#and mixing for a friend and it's engrained in my brain how he was like dictating notes for me to write down so he could go back and fix
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wavesoutbeingtossed · 1 year ago
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Baby Taylor's baby voice is so endearing and it's going to be bittersweet to "lose" that on the TVs, but I'm really excited to hear how they clean up (or not) the production on Debut. I mean I know they're going to make it as accurate as possible to the originals, but I mean in the actual sound mixing and stuff. Because I feel like this album could benefit the most from some of that! Which is not to say that the original is bad BECAUSE IT'S NOT, but I think there is subtle stuff they can do with the mixing/blending/instrumentals/treble/etc. to make it shine even more.
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danganronpadedication · 9 months ago
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DAY 14: DANGANTOBER
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(This is how I hope you guys react when you see me make another long post lol)
Day 14: Favorite Ultimate Talent
I don't know what I'm supposed to do about this one. Do I pick a favorite out of the ones that currently exist, nerd out and pick an obscure one from a light novel that 90% of the fanbase hasn't read, or do I come up with one for myself?
If I was an Ultimate, I'd be the Ultimate Yapper/j. For real though, I'd be one of two things, the Ultimate Filmmaker or the Ultimate Theorist. My career goal is to become a filmmaker, running my own movie studio and creating amazing movies for everyone of all ages. Bring back well-thought out movies that are so rare to come by nowadays. If I was a filmmaker however, I'd be a bit of a fraudulent one, since I haven't made any movies. I've written them, storyboarded them, etc. but they are not yet filmed.
Kaito hasn't gone to space yet, and I have yet to make a movie.
On the other hand, I've been told that I'd be the Ultimate Theorist. This is because in my off-time, I'm one of those kinds of people who make fan theories about certain shows and movies I like. I'd talk about one of them, but I fear it'd link back to me pretty quickly lmao. With that theory, I had a lot of people in that fanbase believing it, and it really took off. I actually gave this ultimate to my Danganronpa OC, he's the Ultimate Theorist, though his theories are largely more academic than mine.
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This is him, for real.
This is probably also how I look to my friends and you lovely folks whenever I post long character analyses.
In terms of Ultimate that I'd want, I pick the unnamed Ultimate Make-Up Artist from Danganronpa: Gaiden! According to the wiki, the Ultimate Make-Up Artist is someone whose medium is the human body, applying makeup and prosthetics for theatrical, television, filmmaking, fashion, magazines, and other similar productions. That'd be so cool, and based on the description, I assume they're lumping in SFX makeup into this ultimate.
If you can do SFX makeup, you are one of the coolest people ever imo.
I also think Yasuke Matsuda's ultimate, Ultimate Neurologist, is pretty cool. The field of neuroscience is such a difficult one, you have to understand the human brain, and our brains are already very iffy and strange. Then you have to know how to apply that in a scientific and usually medical sense. Anyone with this ultimate is incredibly smart, and likely dedicated to their work to achieve that while still in high school.
Finally, an Ultimate that appears in-game that I'd want, is the Ultimate Cook. Yes, Teruteru is Teruteru, and I've already mentioned in a previous post that a lot of the food-related ultimates use underhanded means to make their food so beloved. But I've always wanted to learn how to cook.
You see, I'm one of those people who grew up as a "gifted kid". As such, I have been conditioned to believe that everything should come easy to me, and if it doesn't, then I suck and shall never try again. It's a bad mindset, but if you have it, you know its one that's hard to break out of because its so engrained within you. I work on it everyday, but I still catch myself feeling dejected when I'm not immediately amazing at everything I try.
I want to learn how to cook, I'm just scared that I'll try and not be good at it, and then I'll want to give up. It's something I'm trying to work through, picking new recipes to try every week, watching tutorials, Gordon Ramsey clips, Binging with Babish, and all the other cooking YouTube channels. I have like, forty cookbooks being delivered to me soon. I'm an adult, I need to have this skill.
I took a Culinary class a few months ago, and it was actually very nice and therapeutic for me. Despite the constant noise of the kitchen, everything was so soothing to me. Measuring, mixing, mincing, frying, frosting, it was heavenly. I'd only messed up my food three time, and two of those weren't my fault, but my teammate's. I'm still salty about the chocolate chip cookie incidents.
We had made chocolate chip cookies twice. Both times, my group was the only one to mess up. Both times, it wasn't my fault. The first time, the girl who was leading everyone didn't measure enough flour because she was too busy talking to her boyfriend, and the cookies were inedible. I had to scrape them off the baking sheet while her friends gave the rest of my group cookies. The second time, the other girl leading my group didn't put in enough of one ingredient, I think it was butter or sugar, and they came out rock hard and more akin to protein bars. Third time was my fault, I didn't know when to take the food off the stove and it burned.
But since then, I've successfully made beignets, spaghetti and meatballs, hamburgers, chicken mole, and so many more dishes. If I was the Ultimate Chef, you could bet good money on me making three course meals, I'd be so dramatic with it too. Adding garnishes and those pretentious dots on the plate like in The Menu. Ugh, it'd be so fun.
-Mod Tsumugi
Sorry, today's rant is shorter, but I'll be posting more today as well.
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biskael · 1 year ago
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What’s your favorite thing about writing Quilge? (For the mun)
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short answer : it's because he's mean as shit & I love mean characters .
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loooooooong answer : My favourite things about writing him are the various situations I put him in , and his relationships he has with other people . Quilge , at least how I write him , has had a very long life , with a strict affiliation with the Quincy / Wandenreich empire . So, getting him out & interacting with characters he otherwise wouldn't ( barring his criminally short canonical appearance ) is very fun for me to write . it forces him to , usually , enact in a very different light . plus , I have written him for so long now , writing his dialogue , his thoughts , his manner of thinking , is very engrained into my brain now . his character comes very easily to me , it's almost scary .
special mention goes to my ship partner @guadanya , too ! ofc , they're very important to me / my portrayal , and have helped shaped numerous character interactions , as well . quilge's relationship with nnoitra is a mix of dark & light , and there's no easy way to really describe it . they're truly a hunter & a beast , opposing aspects to each other , yet drawn in by the other . my writing partner vi is super talented & a great friend .
I can't write quilge being with anyone else but his monster mans . 💖
I also love all of the more positive relationships quilge has with other characters too ! qistina , maude , tesla , emil and alucard , to name a few ... some unexpected friends like sado & orihime . as well as the more neutral ones , like lyric . there's also a few antagonistic relations , like with rukia , celeste ( well , celeste is quite complex in regards to quilge imho , but i would put it down as more antagonistic ) , kaisa . I have really written a lot of varying relations wih a lot of numerous characters , and it's been a fun experience I really value .
thank you !
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vangoghmusings · 5 years ago
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crush | katsuki bakugou
a/n: as promised, this is the final part of crush!! thank you to everyone who liked and read this lil smau series!! new stuff will be coming soon though ;) 
previously: part 10
taglist: @mixfi @lilacskyura @katsuhoee ​ @moonlightinsanity​ @anime-waifuuu @iiminibattlehero @leeeah-loooser​ @bby-chloe1999​ @verymuchbabey@h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that@unknownweeabo @cookednoodlez@helloshoutohere @star-mum​ @izuku-sakura​ @thegalxe @katsuki-bakugo-owns-my-ass  
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“And, done! Perfect!”
Momo handed you a mirror, showing the finished makeup look. You smiled at your reflection. It wasn’t heavy makeup, you looked like yourself but just with a little more glamour. You beamed up at your friend. 
“Thank you Momo!” You gave her a quick hug before hurrying to change into your dress. The other girls were almost done as well. You had done your hair, and now that Momo had done your makeup, all you needed to do was change. You pulled the white silk dress out of the garment bag. When you saw it in the vintage boutique window, you knew it was destined to be yours. 
You changed and slipped on the dress. Once Uraraka had zipped you up and tied the baby blue sash around your waist, you felt like an absolute princess. The way the silk silhouette hugged your body perfectly was stunning. Uraraka clasped her hands together and squealed. 
“Oh Y/N! You look absolutely darling!!” 
You giggled and hugged the brunette in gratitude. You grabbed your matching white heels and slipped them on, bandages on the back of your heels to prevent from cuts. You swore you would keep the heels on the entire night, no matter what pain the dancing caused. 
You looked at your friends, all dressed and looking glamourous. You couldn’t help but smile. They truly were the best, being by your side through thick and thin. After taking a ton of photos together as well as of each other, you all linked arms and made your way to the gym. 
You gaped at how the gym was completely transformed. Lights hung from the ceiling, bouncing off of the disco ball in hues of purple and blue. Tables full of desserts, catered of course by Lunch Rush. Present Mic was in the corner, DJing and spinning on the turntable with a massive grin on his face. It wasn’t often he got to share his other passion with his students. Students were still arriving, but many were already dancing.
With a strong tug, Tsu grabbed your arm and you were placed face to face with Mina. You blinked, the pink alien-like girl giving you a shy smile. 
“Hey Y/N.” 
You sighed and pulled her into a hug. You could never stay mad at her, especially since she was your best friend since practically the crib. You felt her exhale and hug back. 
“I’m sorry for ignoring you. I just didn’t know what to think.” 
Mina shook her head. 
“Don’t even worry about it. You trust me though right?” 
You nodded and smiled. 
“Yeah, of course.” 
A mischievous grin spread across her face, causing your brows to furrow. 
“Uh, Mina-” 
In one swift movement, she took your hands and spun you around, your eyes widening at the person standing before you. 
There stood the one and only Katsuki Bakogou. He was dressed in a black suit, tailored perfectly to his fit body. He wore a white shirt and chuck sneakers. He looked devilishly good, but one detail caught your eye. A boutonnière was pinned on his suit, an array of baby’s breath and blue forget-me-nots intertwined expertly with each other. Before you could speak, he extended his hand, holding a clear plastic box. Inside was a corsage that matched his boutonnière, the same shade as the baby blue hue of the sash on your dress. 
“Katsuki,” You gasped, looking up from the flowers and to his pink face, clearly embarrassed from his romantic efforts. 
“H-Hey, Y/N.” 
The greeting was stuttered, the words filled with nervous energy. His mind was going blank. Seeing you in that dress, the purple lighting bouncing on your skin, he was mesmerized. 
“Is this for me?” You asked, biting your lip, almost afraid to get your hopes up. 
He blinked and looked at your hand pointing to the corsage. “Huh? Oh yeah.” 
