haha. However, it would probably smell like spring flowers, rain, homemade cookies, and a new book.

MBTI: INFP-T

Free Time: I will spend time with family/friends and do some stuff that I love to do, like play or listen to music. Sometimes I scroll through Tumblr, though I try to limit that as much as possible.

Extracurriculars: Anything related to my interests, whether that be healing, music, teaching, or learning. I tend to get too involved though, so I’m limiting what I do to focus on the things I really care about.

Ilvermorny House Affinity: Probably Pukwudgie because I love healing so much. However, I’m not positive, so hopefully this helps me find out!

———

Okay everyone, take notes—THIS is how you give your answers to the Sorting Game! They are incredibly thorough, precise, and give me a really good insight into who this person is! I know I said they should be as precise as possible, but that does not necessarily mean short! More answers like these ones!

Now addressing the answerer, I just want to say how incredibly well you know yourself. All of these responses blend well together, making you an incredibly three-dimensional person. Obviously, everyone is three-dimensional, but not everyone knows themselves well enough to give answers like these that let a person who has never met you or even really spoken to you before the sense of who you really are. I don't know whether you got your Hogwarts House, patronus, and wand from Pottermore, because sometimes it can be less than accurate, but they all complement each other perfectly, and they fit in with your other answers as well. As a bit of a wandlore nut myself, I think beech and unicorn hair is perfect for you as well—it's definitely one of the wands I would've had you try first!

Anyways, everything else aside, on to the Sorting!

I have to agree wholeheartedly with Pukwudgie. You have a very big emphasis in your life on healing and helping others. That is most obvious in your many answers that literally say you like healing, especially the mind, but also in other places. For example, you seem to be a good "life coach" type of person. You want to help others reach their potential and soar, rather as the best teachers would. (I'm thinking about Robin Williams' character, Professor Keating, in Dead Poets Society: he was an English teacher, yes, but even more importantly, he was a coach, a friend, a cheerleader, a mentor.) While that does not necessarily mean "healer," I think that "motivator" fits best in the House of the Heart too.

I would say that there is a small possibility the Horned Serpent may give you a shot, because you do have your logical side. However, you say also that you normally go with your gut as it's usually right. That is not something a pure Serpent would do. You also have that interest in teaching, but as I mentioned before, it goes beyond the actual academics itself.

So, long story short, Pukwudgie would be my answer!

~Selwyn

#ilvermorny sorting game #pukwudgie #ilvermorny sorting #horned serpent #submission

4 notes · View notes

mrsmess · 4 years

Text

Faves and fails of SPN (season 13):

Favorite episodes in chronological order:

13:1 Lost and found - This is a very strong start of the season, might be one of the strongest intro episodes since the early seasons. Jack is actually instantly likeable, and apart from Dean shooting first and asking questions... kinda never, the boys do good. I also like the side characters, they make it clear that this could’ve been so much worse if some shitty people were first on the scene.

13:3 Patience - Loretta! Brought back from season 1 to die instantly. Oh wow. The SPN-way. But at least I dig the story. And Jody is here. And Sam is sweet to Jack. I’m fine.

13:4 The big empty - Cass is in the upsidedown. Jack goes hunting. Incidently, this discrepancy between the brothers is the kind I can get behind because it’s based on something real - a new family member, the loss of another, not some abstract drama where one of them lets their fear get the better of them and creates drama w/o even talking to the other. Spooky space entity in the big empty. Misha Collins, everyone! Nice. A kind shapeshifter. ”Even monsters can do good in this world.” Dean communicating sincerely. ”I need you to keep the faith, for both of us.” Cass - An angel so annoying that the big empty itself spat him back out.

13:5 Advanced Thanatology - honestly the brothers, loving them extra much this season, even when they argue. Hung-over Dean. Fun. Killing yourself for three minutes... Jeez, have you learned nothing ? No? Oh ok. It’s just a little death. And Sam’s reaction is more exhasperated than anything, it’s... funny. And then: ”I saw Cass kill you!” Yeah, like that matters. Also nice that the show finally ties up that whole how-do-people-die-w-no-death-thing.