He opened the box and with surprisingly delicate fingers, slipped it over your hand and gently placed it on your wrist. The baby blue tones and white accents looked perfect against your skin. You smiled down at your hand and held it up, examining the bloomed flowers. 
“You look beautiful by the way.” 
You looked up at him, he was being genuine. 
“You look beautiful too, Katsuki,” You giggled. 
He turned away, his face reddening by the second. He would be mad at the comment, but he was too happy that you were calling him by his first name again to care. 
“Y/N,” he paused as if needing to collect his breath, “will you dance with me?” 
Your face heated up at his offer and nodded. He grunted slightly and took your hand leading you to the dance floor. His hands were hot and it became clear that he was indeed very nervous. He came to a stop and turned to you, setting his hands at your hips in a robotic movement, as if he had practiced this moment a million times. Which he had. Mina had engrained every little motion and step into the boy’s brain, and now the actions became muscle memory. 
You set your arms on his shoulders, your hands clasping together behind his neck. You stepped forward, closing much of the space between you. His breath hitched slightly, but he tried to stay focused. He was looking down at your feet, making sure not to step on your toes and hurt you as the two of you swayed to the slow music. He was being so careful and soft, it was unlike him. You gently lifted his head up but placing to fingers under his chin and pushing up, your eyes locking. His pupils were blown wide with anxiety, but looking into your caring eyes calmed him down. 
“Are you nervous?” 
He didn’t know what to say. He had rehearsed his words so many times in his head, in the mirror, to Mina, and the moment was finally here...and he croaked. Instead of speaking, he simply stared at you, soaking all of your features in his gaze. Your nose, your eyelashes, your lips, they were all so perfect. He couldn’t help but fear he would taint all of it, all of you. 
“Katsuki?” You asked again, provoking him to stop his dazing. He looked down again, but this time with a look of frustration. He huffed and looked back up at you, waiting for his reply. 
“I don’t know how to say this, so bare with me.” He huffed once more and locked eyes with you. “I like you dumbass- er, Y/N. I like you. A-and in that time that you were angry with me and ignoring me, it sucked. It felt like hell not talking to you and you wouldn’t even look at me in class or sit next to me at lunch- it, it fucking sucked. S-so don’t do it again.” 
He watched as your face broke into a massive smile. 
“You like me?” 
He rolled his eyes in frustration. 
“Weren’t you listening dumbass? Why do you think I was so damn nervous-” 
You cut him off, your lips muffling the end of his sentence. His eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him, and he happily kissed back. But he was more than happy, he was elated. Your feelings were mutual. He wasn’t sure he could handle one more day of you ignoring him and sending glares in his direction. 
You giggled against his lips as he moved his hands onto your waist, pushing the small of your back to bring you closer to him. The vibrations of your laugh against his lips made his body buzz with joy. You were his and he’d be damned if anyone took you away. 
They two of you pulled away, a grin on your face and an expression of relief on Bakugou’s. A sudden flash caught your attention, and you both turned to see Mina snapping a photo, surrounded by your classmates who were hooting and hollering in congratulations. You blushed bashfully as Bakugou growled and stepped towards your peers. 
“Why, you little-” 
The sound of a record scratch broke the scene, Present Mic starting a new mix. 
“I love this song!” Jiro squealed, grabbing Momo’s hand and pulling her into the dance pit. The other girls followed behind, and soon the boys did as well, but not without giving Bakugou pats on the back and a few whistles. He grunted at their actions, a tint of embarrassment shown in his pink cheeks. 
You giggled and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. 
“I like you too, Katsuki.” 
He rolled his eyes at your cheesiness and took your hand in his, dragging you to the pit where the rest of your friends were.
“Shut up dumbass, let’s go dance.” 
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desiraypark · 5 years ago
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Boiling Point (Pt. I)
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So, on another platform, @yourpaterson​, @leather-and-embers​, and I started a little something. It got angsty. It got love triangle-y. Hate-sex was involved. A lil’ jealousy. I’ve decided to expand upon this potential love triangle with a backstory for “Desiray”. Characters: Desiray (as a character) x Kylo Ren x Paterson (not yet mentioned)
Disclaimer: This backstory is fiction. None of it is a reflection of my personal life, my childhood, or even my personality. // Content Warning: Abuse (memories of); engrained misogyny; broken home; broken mother/daughter relationship; broken (non-existent) father/daughter relationship; child abuse; burns; abortion mention (as punishment/in an abusive tone). Mentions of supernatural abilities. 
When did Desiray know she was “alone”? When she was 15 years old.
“Watch the pot on the stove for me, will you?” Mama requested. Desi nodded. Her sister sat across the table from her, doing her homework. Desi was doing the same. Mama left the pot of boiling noodles when she went to use the restroom. 
Bubbling, bubbling--not quite ready.
No one knew it, but Desiray was at a breaking point. Her first boyfriend--well, who she thought was her boyfriend--he’d denied her in front of his friends to raucous laughter.  “I’m not trying to be your boyfriend, I was just trying to fuck,” he’d said once the laughter subsided. 
____________________
Even when she was an embryo, Desi had learned that no matter how often and how much people hurt you--especially men--you must remain dignified. Ladylike. Take verbal and physical assault in stride. Your patience would be rewarded, someday.
“I should have made you get an abortion,” Desi heard her father say when she was floating in her mother’s belly. Yes. 
"Who...who told you that?” Mom asked when Desi brought it up.
“You should have gotten an abortion like dad said.” That’s exactly what Desi told her mother in an argument.
“Who...who told you that?”
“I heard him say it.” _____________________
Dad was in the living room watching television with a drink in one hand and an appetizer of a sandwich in the other. Because he was the only one in the home deserving of an escape from his family. And of course, when his mental vacation was over, he decided to bring hell to his wife.
Bubbling, bubbling...one more minute.
Voices raised. Desi rubbed the weariness away from her forehead--hoping that her ability to hear might be temporarily erased with the rub. Dawn, her sister, shrunk in her chair. Mama came into the kitchen. Sigh. That usually resulted in Desi and Dawn being caught in the crossfire. 
Bubbling, bubbling...turn the burner off. Move the pot. 
Mama wouldn’t finish dinner tonight.
To this day, Desi still can’t quite remember what they were arguing about. But she remembered the important things. 
Her own angry scream. 
“Leave her alone!” a declaration of independence. 
Her father’s screams--his dampened and steaming back. The penne noodles on the floor. 
The most painful memory: her mother screaming “Desi! What is wrong with you?!” Her father never hit her, her mother, or her sister ever again. Instead, he found lovers to impose the violence of his fist or mere presence upon. Dad came home when he wanted. And Mom became Desi’s silent aggressor--resentful that her daughter had disrupted her normal. 
That year, Desiray learned that she was alone. But she refused to be helpless. 
____________________
Years Later
The First Order base was interesting, to say the least. A Galaxy History major, Desiray responded to a holonet posting for a ‘Historical Transcriber’ with the base. The main part of her job was to transcribe the data and recordings of old (or aging) droids and other receptacles of archival information. The “second” part of her job came later--when she quickly grew tired of hauling droids to the repair department when one failed her. Soon, she learned how to repair them herself, and became an unofficial repairwoman of all droids.
It was her second day on the job when she sat down in the cafeteria. After two bites into her sandwich, she felt someone staring at her. Whatever kind of Spidey senses or intuition she was "gifted” at birth, she considered it more of a curse than a blessing. Sometimes it came in handy, being “wise” or “empathetic”, as she’d been described. But other times, she just wanted to eat a porg breast sandwich without ~feeling something~. 
Her eyes scanned the room--slowly and inconspicuously--until they landed on a tall figure dressed in black, talking to an officer. But he was looking at her. She knew he was.
She’d seen this guy on her first day and noticed that people moved hastily out of his way. If you asked her, she’d seen scarier. She placed her focus back onto her sandwich.
“Grown ass man walkin’ around in a Party City costume,” she thought to herself. 
Desiray glanced up again and the man was gone. 
Kylo Ren. 
She’d heard that “Kylo” was his title and not even his first name. A “mysterious” type. Whatever.
One day, she’d happen to have been walking past the control room when he was throwing one of his infamous tantrums. She just shook her head. 
“What a fucking brat.”
Suddenly, Desiray felt her arm being yanked and her body being pulled into the control room. Ren towered over her and pushed her against a wall. 
“Do you have something you’d like to say to me...” His head tilted down to look at her identification badge. Or her tit. Or both. “Parker?”
“If I did, I would have said it,” Desiray spat back. She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge an inch.
“Every time you walk past me, something bitchy runs across that brain of yours. Why?”
“I suppose your bitchiness just rubs off on everyone, Mr. Ren. Now, can I go to my office?”
Desiray couldn’t see his face. But she knew he was smirking. A deadly combination of anger and lust radiated from his flesh and past all of the shit he was wearing. 
“A little girl pretending to be tough. We’ll see how long that lasts...”
And with that, Ren walked out of the control room, leaving Desiray standing against the wall--catching her breath and calming the beat of her heart. A beat of fear mixed with anger. 
One month into her new job. Almost two months in a new city--about 25 miles away from her hometown... 
...and she’d already come across yet another man who needed another pot of hot water thrown against his back.
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wickednerdery · 5 years ago
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Title: The Guest Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: The Night Manager Pairing/character: Jonathan Pine/OC Rating: Teen Summary: “You worried about her, Shakespeare?” Notes: This is something that’s been bouncing in my brain for, like, almost a year (on-and-off)…still not sure I have more than snapshots, but it finally came out onto paper just now lol!
Masterlist - Previous Chapter
“A hotelier staying in a hotel for vacation? That’s like...” Qi thinks, throws up hands. “A boat captain going on a cruise!”
Jonathan chuckles. “Well, what do you suggest? I rough it in the Rocky Mountains? Hike the Appalachian Trail?”
“You going Grizzly Adams?” She looks him over with a smirk, nods emphatically. “I could get behind that. In front of it, on top of it...Whatever you’d prefer, to be honest.”
He’s quickly realized her flirtiness is second-nature, not something to be taken with great seriousness. “Do you live close by, Qi?”
“Down in Boston.”
“You come up here often then?”
“When I’m nearby or my cousin calls for my help.”
“You were nearby?”
“Nah, she called. Wants me to cover for her at the hotel while she helps a friend, which means you’ll be all mine...” She bumps Jonathan, throwing herself off, but barely moving him. “So to speak.”
Jonathan holds back, thinking of the best approach, then smiles. “So, she is as helpful to friends as she is guests then?”
“Well, I think this is a little of column A, little of column B, situation.”
“She often make friends with her guests?”
Qi laughs. “Only the ones she likes. Or the repeat guests because, you know, loyalty.”
“Hmm, loyalty.” Something he feels he both has too much and not enough of, in turn.
“Please tell me she’s been making friends with you though, otherwise I’m gonna have to smack her on principle.”
“She’s been nothing but kind to me.” Jonathan smiles. “How long will you be staying?”
“Kay said two, maybe three, days, unless she gets held up, but she always calls if that happens.”
“This is something you do often then?”
“Often enough to know the drill.”
“The drill?”
“How to run the hotel without needing to call her.” Qi shrugs before shifting focus to him. She asks about his family, his past, and all those things he prefers not to speak on. Yet he remains polite, answers just well enough to satisfy, as they close in on the hotel. 
Kay is outside speaking with a man Pine recognizes as Ricardo from the passports. They seem friendly, but not exactly friends. There’s care, but not closeness, as they pack her car. 
“Not even a goodbye meal?” Qi calls out, getting Kay’s attention and then smile.
“We’re already running late.” She heads over, meeting her cousin in the parking lot for a hug. “We’ll do a nice meal with lots of drinks when I get back, I promise.” She catches the eye of Pine, but says nothing to him. “I’ll be back in a few days, if anything serious comes up just contact me, okay?”
“Will do.”
Pine watches as Ricardo gets into the passenger seat, Kay heading to the driver’s. “And make sure May does her chores and, whatever you do, don’t buy her a phone!”
Qi laughs. “Yup, okay, new cell and swimming all day, got it! Take care, text tonight, if you can!” She waits until Kay’s pulling out onto the street, then turns to Pine. “Come on, Shakespeare, nothing to see here, go get into your trunks and give the lonely wives’ club here a show, yeah?”
Jonathan chuckles as he heads into the hotel lobby with her.
***
For the following few days Pine keeps an eye on May and Qi both. It isn’t to say he doesn’t think Qi capable of what she’s been tasked with - she shows herself to be as professional as Kay - but that he simply feels the urge, need, to protect what Kay’s clearly worked so hard to create.
On the third night of Kay’s absence he watches May swim in the pool on its final hours of being open. No one else is around, most guests out for dinner or altogether in for the night. From his spot he takes in the sounds of TVs mixing with the ocean, the trees swaying in the distance, the splashing of May. Everything is peaceful save his mind as it runs through countless possibilities of what Kay is doing, how it may go wrong, what must be done if it does...
“Good Lord, I don’t know how you do it.” Qi steps out with a sigh, finally having closed the front desk for the evening.
“Beg pardon?”
“The people, the complaints, the special requests you can’t possibly fill because, hello, you’re not The Four Seasons.”
Jonathan can’t help but smile. “You get used to it eventually.”
“Don’t say such terrible things!” She mocks horror, laughs with a shake of her head. “This is so not my thing. I swear, if I have to keep it up much longer I’m gonna snap. I mean, full-on ‘go fuck yourself, bitch’ at a guest meltdown.”
He chuckles. “Hopefully your cousin will return soon.” Grows serious. “You’ve heard from her, yes?”
“Oh, yeah.” She smiles, nods. “Yeah, yeah, she crossed the border, like, yesterday, I think. She always spends an extra day or two though. I swear, it’s her only vacation time without May.” Qi laughs, then sighs. “I gotta finish up some paperwork, keep an eye on May for me?”
“Of course.” Then, he finds he can’t help himself. “Qi?”
“Yeah?”
“Kay...”
“...Yeah?” The woman grins almost mischievously.
“She is...careful in her favors, yes?”
“You worried about her, Shakespeare?”
“It’s part of the profession, I suppose.”
“Sure it is.” Qi takes a deep breath. “Yes, she’s careful. She’s always careful. She can’t afford not to be.” She signals to May with a nod, then smiles reassuringly to the man. “Don’t worry, Jonathan, she’s a professional.”
“Professional favor provider?”
“Something like that.”
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Yay, another one finished and I finally like it enough to post, woohoo!! So, obviously, Kay’s got a little side something happening, and I’m not telling what it is. You’ll find out when Pine does...it’s more fun that way, haha! Obviously though, Pine’s getting as curious as he is invested in Kay and what she might be doing - I think part is that his spy instincts are still very much engrained in him and part is that he finds himself caring for her (and her family) so doesn’t want her in any danger.
(Gifs found on Google, adjusted by me!)
Tagging Who Might Care: @lady-crowned-with-stars @holykryptonitekitten @ultrarebelheart @chibiyanai @beccaliciooouuusss @michellearel1 @sweetfictionalworld @lukeevansandjdmobession @lokilvrr @rizzo87 @alexakeyloveloki @wintertink @moonfaery @annievvv7 @creedslove @wadeyouwitch @cassadius @tarithenurse @kellatron55 @coppercorn-and-cauldron​ @iwasbusybeingdead​ @kavery12​ @green-valkyrie​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @toozmanykids​ @theangelsfightwithdevils​
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static-fanatic-1 · 5 years ago
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Before We Begin
-| Stuck at a StandStill |-
StandStill: Prologue
Word Count: 3.5k
Warnings: Mentions of blood and broken bones, Bullying, Anxiety attacks, Creepy behavior.
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A girl covered in blood and dirt howled, scrapping at the concrete slab that had fallen on her leg with cracked nails. Fat tears streamed down her rosy cheeks when it seemed as if no one was coming for her, her once silvery eyes now blood shot from crying. "Papa!" The little girl hyperventilated when she was given no reply, hand shaking as blood pooled underneath the fallen debris, is this how she dies? Barely even ten and crushed by debris caused by a villain? "Momma! Daddy!"
Thousands of questions ran inside her head, shaking her body to the core with the unrelenting fear of death. The small girl croaked out a long cry, tears and snot making her look all the more pathetic as she flutily clawed at the concrete. "Papa! Papa-!" Loud shifting resonated from above, the fallen walls of the large building she was in moving aside to make way for a hulking figure. Whoever it was was framed in an ethereal, golden glow from the setting sun, like an angel sent from heaven to save the ten-year-old.
The bulky figure swiftly tossed away the fallen wall and jumped down into the cavern, flinging the concrete slab like it was a leaf and wrapping the child in his large arms. His muscles tensed at the loud booms above, the villain clearly ruining more of the city, but that did nothing to deter the figure's bright smile when he looked down. "What's your name, kid?" His voice will be forever engrained in her memory as an enthusiastic theatrical of hope.
"Aiko." The little girl meekly replied, curling into his muscular arms for some form of comfort.
"Well Aiko Shonen, everything will be fine. Why? Because I am here, All Might!" The bunny like hairs on his head waved as his smile only grew. Aiko only ever felt so safe around her papa, and this All Might figure made her feel just as safe as she would feel in her papa's arms.
A deep rumble echoed through the cavern, the hero's smile faltering the slightest bit, but quickly returned when he crouched down and jumped out of the cavern. Wind rushed through her long white drapes, her doe like eyes glowing from the immense strength the blond possessed. An old man dressed in hero's wear sped past All Might, the little girl following the yellow blur to what was happening behind her.
That was a mistake.
A deep feeling of dread washed over the entirety of Aiko small frame and made her feel utterly sick. A man clad in a crisp black suit loomed above all else. Red lightning like sparks shooting through the sky as his bulky frame floated above the toppled buildings and skyscrapers. Just how many bodies were under those buildings? And that mask, that terrifying, black, skull-like mask would forever be burned into her memory like a horribly large scar. Under his pristine black shoes were villains and heroes alike, bloodied and broken and dying.
A large hand turned her facing the sunset, a beautiful display of deep purples and bloody reds littered with fluffy stained clouds. "Don't worry, Aiko Shonen... you are safe now." All Might's bright, toothy grin brought her only more discomfort, it felt strained and off, as if he didn't believe his own words.
A certain yellow blur knocked Aiko and All Might out of the sky and into the debris of a near by building, a loud boom and an intense vacuum of air brushing past. The larger than life blond shielded her from the fall, sliding down and holding her close to his heaving chest. "Toshinori, watch out! Don't look away for one second or you'll give him the advantage!" Scolded the older man, not realizing All Might was carrying a small child in his arms.
"Perfect timing Gran Torino, take Aiko Shonen and get her out of here!" He handed her off to the elder, leaving nothing but dust in his wake as he jumped back into the fight. "Have Nighteye take her somewhere safer!"
Gran Torino swiftly pulled her into his arms and dashed away from the villain. The two made it safely out of the danger zone, a new, slim figure running to Torino. "Take her, T-All Might needs my help against All For One." His gruff voice reverberated off the fallen walls of what used to be a wealthy district. Once again, she was thrust into the hold of another hero, wincing at her broken leg.
Sir. Nighteye dashed across the debris ridden streets, blood and bodies littering them like trash. Aiko whimpered and curled in on herself, each and every detail of the villain attack being engraved into her brain. Not even a moment later she was given to a random citizen, probably a nurse or doctor from a nearby hospital. The citizen took her somewhere safer, away from the villains and heroes.
Aiko looked back one more time, All For One and All Might clashing against each other like titans or gods fighting for the mortal realm. Maybe that's what the fight is about, two titans fighting for power over the weak. That's what it looked like at least, wind pressure from their attacks brought more walls toppling down. She bit her bottom lip, being carried away from the carnage of the clashing gods.
~~~
White hair rushed through the small bedroom, scrambling to find her favorite pencil she must have dropped last night. She ducked under her bedframe, no not there, what about under her desk? Not there either. "Come on!" She whined, shuffling through sketchbooks and notebooks for the fifth time just to find her favorite mechanical pencil. "Oh, thank god!" She exclaimed, grabbing the old pencil, and stuffing it into her bag.
Quickly she collected the rest of her things and rushers out of her room. "Aiko! Hurry up you're going to be late!" Yelled her mother, a woman with a thin yet pear shaped frame and deep bags under her dull violet eyes. A messy bun made of curly turquoise hair rest upon her head. Her shrill voice echoed through the halls and into her room, drenching the little girl with a new sense of urgency.
"I'm leaving!" She reaffirmed. She dashed through the house to the front door. Slipping off her house shoes she quickly put on her outside shoes before opening the door.
"Oi! Aiko, where's my goodbye kiss?" Snarled a new figure, large and muscular with deep brown hair and yellow eyes. He tapped a thick finger against his cheek as he leaned closer to his adopted daughter's form.