13:6 Tombstone - STOP using ”but you died” as an excuse why people shouldn’t be back! Coming back from the dead isn’t just reserved for the Winchesters you know! Team free will 2.0. Nice! ”He’s an angry sleeper, like a bear” *spits out coffee* are you trying to kill me?! ”It’s good to have you back, Cass” to be constantly baffled by you. Jeez, the cringe! And the undertaker! Looking like a retro pinup crossed w Rosie the riveter! What a treat. Dean being a fanboy (and oh technically, couldn’t this obsession with cowboy-criminals count as a true crime -fad? No? Oh well.) Dean crawling through the ghoul-paths, referencing Die Hard. Good episode. Dean forgiving Jack. Sweet. Too bad Jack’s having none of it. They *have* raised a Winchester.

13:7 War of the worlds - a torture scene is the quickest way for me to start rooting for whoever is being tortured. Even Lucifer. Hey, and it’s also the quickest way to end up- if not on the fail list, then at least off the fave list. Oh, Ketch is back. Gun, mouth, now. Noooo, a twin! Shoot me twice. Fail list. Can’t be helped. Lucifer coming to Castiel’s rescue and burnin the brothers ”with their second-guessing and whining.” And Asmodeus showing up. Luci being sassy. Oh gods. Not an evil twin. I’m changing my mind, it stays on the fave list- what’s going? Oh I know: it’s an entire season of a soap crammed into one Supernatural episode. All the soap-tropes. It’s hysterical!

13:8 The scorpion and the frog - Dean insulting Smash’s excellent shoes. I rly don’t think you are in a position to criticize anyone’s wardrobe. Smash and Grab are funny. And the setting is too. And the brothers are really excellently cast in their roles in this heist: Sam as the awkward nerd and Dean as Mr TCB. Dean putting his hand into the bocca della verita! Sam: ”Dean! He’s immortal!” Dean: *knocks Shrike out*. Oh Dean. ”I just had an idea, but it’s a little crazy.” ”I’m good with crazy.” Crazy’s the only game in town. The Winchesters and the curveballs. Rolling Shrike in front of them. Brilliant! Good ending. But Sam! You know how to kill anything but you don’t know that you don’t blow on a burning piece of paper to put it out? .... *shrugs* that actually makes sense.

13:9 The bad place - instantly liking this artist. Crazy about the premise 3 minutes in. And very upset 5 minutes in. Poor Derek! The return of Patience, I’m equally pleased and distraught, stay away, girl! And Kaia! And Dean coming around to Jack. That’s sweet. Jeez, is that a helicopter shot. Hella pretty! Omg! Finally giant monster time! *chills* i have been waiting for this my whole life.

13:10 Wayward sisters - Holy hell. This season has been frickin awesome so far, and now I get all my babies together. Saving Sam and Dean. Finding Kaia. My heart is just full of rainbows.

13:12 Various and sundry villains - Oh no! I liked Dale. See here we are again, using actors from previous seasons: it’s the chick from Twihard and apparently she’s not random enough. Ugh . Oh! So this is a goofy!Dean episode! Those are usually welcome. The setup for this is very annoying though. Thank godess for Rowena! Bringing all the truths. I think I love her. Woah. Killing the girls like that. Harsh. Sam being soft and giving her the spell. I love him.

13:17 The thing - this episode makes me realise there’s not enough tentacles in Supernatural. Gabriel! Back with the boys! I’m so pleased.

13:18 Bring ’em back alive - Charlie! Gabriel! Lucifer! This is just a deeply satisfying episode. On multipel levels. I love the characters standing up for themselves, in different ways. Charlie’s simple line: ”that’s not your call” struck a cord; not everybody chooses to join your fight, some have their own and the right walk away from yours.

13:19 Funeralia - the right amount of silly according to Mr Mess and that counts for something around here. Sam showing genuine remorse at shooting Rowena and Rowena being genuinely upset that he would. I’m moved. And Rowena’s consession. The boys giving Rowena a pep talk! My heart!

Fail episodes in chronological order:

13:11 Breakdown - Donna is always a win, but dark and gritty? And monsters on the internet. Nah. Too much torture porn.

13:22 Exodus - have I mentioned that I don’t watch Supernatural for the post-apocalyptic scenarios? If I’m expected to deal with that type of grit I’m gonna need a whole lot more kissing.