Quickly she slipped off her outside shoes, she had quickly learned to never wear them on the floor, and leaned to kiss the man on the cheek. She returned to the front and waved a goodbye as she scurried out of the small house.
The young girl brushed her white hair out of her face, her roller blades now clipped onto the bottom of her shoes. Slinging her backpack securely on her back, she dipped out of the front yard and skated her way to public school.
Wind rushed through long locks of hair, her curly bangs framing her face as she sped through the busy sidewalks. Wide, hopeful, doe-like eyes watched the trees blur past. People and faces smudged by her speed, a grumpy pedestrian yelling at her to slow down. "Sorry sir!" She yelled back.
Aiko sighed at the sight of pink Sakura trees in the distance, indicating how close she was to her school. Skating past the iron gates and into the school, she threw her shoes into her locker and rushed into her homeroom class with only a few seconds to spare.
The skinny teacher glared at her. "You were almost late, again." His hands fell to his hips in a relaxed pose, eyes boring into the much smaller figure. If you moved his impossibly long blond bangs you would be able to see the orange, slitted eyes he had.
"Sorry Hagake Sensei, I woke up late again." She scratched the back of her neck and waved an apology.
"You can't be late if you want to be a hero, Aiko." He scolded, the thin tail and small cat ears waving disapprovingly. "Anyway, everyone here wants to be a hero so I'll go ahead and give you all the course selections." The cat-quirk teacher stalked through the desks, handing out papers that would change everyone's lives.
"Komori, you were going for UA right? Aiko, you too?" She sheepishly nodded when the orange eyes glanced into her own, taking thick strands of her hair and covering her mouth and cheeks with it. A habit she had developed after the incident. Her ice blue eyes looked over to the other name called, a young yet surprisingly fit boy with an impressive quirk.
Komori, a young man with a bat quirk and the physic to make it powerful. He was tall for his age, with a slim yet strong build, the only thing that wasn't conventionally attractive were the thick glasses on his button nose. But even then he made them look good. He had large ears, long fangs, a thin tail and huge wings draped behind his back. Pale, almost grey skin, with sharp purplish-red eyes complimented his short, yet messy, black hair.
————————————————
Name: Komori Suzuki
Quirk: Bat Mix
Quirk Details: Komori's quirk is pretty self-explanatory, he is a bat. Wings, tail, ears and fangs, he has both White-Winged Flying Fox (Mother—Kistune Suzuki) and Common Vampire Bat (Father—Kyūkestuki Suzuki). He has the best of both bats at his disposal.
————————————————
He cackled. "Ha! Really? That coward can't become a hero! Look at her, and her quirk is useless for hero work. The only thing she's good at is being a housewife!" Waving his leathery wings and kicking his feet up on the desk he continued to laugh at her flustered expression.
Komori could only be described as a misogynistic bastard. Aiko and him used to be friends, but when he was young he started all misogynistic towards her, typically using the housewife card against her. Still, throughout the years the two of them stuck around each other. Maybe it was a sense of familiarity between the two of them?
The girl shrunk into her chair, pulling her hair closer to her face. "I can be a hero...." Her soft tone drifted off until nothing but a pen dropping could be heard.
"Eh? What was that? You want to be a hero to avenge your old man?" He jumped on the desk and leaned down, the pearly fangs flashing dangerously. "There's no way you'd be able to do that, you can't to anything for yourself! You're just a damn damsel in distress, so give up."
The teacher glared at him and smacked a clawed hand on the back of his neck. "Shut it Komori! You'll never be a hero with that attitude!" Sensei growled and handed the both of you your papers. "It won't hurt to try, Aiko." He reassured with a pat on the girl's shoulder.
"R-right." Komori got up from the floor and glared at the teacher comforting the smaller girl. He scoffed and returned to his desk, there was no reason for him to be so mean to her, but he did anyway. Maybe he took a sadistic pleasure in messing with her.
"Anyway, this is due tomorrow," waved the teacher as he sauntered back up to the front of the rowdy class. "I forgot to give it to you guys on Monday so don't forget. If you guys don't turn it in tomorrow you won't be going to a hero school." He waited for an answer, his eye twitching when he didn't get one. "Am I clear?"
"Yes sir!" Yelled the class.
~~~
Aiko leaned on her tippy toes to grab her outside shoes and clip-on roller blades, jumping when a clawed hand slammed beside her locker. She squealed and whipped around, coming face to face with collared shirt. "Wh-What do you want, Komori?"
Glazed over plum eyes glared through thick lenses. "Why do you even want to be a hero? It's not like you'll be able to fix what the villain did so you should just give up." His throat rumbled a growl. "Seriously, you should just leave it to me, I'll get the job done unlike you." The violent eyes hardened slightly at her scared expression. "Seriously, Sweetheart, you'll get your weak-ass self hurt."
The white haired girl glanced up and shriveled into the locker. "I-I'm still going to try... Sensei said I should."
Komori opened his mouth as if he was about to say something but was interrupted by a few other delinquents. He scoffed when she dipped past his arms and wings and ran out of the school, struggling to run and clip on her skates. "When are you gonna kiss her Komori? Seriously you've been closing in on her from the beginning." Chattered one friend.
"Oh fuck off, she's just going to get herself killed." The aspiring bat hero puffed his chest and flared his wings. "And what type of hero would I be if I didn't try to save a lady-in-waiting, huh?"
Aiko stumbled past the school gates, recommendation paper in hand. Once she made it far enough she dipped into a dark alleyway and curled onto the ground. Fat yet silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she did her best to calm her anxiety. The girl tightly gripped her hair and shoved it in her face trying to calm herself. "Breathe... breathe... breathe...." She chanted.
Slowly but surely her anxiety levels died down with her calming strategy. She wiped away her tears and sipped on the last of her left over water. "Brrreeeeaaaaatttthhhhheeee...." She tensed at the buzz in her pocket, pulling out her small flip phone to see who texted her.
[Mr. Takahashi] 'Get some Tokoyaki on the way home.'
[Aiko] 'Yes Sir.'
She bit her bottom lip and furrowed her brows, waiting for a reply, luckily there was none so she relaxed. Taking her leave out of the alleyway, the small girl made her way over to the best Tokoyaki shop nearby.
A loud boom erupted out of the same street the shop was on, Aiko worriedly rushing over to the sound. Smoke covered the skies as more explosions went off. A chattery crowd formed at the street entrance, but Aiko wasn't worried about what was happening. She quickly pulled out her phone and started texting.
[Aiko] 'I'm sorry, I'm going to be late. The shopping district is under attack by a villain.'
She worriedly waited for a reply, doing her best to shuffle through the crowd to get a good look at the commotion. A blond, skeleton of a man coughed his way next to you, leaning on a lamppost and looking above the crowd. "Sir? What-what is going on?"
The blond slightly jumped in surprise at the delicate voice, looking down and taking in the little girl standing before him. Something about her seemed familiar, though he couldn't exactly place it. "A villain, nothing to worry about the heroes will take care of it." In all honesty, he couldn't exactly see everything that was going on. Between the explosions and smoke, all he could see was the sludge villain he failed to detain.
His deep, sultry voice calmed her, but the intense expression he wore had the opposite effect. Biting her bottom lip, she shuffled her way to the front of the crowd. Pedestrians around her worriedly talking to themselves, every time another explosion went off they would flinch. She would too.
Finally squeezing to the front of the crowd she saw what was happening. An ash-blond, about her age, writhed inside the sludge monster, gasping every time he could get some air. He screamed when his mouth was free, a violent cry for help that no hero seemed to be answering.
Aiko took a step closer, the water hero yelling at her to stay back. "He-He needs help! He'll die if no one helps him!" She screamed back, staring at the hero with a pleading expression. "You guys need to save him!"
"We can't, no one here can stop that villain. We are holding off until someone more prepared saves him!"
'He can't wait that long', she thought, looking at the frustrated features of the blond middle schooler. But she waited, too afraid to mess up and make things worse. Her quirk would only make things worse.
Anxiously she held her hair to her face, waiting for someone more adapt to the villain to save whoever was trapped. People happily cheered a new hero, Mt. Lady running to the scene. She stopped however, obviously she wouldn't be able to help with her quirk.
The small female was pushed to the side, another middle schooler, this time with fluffy dark green hair, stared at the scene in front of him. His freckles face contorted to a look of pure horror, a strained voice quietly calling out a name. "Kacchan!"
She watched as his feet controlled his body, taking him into the smoke ridden streets to the sludge monster. She gasped and lunged forward to grab him but missed, the small boy slipping through her fingers.
"Kacchan!" He yelled, tossing his backpack into the villain's face.
Aiko watched with admiration for the obviously weaker boy who ran in like a true hero. The ash blond also thrashing with strength and aggression she would never have. Unlike Aiko, they looked like they would be fine heroes.
She is a coward, too afraid to even try in fear of ruining everything. It reminded her of what happened six years ago, how helpless she was when all hell broke loose, how she was saved by All Might before loosing everything. She was frustrated, small tears dripping down her face at her pathetic display of bravery.
Wind smacked her long hair in her face, bringing her back to the present. It was him, All Might! The best hero to ever exist rushing to stop the bad guy and save the kids.
With a single punch, her hero saved the day. The once blue skies turning a dark grey and drenching the debris covered streets. Her tears replaced by cold rain as the crowd waited for All Might to make a move.
He raised his fist high, stumbling only Aiko seemed to notice, but remained victorious none the less. The once silent crowd burst into cheers, praises and hallelujahs for the savior of the two middle schoolers.
A ping from her pocket took her away from the heroic sight. With a heavy hand the little girl looked at the messages flooding her texts.
[Mr. Takahashi] 'Hurry up.'
Quickly she replied back.
[Aiko] 'Yes Sir.'
She would have to appreciate All Might and the middle schoolers online once she got back home. Swiftly Aiko squeezed past the crowd and skated over to the nearest Tokoyaki stall.
~~~
Unlocking the front door and balancing the packaged Tokoyaki drained the last of Aiko's energy. She took off her shoes and plopped the food onto the kitchen counter.
Mrs. Takahashi undid the wrapping, disregarding the younger girl and the paper in her hands. "Go do your homework, Aiko."
"You have to sign this. It's for the hero courses I want to sign up for." A small hand calmly pushed the paper in front of her adopted mother, a delicate smile upon her features.
"Fine, here." The azure haired woman signed the paper, the man of the household walking up behind the two.
"Hero courses huh? You better sign up for UA and get in, you'd be able to pay for our retirement!" The brown haired man bellowed, taking some of the food Aiko brought home and stuffing it into his mouth. "Seriously, you better get into UA." He scolded through chewing.
"Yes sir, I was planning on doing that." Thinking about All Might, the middle schoolers and all the reasons she want to be a hero to begin with, if she had the opportunity she would take it. This was her opportunity and no one would change her mind.
She took her food and went to her room, finishing up her homework and taking a shower. Now with her sleepwear on, all her homework finished, she plopped into her bed.
Aiko's light blue eyes glanced over to a treasured photo, the moonlight seeping from the closed blinds providing just enough light to illuminate the three of the six figures. She was very young when her family took the picture, her host mother and host father's smiles bringing a pang of joy through her heart. Her host mother had long, pink hair and a curvaceous body, while her host father was a muscular lean figure with pitch black skin and sharp teeth.
The fifteen year old decided to wear a yellow sundress that day, a big smile knowing her family was standing behind her. She wished they were still here and she wasn't with Mr. and Mrs. Takahashi... but that was too much to wish for.
She curled in on herself under the thick covers, letting the sweet memories of her past lull her into a dreamless slumber.
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im-a-riverdale-slut-blog · 7 years ago
Text
Apricity C3
CHAPTER THREE -跳动的心
Mixing both sides of the tracks seemed like a recipe for disaster, but maybe that didn’t mean something bad? Just because she was born into class didn’t mean deep down Madsie wasn’t as dangerous as Pea - so what chaos would these two hurricanes cause together?
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You know when you’re a kid, and its Sunday morning, sitting in bed in your favourite pyjamas, the soft, worn-down material gently caressing your skin, and although it’s early, and the birds morning song echoing outside, you’re watching your favourite TV show and you feel like there is nothing better in the world, this ball of content and excitement in your stomach? That’s exactly how I’m feeling.
I woke to the birds chirping, the sun beams sneaking through the sides of the curtains and the heat radiating through creating a warm atmosphere. And before five minutes passed, a massive grin formed on my face as I recalled the night before. A small squeal escaping my lips as I rose my hands to cover my face as I’m sure a blush crept on my cheeks.
“I swear this is the only place in Riverdale people care about.” I laughed as Sweet Pea and I sat in the booth at Pops, the one furthest in the corner, hidden away. The laugh that came out his mouth was angelic, despite the bad boy vibe that emitted from him. “It’s the best place in Riverdale, apart from the Whyte Wyrm on the Southside.” Just as I was about to answer, Pop Tate came over with two menus in hand which he placed in front of us. “Good to see you Sweet Pea, and especially with a young lady.” He raised his eyebrow at the teen before walking away, at which Sweet Pea laughed to himself. “I like your tattoo.” I said, as it once again caught my attention as a vein popped right through the centre of it when he laughed. “Why’d you get it? Every tattoo has a meaning, right?”
He raised his fingers to lightly trace over it, “I’m a part of the Southside Serpents, a gang, and every member has one.” My eyes widened slightly at the mention of him being in a gang. “Don’t worry, princess, we’re not bad, that’s not us, that’s the Ghoulies. Jughead’s a serpent too, his dad is the leader of us all.” At the mention of Jughead being a gang member made me laugh cynically, not being able to imagine the beanie-clad kid with a snake tattoo and in leather. “So, is the Whyte Wyrm like your… ‘hangout’?” He nodded lightly, and his lips parted slightly as if to talk but a strawberry milkshake was placed in front of us pulling us out of conversation, “On the house.” the old man smiled before returning back behind the counter. “Take me one day, Sweets.” Smirking at me, he took the cherry that sat atop the swirl of cream and placed it into his mouth, “I’d love to, princess.” There was a brief silence, where the air around us was filled with comfortability, as if we were friends that had known each other for years.
“Okay, Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious, tell me something about yourself nobody else knows.” He cocked his eyebrows in suspicion and surprise, but quickly shook his head with a chuckle at my antics. “I hate tomatoes. I think they’re pointless and a waste of time.” Rolling my eyes playfully, I crossed my arms and leant back into the soft material of the booth seats. “Dig a little deeper.” Sighing, he copied my stance, his muscular arms folding as he thought hard, and as I looked into his eyes I swore I could see tiny little cogs turning and twisting as he dug through his brain. “I still have my nans wedding ring, in the original box. I kept it after she died.”
My heart was pounding at the thought of last night’s events, at the thought of the beautiful, raven-haired guy with a ridiculous name that asked me out but before I could think more about it, my phone pinged loudly, resonating throughout the silent room. Looking at the screen, it read: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes – Vee x.
*    *    *
After meeting at the park, she took me to this beautiful river; it was soundless, and serene. Besides the echoes of our shoes, the only noise that could be heard was the satiating song of the birds sat in the trees that surrounded us, as well as the flow of the water, washing down the river. “I don’t think our lives have ever been this peaceful,” Ronnie sighed, in a tone of content, as if she was finally happy with how life had presented itself. 
“Our lives definitely weren’t peaceful when our tea parties didn’t go our way,” We laughed, remembering the countless play dates we shared as children which we had supervised by anyone but our parents as they were whisked away in their studies, discussing and planning business strategies and campaigns. “I don’t think Smithers or Wentworth appreciated the tantrums when they refused to put on tiaras and tutus.” We stopped, sitting on a rock placed beside the river. “Eventually they obliged, we were, kind of, their bosses,” Veronica laughed, taking in the view before us.
“Mija, why don’t you and Madsie, go to your room and maybe get ready for bed?” Hiram instructed, as he gestured for his business colleagues to step into his office. As usual, we both nodded, hiding away into Ronnie’s room, away from anything business related. “So.” She started, as she took her hairbrush and patted on the bed for me to sit. As I did, she combed my hair, the butter-coloured locks falling to my waist. “For your 14th birthday party… you have to invite Dominic!” I felt a red hue form on my cheeks while a quiet giggle escaped my lips, “No, I can’t.” I said quietly, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. Out of habit, I fiddled with my hands, twisting the silver rings that were located along my slender fingers. “Why not! C’mon, you like him, he likes you, this is your chance!” She slightly shook my shoulders, making us giggle at my hopeless crush. And that’s all it was – a hopeless crush. Dominic had been one of my best friends forever, and I never want to ruin what we have. Especially over something as stupid as a crush.
“And what about you Vee? Which dashing boy will you be taking as a date to my party?” She sighed, standing up from her position on the bed and walked over to the dresser, taking out a bag of her facial creams and silk shorts and shirt. “Honestly,” She paused, sighing once again and placed a blob of moisturiser onto her fingertips, “Wes, if anyone, but strictly as friends, platonic friends. I’m not the boys-orientated girl out of us.” Rolling my eyes, reached out of my bag across the bed and pulled it to my chest, a mischievous smirk forming on my face. “Your parents are going to be busy for a while, right?” I asked, carefully reaching into my bag. “Yeah, why?” Ronnie asked, tentatively walking closer to me, each stop slower and slower as she rubbed the cream into her olive-tinted skin. “I thought,” I dragged out my words, pulling out a couple of sticks from my bag, twiddling them between my fingers, they were white in colour with one having blue striped over the paper and the other green. “We could have some fun… take off the stress of boys, and school and parents…” Ronnie returned my smirk, taking one them from my hand and downing it without any more talk. “Where did you get these?” She asked, as I joined her motion, taking the Jingle Jangle, and we threw the packaging into her bin. “Nick St. Clair,” She nodded, shrugging off the curiosity of my dealer. “Maybe, I’ll take him to my party, he always knows how to have fun. Who knows?”
We talked for a while: about New York, the time between Ronnie moving to Riverdale, her new life and it felt like nothing had changed. She did seem kind, caring and a new person but I couldn’t let myself be caught up in the web of lies she’s stuck everyone else in, I wouldn’t let myself. I knew deep down that she would never change from who she was, is. Manipulative, fake, deceitful and a murderer. After that night, neither of us were going to change who we were – it was too engrained in us. A permanent stamp, burned into our soul and in the DNA that made us who we were.
After saying goodbye to Vee, I went back to the Five Seasons and as I placed my hand on the door handle, I overheard mutterings and I paused. For a few seconds I let myself linger, trying to overhear the inconsistent muffled voices through the door but to no avail, I simply opened the door slightly before I heard the voices raise into shouting and then into screaming. “Stop! Richard. This isn’t going to help the business in any way, it’s stupid, foolish and will ultimately lose us so much money!” I didn’t want to move but I didn’t to listen to it anymore. The battle in my head rendered me unable to move, my feet stuck to the ground, every muscle, and every bone in my body frozen exactly into place. “But what if it goes right, Natalie. Yes, it’s risky, I’m not denying it, but it will work out, trust me.” For about a minute, they argued back and forth and I remained where I was.
Building up my courage, I walked in and aimed straight for my room, ignoring and avoiding all contact and conversation with my parents – not wanting to alert them in anyway. Over all the years, they had never fought, or at least I’d never seen them do it, they were always this picture-perfect couple. Shakily sighing, not wanting to overthink the situation, I pulled out my phone and hovered over one contact. And I debated whether it was a good idea to call them, if I was being heedless and should let it go. Without further thought, I pressed it down and it dialled. It rang a few times before they picked up. “Hey, princess, what’s up?”
“Um- can,” I paused, playing with the hem of my shirt, biting my lip subconsciously, “can you come over?”
*    *    * “I don’t know how you just snuck me past your grandad but-” Sweets had just made into my bedroom, I closed the door slowly, trying not to wake anyone. “Grandad? That’s Wentworth – the butler.” I said nonchalantly, but Pea quickly shot me a look of surprise and confusion, his eyebrows raising and his lips parted slightly. “Butler? Perks of being white, rich, skinny and pretty, right?” He said, kicking off his shoes along with his jacket and laying on the bed. “Now,” He said, reaching out his arm as if for me to lay next to him, and rolling his eyes as if to say ‘It’s a cuddle for fucks sake, not sex’, “Talk to me.” Huffing, I copied his actions and took off my shoes and sat beside Pea, his strong arms pulling me further into him until I felt the rise and fall of his chest, and surprisingly felt solaced by someone I barely knew. “My parents were arguing and I know it’s not even that big of a deal but it’s not normal for them and I don’t want them to split up.” I felt his body stiffen and then move as he sat up, “Hey, hey, stop.” Looking up at him and into his brown eyes, they were filled with unease, “People, couples, argue, it’s normal. They’re not going to split up.”