13:13 Devil’s bargain - Ketch’s mere presence is enough to put this episode on the fail list. If he’s gonna be in this show the least he could do is to regrow that beard of his. Also the fact that Lucifer simply cannot chill. Gabriel is back but alas, doesn’t make up for the episode.

Honorable mentions:

Og and Magog are two hoots and a half.

The animators making the brothers equally tall in Scoobynatural. That’s adorable!

Camo-Samo in the final episodes.

Jack saying I love you to Sam in the final episode kinda killed me.

Mediocre mentions:

The rising son - Can tell pretty early that this is gonna bore me, and it does, but any scene with Jack and the boys is good. ”What would Mr Rogers do?” Good question. ”Dean feels like he has to protect everyone.”

Unfinished business - always here for Gabriel/Loki stuff, especially when it involves both Gabriel and Loki. But idk, vengence as a theme... not my favorite. Mary is sweet though.

Beat the devil - Rowena and Gabriel, I’m just so happy. But wtf were they thinking leaving Rowena w Lucifer. That pisses me off. Almost so that I can’t enjoy the reunion of Jack and Sam. Almost.

Summing up:

The shining star of this season is Jack.

It feels a bit like this is what I’ve been waiting for, for the boys to use what they know constructively and practically and personally: when they’ve met people in need of guidence before they’ve ditched them with someone they’ve deemed as more maternal but now they take Jack with them, which allows them both to be big brothers. That’s good.

#supernatural #spn meta #favorite episodes #no longer a rewatch #no this is not a supernatural blog

5 notes · View notes

benxsilvia · 4 years

Text

The Fight || 2003 || Zoe & Lenny

Silence hung over the table like a heavy fog, making the space feel smaller than it was, crushing and claustrophobic. The table was set with lamb stew, injera and a few dishes of berbere spiced vegetables, because goddammit he was trying here…but as Lenny glanced over at Zoe, he saw her pushing the food around her plate with a sullen look on her face. Guess I can cross Ethiopian food off the list of bribery tactics. It had been a month already, and nothing he did seemed to make a difference to Zoe’s defiant attitude. He hadn’t said anything when she moved into the den and made a mess of it, or when she ignored him even though he could be talking straight to her face. Lisa had given him advice and he was trying to do what she said but it really didn’t seem to matter. Zoe was not making the transition easy.

Nothing about the situation was easy in the slightest, in all honesty. Figuring out how to be a parent, adjusting schedules so accommodate for Zoe’s school, figuring out how to live with each other…and of course, ignoring the recurring flashes of Zoe seeming like Lisa: looking like her, smelling like her, moving like her. It was distracting and it made Lenny feel even worse each time it happened. She was fifteen, and Lisa had only been sixteen when they met and started their crazy relationship, getting married less than a year later, and getting pregnant almost right away. The resemblance was uncanny and enough for Lenny to experience a tug of attraction and lust deep in his stomach now and again. That might be the worst part of it all. Anytime a thought like that even crossed his mind, it was quickly followed by a deep sense of shame. She’s fifteen. She’s your daughter. She is not Lisa.

Lenny chewed his food slowly, not taking his eyes off Zoe, who was still unenthusiastically turning the meal he had prepared into abstract art on her plate. Her resemblance to Lisa disappeared in moments like this, when he was frustrated and angry with her. His usually calm demeanour was thrown into chaos because he just didn’t know what to do to crack her shell. She didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in getting to know him, patently refusing to open up, to talk, sometimes to even make eye contact. He was admittedly discouraged and found himself wondering how they were going to make it through the next five months if this kept happening. He was fairly sure Zoe was texting Lisa nightly to complain about him - something he couldn’t imagine she appreciated while on location. Their lines of communication had closed again ever since she stopped responding the night she left, but Lenny was confident he’d be getting an earful once she came back from China.

He took another sip of beer and cleared his throat, fiddling with his fork nervously. Talking to Zoe about her behaviour was probably the worst possible subject to try and broach peacefully, but he could practically smell the marijuana wafting off her from four feet away, and his own stash was noticeably lighter when he had dipped into it a few hours ago to take the edge of his anxiety. Lenny believed in fate and karma, but not coincidence. He braced himself for what he was sure would be an extremely negative reaction.