Smiling slightly, feeling better just by his presence, he got up and opened my wardrobe. “Let’s look through the princess’ ball gowns, shall we?” I shuffled closer, sitting on the edge of my bed, watching him flick through the masses of fur coats, blouses and skirts. He pulled out my pink fur coat, and as he did his head caved back and his face became disgusted. “I can’t believe you murdered and skinned an animal for this.”
“What do you mean? It’s faux.” I said, crossing my arms, and shaking my head. “Fucking faux my ass. You definitely skinned a care-bear for this.” He laughed, chucking the coat at me, and shivering in disgust at the baby pink fluff ball he had held.
“Does all of this,” he paused, turning and gesturing to the masses upon masses of clothes, shoes and handbags littered in the wardrobe, “make you happy?” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, waiting for my answer. “Yes.” I lied. I thought it did. But I never made that choice, from the minute I could comprehend life I was having dress fittings, hair appointments and blue box presents – I never had a choice in whether I liked my lifestyle. “Really?” He questioned, walking over and gently placing his thumb under my chin to look into his eyes. There was a sparkle in his eyes, something that compelled me to tell him the truth. “I don’t know. It’s lovely and the clothes are beautiful but, would I prefer jeans and something more casual? Yes. Would my parents kill me? Probably.”
As he sat beside me, he placed his hand over mine, and our eyes met. “Why are you so caught up in others opinion of you?” He said, his face confused, “And you’re not?” I retorted, standing up and pulling away. “You hold back from doing things just because they don’t fit your ‘image’, and you shouldn’t. Live the life you want to live; it doesn’t matter who or who doesn’t see because it’s for you.” His voice was slightly raised, as if annoyed or angered. “Me stopping myself from…wearing jeans and a t-shirt, because of my posh girl image, is like you, not going to a dog shelter because puppies don’t match your bad boy image. We both do it.” My arms were in the air, and I laughed lightly at his reaction.
“Okay.” He huffed, picking up his boots and lacing them up. “Where are you going?” I asked, puzzled. He ignored my question, doing up his coat and chucking one at me. “Pea!?”
“We are going to the dog shelter. If that’s what it takes you to do something that fucks up your image, I’m going to do something that fucks up mine.” Shaking my head, I shove the coat back at him “No.” I laughed, at which he got up, standing directly in front of me. He towered over me, a giant grin adorning his face, a mischievous grin. We stood staring at each other for a few seconds, taking in the others stance, trying to read one another. Rapidly, he picked me up, his giant hands gripping my hips tightly and threw me over his shoulder. “C’mon Rapunzel, let down your hair for once,”
*    *    *
When we arrived, my heart swelled at the sight of all the puppies: some sleeping, some playing, some eating. “Sweets!” I squealed eagerly, clutching his arm as I tried to calm myself, at which he laughed at me. Throughout the field of puppies and some older dogs, there were groups of them. An old-looking, greying golden retriever sat watching as these pug puppies started chasing each other around, their tiny yet mighty barks attempting to initiate a play fight with one another.
Out of all the puppies, one caught my eye. It was a tiny grey husky puppy, curled up into a ball in the corner staring at their surroundings, a wallflower. Just as I saw it, Sweets had taken a liking to her as well as he dashed over there and as picking it up smiled so widely I felt myself match his happiness. “She’s beautiful.” I sighed as I gently ran my fingertips over her coat, the soft fur tickling my skin. “She’s a beauty,” he agreed, and put the dog down. “And I’m not only talking about the dog.” He confidently, crossed his arms, his signature smirk appearing on his face. “Smooth.” I laughed, flippantly shoving his shoulder. Which he rolled his eyes at, before grabbing my hand and encasing it in his much larger ones. And as he looked at me, my stomach fell and my heart began racing, “Guess what?” He whispered, loud enough for only me to hear. “What?” I managed to force out, the lump still stuck in my throat, showing no sign of moving. And my heart pulsated so irregularly and sharply, I swore it felt like it was going to cut right out of my chest, right there and then. “I’m going to get it. The puppy.”
TAGLIST:
@quinn-e-dawson @misskarynie @mildy-human
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bibsy · 3 years ago
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“My head is in circles” blurb (re: motherly/fatherly upsets) and I need to get it out
Someone asked me today what positive, older influences I have in my life. I said I can’t think of any. Maybe my grandpa, but I see him a couple times a year. I felt bad saying that when I thought of my parents specifically.
I hate that when I look in the mirror, I see a mix of both my mother and father. I am their child. I am the concrete product of the individual they raised. All the words they’ve expelled in front of me over the years - they’ve engrained in me.
My mother’s responsiveness; it’s effected me. She’s said many times how I have “chemical imbalances in my brain”, that I have to stop crying, stop faking, shut up. Yes. Did my childhood education matter? Yes, that’s where she was wrong. I was motivated to get through school, I knew it’s importance for my future, and I made that clear despite her opinions. Does my college education matter? Yes. I’m not bothered she took back my scholarship money. I can support myself. Do my friendships matter? Yes. They do so much. It hurts to think that she influenced me to not think I was valued. I think about things she’s said. I think about friends I lost.
I think about my dad and how afraid I was. I think about how i’d feel alone with him. I think about how my mom watched him physically hurt me sometimes (and vice versa; I suppose they knew I was deserving, or didn’t want to influence the other?). I think about the handful of times he hit me so hard across the head, and the sensations i’d feel with that. I think about being dragged up/down stairs and on the floor in front of my friends. I think about the embarrassment I felt when they’d see my dad hurt me. I think about how they’d see me cry, and then he’d send them home. I think about being locked out of half the house. I think about not having access to my room unless my dad was home and let me in. I think about how my brother didn’t have a bedroom until we moved out.
My dad did try to be present sometimes. He runs a high stress level, constantly. My mom also has a high stress level, constantly, but she kept food on the table and managed to buy me most things I wanted, and take me places.
I think about being right in the middle of my parents relationship. They told me so many lies about what I knew as truths, and vice versa. I think about how confused I felt, how confused I still feel, every day. I can’t trust either of them. Both of them want my trust. It’s so hard to trust. Both of them want to confide in me. What am I receiving except the hard blunt of their lives?
I worry for my brother. I have to be strong for my brother. I have to protect my brother. He received the abuse of my parents too, but moreso the emotional abuse of my father.
I think about the development of my life, my responses, my parents responses, and how all these individual experiences, added up, affect my behaviours now.
My DNA, my culture, my cognitive abilities, my behaviour, my environment; everything has been influenced by my parents. I have been shaped by them. I try to change my behaviour, do things differently, be my own person. But I can never truly escape either. I look like them. I am becoming them. History repeats itself. I am my mother, and I am my father. I am both of their personalities combined into one grotesque person. How am I a teacher? How do I have such opposing values, motivations, alternative mantras, etc, to live by, yet I am still like them? I don’t want my students to grow up completely in an environment like I did. I want the kids I work with to feel loved and heard at all times, when they are at school. I hope school can feel like their break from home. I hope the time I spend with them makes even the most minuscule difference in their growth. I hope some of what they take from school affects them at home.
And I want to grow into a person that is unlike my parents. But I still have to look in the mirror every day and see them.
I am disgusted, nauseous, and horrified in myself. I can’t think about this anymore. I can’t type about this anymore. Thank you tumblr void. My body feels hot.
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thatonelucky · 8 years ago
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The Jingle Jangle Shamble
So this was a prompt sent in by @lucyyannabel ! Hope you enjoy love! 
Prompt - Betty turns to Jingle Jangle in order to stay awake and find out the identity of the Black Hood. Two days after beginning to take the drug, Jughead finds her in the Blue&Gold shaking to the point where she can’t even hold a pen, looking utterly exhausted. He quickly discovers the source of Betty’s trembling.
               Betty felt like she was drowning. The air had been kicked out of her lungs and she had no safety rope to latch onto. There was nothing that could pull her up to the surface. The only thing she ever wanted now hates her. The look he gave her broke her heart in two. She wanted desperately to hold him close and tell him it was all a lie but she didn’t have the right to. She couldn’t put his life at risk for such a selfish reason.
               She hadn’t slept in a week, she was weak. The sound of the lollipop theme tune engrained in her brain, keeping her from closing her eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. At first, she drank coffee and drank energy drinks to keep herself awake. She was fully aware of the risks but she knew what she was doing. She stayed up all day and all night, never stopping once. At first she was only researching lightly. But the more she heard about Jughead the harder she worked herself. Her main aim was to discover who the black hood was. She didn’t know how, but she knew she had to do it. Not just for her, but for the people who died and the people who have been hurt by this predator.
               The thought had never crossed her mind before, it never would have. But the energy that she saw at Veronica’s party only made her indulge the idea more. It was harmless, she wouldn’t have too much. It’s a onetime thing.
               And so, as evident as ever, the onetime thing turned into a bedtime ritual. Betty thought she could stop whenever she wanted, she knew she had good self-control. She would never let drugs control her. Right? Wrong. Betty couldn’t stop herself from using the drug as an escape. Her usual tight ponytail transformed into a curly mess of golden waves, being a good hiding spot for her red rimmed eyes to back away from direct contact with anything else. Betty couldn’t focus on her grades, her friends didn’t care about her anymore, Betty was spiralling and no one noticed. Well, not until now.
                 Betty had been hiding out in the Blue and Gold offices for most of her time at school. The dusty office reminded her of the good times with her and Jughead before any of this crazy mess happened. She likes to stand and watch certain spaces, acting out in her head the stages of Jughead falling in love with her. A stray tear fell from her eye as she was staring at the very spot where Jughead’s desk used to be. Before he ultimately left her.
               Betty was writing up some drafts for a new issue of the paper but her hands were shaking too much. She couldn’t tell if it was from the drugs, the lack of sleep or the dull ache in her heart whenever the thought of Jughead crosses her mind. She just sits and stares for a while, letting herself fall back into the warm memories of the first time Jughead kissed her, the first time Jughead held her hand, the first time Jughead called her his girlfriend and the first time Jughead said he loved her.
               “I love you,  Betty Cooper.” “I love you,  Betty Cooper.” “I love you,  Betty Cooper.” “I love you,  Betty Cooper.” “I love you,  Betty Cooper.” The words replayed over and over again in her head. Her mind was spinning with pictures of his smile, the way he held her waist, the kisses he would leave just behind her ear. Everything was so familiar.
               “Jughead Jones, I love you.” She spoke out to the empty desk chair opposite her.  She attempted to pick up the pen again, her whole body wracking and uncontrollable. She closed her eyes and prayed for some control. Control.
               “Betts?” A rush of urgency was filled in that voice. The same voice that occupied her thoughts at that very moment. If he wasn’t in a Serpent jacket, Betty might have thought that it was her mind playing tricks on her. But inevitably, he was stood 6 feet away from her, a look of panic etched on his features. She had no words to speak, her body shivered at a faster rate, craving a release.
               “I-I- I’m sorry Juggie.” Betty stuttered over her words, her head feeling very dizzy suddenly. In an instant Jughead was at her side, catching her before she fell to the floor unconscious. Her body was still shaking but she was unresponsive. He screamed for help, ripping his phone from his back pocket and dialling 911. All he could do was hold her tight and cry into the hair atop her head.
               Jughead couldn’t remember much of what happened after that. It was all a blur of tears, paramedics and a hospital waiting room. She’d been in the recovery room for almost 2 hours now. No one was allowed to see her. Alice and Hal had rushed from work to the hospital. Upon finding Jughead crying in a hospital chair, Alice said no words but pulled him into an embrace, letting her own tears flow freely. Alice may be stone cold, but she’s not heartless.
               “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get there sooner and I didn’t see the signs. If she dies I don’t know how I’ll cope. I love Betty more than I’ve ever loved anything.” Jughead sobbed, the shaking of his body much like Betty’s. He hoped to the Lord above that she would pull through. Alice only stroked his hair, keeping him in her arms until he calmed down. He wondered if this was what having a mother was like. Maybe something close would do.                             ��
               “Family of Elizabeth Cooper?” A man in scrubs walked down the hallway, searching for the Cooper family in question. Hal stood up immediately, ushering the man over. “She’s stable; the drug mixed with the exhaustion caused her to have a seizure. We managed to reduce the drug level in her blood but right now she’s resting. You can go in and see her I’ll just need a parent or guardian to come and sign some paperwork for me?” Everyone sighed in relief, she was stable and that’s all the mattered. Hal offered to go and sign the paperwork whilst Alice and Jughead rushed to Betty’s room.
               “She looks so frail. So drained of life.” Alice cried quietly, walking over to the bed Betty was asleep on. She wasn’t wrong. Betty’s skin was a whiter shade of pale, her hair looked messy, and she looked weak. “That’s not my Betty. Someone has to have forced her. There has to be another side of the story.” Alice sat next to Betty’s bed, grasping Betty’s cold hand in her own. Jughead followed in suit, mumbling agreeance before seating himself on the opposite side of Betty.
               Not much more was said that night. Alice and Jughead slept beside Betty in their respective chairs whilst Hal had volunteered to take the floor. All of them waiting for Betty to wake up. And when she did, she told them the truth.
               “The black hood’s been harassing me for a few weeks. He made me cut off Veronica and Jughead. He said that if I didn’t he’d-“Betty stopped, looking at her hands as if any of this was her fault. “He said he would kill them. I had no choice. I was so alone and I figured if I found out who the Black Hood was then I could get back to Juggie quicker.” She paused again, glancing at Jughead who squeezed her hand reassuringly, giving her a loving stare. “I started to take Jingle Jangle to stay awake. I was prepared to do anything if it meant getting my life back quicker. Then this happened and I’m so sorry.” Betty sobbed lightly.
               “Betty this isn’t your fault. None of this was you baby.” Alice placed a kiss on Betty’s head, laying her down and tucking her in. “Try to get some more sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.” Betty nodded at her mother and then looked at Jughead.
               “Can I have a minute to talk to Jughead? Alone?” Betty sat up, ready to face whatever came next. Jughead smiled lightly as Alice and Hal both kissed Betty on the head and then left the room, promising to bring back coffee and some real food.    
               “Betts, I love you. I didn’t stop loving you and I promise that I’m never going to. You don’t need to protect me. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” Jughead held onto Betty’s hand staring into her emerald eyes with every word he spoke. Trying to prove to her in some poetic way that he meant everything he said. “You gave me one hell of a scare; I never wanna be without you again. Okay?” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Betty smiled tiredly.
               “Okay.” She uttered out, kissing him for the briefest second and laying back down to get some rest. Jughead stroked her hair until he was sure she was asleep. Watching her chest rise and fall at a steady rate reminded him that this was all going to be okay. He has Betty. She’s alive and the Black Hood has another thing coming if he thinks that Jughead if ever going to leave Betty’s side again.
  He was a man in love. 
Remember I accept prompts and any feedback you’d like to give me! Just send me an ask!
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daebakinc · 8 years ago
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Mercy - Pt 2
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Please have mercy on me. Take it easy on my heart. Even though you don’t mean to hurt me, you keep tearing me apart.
Pairing: Jungkook x OC Genre: College AU, angst, romance, Summary: After a homework mix-up, you agree to tutor Jungkook in math in exchange for him tutoring you in dance. In more ways than one, you get much more than you bargained for. Parts:  1, 2 A/N: Some swearing. Also, I’m really sorry this has been delayed! I had some writer’s block&even after I finished, I couldn’t get to internet to post it. It’s one of the downsides to living more than 30 min from civilization. TT-TT
That night is indeed the start of a chain of events. The primary one of those events is that you and Jungkook spend almost every night of the next three months together. The only exception is game nights when he devotes himself to video games. However, even on the weekends, you somehow wind up spending several hours with him in that small studio.
Normally, your non-existent social life confines your comfort zone to your single room. That’s not to say you’re a crotchety hermit. You do have a few friends you love dearly, but most of the time you prefer your own company. But for whatever reason, Jungkook renders that rule null and void.
When you could spend time by yourself, you find you’d rather spend that time with him. Jungkook practices almost all hours of the day when he doesn’t have class, but he doesn’t mind you perching in the corner on the mats to work on your own things while he does so. He often forgets you’re even there. His eyes are fixed on his body in the mirror, following its movements, fine tuning them to be a perfect physical manifestation of the music.
It’s one of the most mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. You learn for every ounce of talent he has, Jungkook puts in just as much hard work to honing it into true art. His dedication, his drive for constant improvement is just one of the many aspects of his you grow to genuinely admire. So too is his ability to give.
Mutual tutoring still happens, just not every day. You quickly discover alternating how you devote your time works better. One night for dance, the next for math. Trying to fit both in equally in one involves too much clock watching for either of you. Still, Jungkook makes sure that for every minute you help him in Pre-Calculus, he oversees your dancing, especially during midterms, which you both do passably well on.
Although your arrangement is casual, he still takes his teaching seriously. He goes as far as to devise floor exercises specially for you to practice a specific element. As he said the first night, he focuses on “baby steps.” Engrain the basics in your muscles so they become the building blocks of second nature. Sometimes you see Jungkook get frustrated, but he never verbalizes it. He just gives his head a jerky shake to roll it off and moves on. He’ll either demonstrate the correct movement himself, slowly, or guide your pliant limbs through it. The smile he gives you when you succeed on your own is worth every pull of sore leg muscles and drop of sweat.
After your respective sessions, you usually stay there to do other work as well. The long trek to your dorm is off-putting in the face of the studio’s coziness.
You’ll sprawl out side by side on mats you dragged onto the floor. Snacks litter the space between you, within easy reach and shared indiscriminately. After all, everyone needs breaks to focus on something else.
When you are working on math, you share a book. It makes helping Jungkook through trouble problems easier. At first, you keep a certain distance, never allowing your head to brush his as you both huddle over his paper. Within the second month of your friendship, that habit flips on its head.
Jungkook crosses the invisible wall he unconsciously presented first. You’re doing some reading for English while he’s reading for his history. You don’t pay attention when you see him wriggling around. Then a weight settles on your back. Small but worthy of notice. You stop mid-sentence in your notes and look back.
Jungkook’s head is settled in the at the bottom of your arched spine. His lips move as he reads, the fringe of his bangs half-covering his eyes, completely unself-conscious. A heat like the first sip of hot chocolate, burning hot then gratifyingly warm, bursts into bloom in your heart and overflows to settle in the pit of your stomach. You hurriedly look back at your notes before you can think about it too much.
What you thought was a fluke turns into new routine. One of you is always leaning, lying, or touching the other while studying. The relaxing power of simple human touch is one you always underestimated, but no longer. Resting your head in Jungkook’s lap or propping your back against his makes you feel homely, or in simple language, just plain good.
That should have been your smack in the back of the head. You should have seen it coming, but the most troubling development of your new friendship nonetheless catches you off guard: you fall in love with Jungkook.
It isn’t the kind of realization where the heavens open up with a blinding ray of sunlight to enhalo your enlightenment. It’s more like a jigsaw puzzle, minute pieces of his character coming together to overtake your heart.
Jungkook’s passion for everything he loves, from dancing to video games. His cute bunny smile that crinkles his eyes and is at odds with the rest of him. His humility despite his accomplishments so that a compliment from you still makes him blush and cast his eyes down. His little acts to take care of you when he thinks you won’t notice. Bit by bit, you unknowingly give your heart away.
           You are very good at keeping this secret from yourself. Denial is key. You tell yourself he is only a friend. You tell yourself the little shiver you now feel wherever Jungkook’s hands cover your skin or his chest presses against your back to demonstrate a movement is imagined. You tell yourself you catch yourself looking at him too long because any warm-blooded female would.
           But then, Jungkook does something that has your heart pounding too loud for you to ignore.
           During one of the rare times you aren’t in the studio with Jungkook, he slips in a puddle of sweat and falls. Luckily, he only twists his ankle. But it’s bad enough that the doctor wraps it and gives him crutches to use for a few days. He grumbles about it, but for fear of the wrath of his dance professor, he uses them.
           Crutches mean dancing is off the table. Despite how close you’ve become, you still partially expect this to also mean you won’t see Jungkook as much. Instead, the same day, he shows up at your work during the last few hours of your shift.
You look up to greet the customer when the bell dings. The words stick in your throat at the sight of him. He waves at you and parks himself at a small table tucked in the corner by the coffee machines with his books. You hurry to chalk your suddenly irregular heartbeat to too much caffeine and return your attention to the line in front of you. No time for that.
           When the stream of customers lulls, you slip out from behind the counter with cleaning rag and coffee in hand. Jungkook jumps when you set the coffee in front of him. “Columbian, iced, no milk, with a dash of sugar. Am I right?”