“Zo, look...whatever you and your mom used to get up to, it ain't gonna fly with me. I don't want you smoking pot in this house. You’re too young, okay? And don't think I don't know where you got it from.” His eyes met hers and he tried to keep his voice steady, already seeing her starting to get riled up in retaliation. “Don't play with me, we both know you took it from my room. You shouldn’t even be in there, and you definitely shouldn't be taking stuff that doesn’t belong to you. C’mon. You know better than that. We raised you better than that.”

A month had passed since she arrived at this hell-hole, and Zoe was not looking forward to this joint dinner.

Lenny was trying. He let her have the den and hadn’t said anything to her about how messy she kept it. He didn’t force her to have dinner with him every night like they were some cute little family and gave her as much space as she wanted - so much so, that sometimes she wasn’t even sure if he was around. And Zoe wasn’t sure whether she should appreciate it - be happy that he wasn’t pretending to be this ‘big man parent’ and interfering in her life, or be angrier about it - because he didn’t seem to care. And that made her angry.

So she protested as loudly as she could: made the den so much of a disaster that even she felt it was getting out of hand, ignored him to his face as he tried to make conversation with her, and generally was very, very unpleasant to be around.

Maybe a small part of her, the part of her that was the most grown up, knew she was being petty and ridiculous with these temper tantrums. But whenever these thoughts occurred to her the rest of her brain chose to instead double down on the petty with renewed anger, because who the fuck cared?

The first time Zoe smelled weed in the apartment was about two weeks in, and wow, what a welcoming smell. She knew he probably smoked - I mean, look at the man - but you never knew with celebrities. It could have been a facade, for the fans, or for his image.

Zoe had been making ends meet with some shitty strain that an acquaintance at school had slipped into her locker, but this smell? She couldn’t resist - and the next time she was sure Lenny had locked himself into the studio, she snuck into his room.

The very first score was barely enough to fill her tiny tiny bowl: barely one hit, but wow. Whatever he was using, hit different. Even better than the stuff she had been sneaking out of Lisa’s stash the past year.

The second score was a tiny bit bigger, truly not enough that Lenny would know unless he was militant about his stash. Then the third score, a bit bigger than that. The longer time went by without him acknowledging it, the more she took, because… A little bit of her wanted to see how far she could go. She was pushing all the buttons, all at once. Why not? He didn’t seem to care.

Hence the entire joint she smoked before coming down for dinner. There was no way she didn’t smell, but who cared? Not Lenny.

He made Ethiopian food. He must’ve talked to Lisa. That made her even madder. How dare they talk about her behind her back, like she was their actual child? Like they actually gave a fuck about her, like he didn’t ignore her existence for years and she didn’t abandon her the first chance she got.

Zoe knew it wasn’t easy to cook Ethiopian food. And that he had put in a lot of work into this dinner. How fucking dare he.

And so, although her stomach growled and she was so high and she wanted to eat it so badly, she decided that no, she wouldn’t eat it. Fuck him. Fuck everything. So instead she began pushing the food around on her plate, intently creating swirls and patterns to try and pass the time until she could excuse herself into her room again.

She was so zoned out that she almost missed the words coming out of Lenny’s mouth.

“I- What-..?” So shocked that he actually said something, it took Zoe a full three seconds before she could come up with any sort of defense. Before she could launch into her excuses, however, he was speaking again.

A flash of anger tore through Zoe as he continued to speak, masking the fear and guilt that rumbled deep in her belly. But the words that did her in was ‘we raised you better than that’.

“What?!” A harsh laugh burst from her mouth. “What the fuck are you talking about, ‘we raised you’? You weren’t there! You and Lisa aren’t even a ‘we’!” She was standing over the table now, but she didn’t remember standing up. “What the fuck do you know about what I know? Maybe I don’t know jack shit! Maybe I’m like -” She gestured wildly, “- fucking Princess Jasmine or some shit and I don’t know that I can’t just take shit from people!” She was almost blind in her anger.

“But you wouldn’t fucking know that cause you’re too busy selling your body in your fucking - ripped up jeans and missing shirts in front of your hoards of fucking fans to even know about what I know, do you Lenny?!”

#c:zoe kravitz #p:lenny kravitz #para:zoe x lenny #zkravitz2

2 notes · View notes