           He nods and sets his phone down. He looks nice and snug in a black and red striped sweater that half hangs off his shoulder. Smiling he says, “I can’t believe you remembered that. Thanks.”
           You laugh and tap your head. “It’s literally my job.”
           “And you’ve got an elephant brain.” Jungkook takes a sip, giving an appreciative sigh. He glances at you with a frown. “Is it alright for you to do this?”
           “It was time to brew a new pot.” You shrug. “It would’ve gone down the drain anyway. Besides, it’s not like you were going to buy anything.”
           “I could’ve.”
           “But you weren’t going to.”
           He drops his indignant expression under your skeptical gaze and laughs. “You’re right. You’re right. I just needed to get out of the room and no one else is in theirs.”
           “In other words, I was your last option. Thanks.” You huff in pretend hurt and turn away, secretly grinning when he grabs your arm.
           “You know that’s not true,” Jungkook whines playfully. You can tell without looking he’s pouting in that nearly irresistible way. He doesn’t intend to be charming. It’s just a fortunate, or maybe unfortunate, effect.
           Chuckling, you shake him off and stick your tongue out at him. “Yeah, yeah. See if you get any more coffees on the house out of me now, kid.”
           Jungkook waits until you’re behind the counter again before calling your name. When you look up, he wiggles finger hearts at you with both hands. It’s a herculean effort not to giggle helplessly. Clearly taking your smile as forgiveness, he flips to thumbs up and returns his attention to his phone.
           As both of you knew, your threat proves empty. Every new brewing means a refill if he needs it. You keep your eye on the math homework spread before him as well. Jungkook does do half of it, but once he gets frustrated with a problem, his phone is in hand two seconds later. The way his eyes dart around the screen clues you in that he’s playing a game. When he catches you catching him, he gives you a sheepish smile and goes back to the homework like a scolded schoolboy.
           After the fifth time you find him playing a game, you glance at the clock and tell him, “It’s only ten minutes until we close. If you want, just leave the rest and we’ll do them in my room.”
           “Oh, thank god,” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t even know if I did the ones I did right.”
           “Pack up your stuff. I’ll carry it for you when we leave.” On second thought, you look around to find your coworker. Maybe she’ll let you leave early if you promise to do the same for her another night. Instead, you see someone you’d rather not heading for the door.
           Many of your regulars come in solely for the coffee, wifi, and peaceful atmosphere. All they want to recharge their batteries in peace. They’re generally polite and don’t give you any trouble.
Nick is one of those regulars who’s the exception to the rule. He’s a graduate student, something he never fails to mention at least once a visit. Regardless of who serves him, he always has a sly comment that he obviously thinks is charmingly flirty. The predatory gleam in his eye makes them anything but. However, he carefully toes the line of harassment so a complaint won’t be taken seriously by management or the school administration. You wouldn’t exactly call him rude or even ugly, but the word ‘slimy’ comes up often when you and the other female baristas complain to each other about his latest advance.
           Another frantic look around confirms your coworker must be in the back. Swallowing your discomfort, you plaster on the ‘I must be nice because you pay my bills’ smile anyone who’s held a job in customer service knows.
           “Good evening, Nick. You’re cutting it close,” you say. You hide your hands out of sight, clenching and unclenching your fists in an attempt to relieve the anxious discomfort in your chest.
           “Working on that masters’ thesis,” he replies smoothly. He leans an elbow on the counter and smiles at you. “But I hit a block and decided I need caffeine and a beautiful face to get myself around it.”
           You subtly shift away and ignore his comment. Keeping your eyes on the register to avoid Nick’s, you ask, “The usual?”
           “You know it, babe.”
           When you tell him the total, Nick already has a large bill ready. It’s a fight to keep from shuddering at how his fingers drag along your palm as he hands you the money. He does it again when you give him his change. You really want to scrub your hands clean after.
           Since you’re still by yourself, making his coffee provides a reason to turn your back on him. You still feel his gaze boring into your back. Jungkook catches your eye when you go back to the machines. There’s a small frown on his face that lets you know he heard the conversation. He knows you aren’t comfortable someone using pet names with you unless you’re extremely close. After so many nights observing your body, he can read the tension bunched in your shoulders as well.
           You look away and focus on making the coffee.
           Nick’s voice grates your nerves when he unexpectedly says, “Hey, love. I’ve got a question for you.”
           You add some extra flourishes of your hands so he’ll think you can’t look away from your work. “Yes, sir?”
           “Please, ‘sir’ is my father. There’s only one situation I like being called that. Here, I’m just Nick.” His chuckle invites you to laugh at his wit. When you give him a half-hearted laugh, he continues, “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve come to the conclusion we should go on a date, so I’m going to need your number.”
           Your hand jerks. Milk drips down the side of the cup and onto the counter. His demand surprises you, but at the same time, it doesn’t. You just really wish he hadn’t said anything. Conflict, or even the possibility of it, sets your stomach churning and your body trembling every time.
           Taking your time, you wipe off his cup and securely place the lid on it. Your best work smile is back in place when you turn around and hand his drink to him. “I’m sorry, Nick, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
           Nick frowns, recovering quickly. He doesn’t even look at his drink. “Why?”
           “It wouldn’t be professional behavior. I’m sorry, but no, thank you.” You turn your back on him again to start cleaning the splattered milk and coffee.
           Nick follows you, leaning against the small glass partition. “Come on, just write it on my cup or something discreet like that.” His tone grows annoyed as he says, “If you didn’t want me to ask you out, why’re you always flirting with me? Men don’t like it when women string them along like a stupid tease.”
           “It’s called doing her job.” Jungkook suddenly slides himself in front of the other man, forcing him backwards and away from you. Even leaning on one crutch, he cuts an intimidating figure.
           “Are you her boyfriend?” Nick asks cautiously, eyeing the lines of muscle Jungkook’s T-shirt expose.
           “No.”
           The haughtiness returns to Nick’s voice. He puffs his chest and says, “Then this is none of your business. Butt out.”
           You glance around, glad it’s almost closing so the shop is empty. Heart beating and clamminess taking over your skin, you whisper, “Jungkook, you really don’t have to. It’s okay.”
           “If he’s harassing you, you shouldn’t have to put up with it.” Shifting his attention back to your suitor, Jungkook gives him a cold look. You’ve never seen such a look on your friend’s face. “She’s in the customer service industry. She has to smile and be nice to everyone or she’ll get reprimanded. Don’t you think it’s hard enough for her to act happy all the time to creeps like you who make her uncomfortable by coming onto her? Whether or not she has a boyfriend shouldn’t matter either. If you only respect her right to say ‘no’ because you think she’s another man’s property, no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Go educate yourself and get a fucking life.”
           Your and Nick’s jaws drop. You manage to snap yours back into place, but Nick’s stays open like a suffocating fish’s. He stares at Jungkook a second longer before grabbing his order and slinking away with slumped shoulders.
           Jungkook keeps his eyes on Nick’s back until the door closes behind him. He then turns to you, concern filling his gaze as he studies you. “Are you okay?”
           You nod, hoping the wonder you’re feeling isn’t showing too badly. “Yes. Thanks. Really, you didn’t have to though.”
           “Yes, I did,” Jungkook says firmly. “No one should get away with behavior like that.”
           Intellectually, you know that. But standing up for yourself is a habit you’re still working on, and someone else defending you is unprecedented. His actions make you feel special and loved, another sensation you’re unused to. It’s indescribable. Before you cry from gratitude and emotion, you nod again and rush to lock the door so you can clean up, close up, and spend more time with Jungkook.
           You’re both quiet on the slow, chilly walk back to the dorm. It reminds you of your first walk together. This time though, Jungkook takes the initiative and speaks first. His light-hearted recounting of a botched routine he and his friend Jimin made is clearly an attempt to make you feel better. You’re thankful for it and play along until you are calm and happy again.
           A few hours and hot chocolates later, when your heads are hitting the paper more often than your pencils, it’s finally time to part company. You follow Jungkook to the door after he packs his things into his bookbag, stopping short when he turns around. Jungkook props one crutch against the doorframe and pulls you into his chest.
           “Tell me if that guy ever bothers you again, understand? I’ll take care of it,” he says softly into your hair. He squeezes you tighter. “You deserve better than that.”
           Although you’re unsure if you can keep that promise, you reply, “I will. Thank you.” You let yourself nestle closer into his soft hoodie and the safety of his arms.
           “I mean it.”
           “I know.”
           After you wave goodbye and close the door, you slump against it. Your heartbeat ripples through your body from head to toe. It disturbs the long-asleep butterflies in your stomach and sends them into flight. Your mind buzzes with what you’re finally admitting to yourself. Jeon Jungkook is most definitely nestled in your heart with no intentions of leaving. And you have no idea what to do about it.
           ‘Torturous’ is the only word that can describe the consequent debate you have with yourself. To tell Jungkook or not to tell Jungkook, that is the question. You’ve witnessed firsthand how flustered he gets when a pretty girl so much as walks past him. His mouth seals up like a safe. Suddenly, he studies the floor like it has all the answers in the world. For Jungkook to close himself off from you in this manner all because you strung three innocent words of a confession together would break you.
           But to open the door for your relationship to become something more…. To be able to hold his hand when you walk together, to kiss his nose just because you feel like it, to curl up in his lap during late night movies. Your dreams may be small, but they are more tempting than all the treasure of Ali Baba’s forty thieves. Maybe you are greedy or weak, but those small things are all you can think of. Their constant invasion of your conscious makes you distracted, enough so Jungkook comments on it during your tutoring. You brush it off as being tired or thinking of an assignment, breathing a sigh relief when he lets it go each time.
By the end of the week, you can’t take it. You are going to tell Jungkook. You have hope if it doesn’t go well, he won’t abandon you. It’s in your prayers every night.
           You’re still building up the courage to follow your decision when, one night, Jungkook bursts through the studio door. He looks bewildered and a little shell-shocked.
           “Are you okay?” You rise from your seat on the mats immediately.
           He nods his head but says, “No.” Jungkook drops his bag right at the door, strides over to you, and collapses. He closes his eyes as he leans against the mirrors. “You’re never going to believe what happened.”
           “What?”
           Jungkook sits up to look at you. “A girl just asked me out to the winter dance. Me!”
           “Oh.” Your heart stops. You suddenly feel queasy.
           “I know, right?” His words come faster as he babbles, “She’s an upperclassman and super hot too. Really, really good ballet dancer. We don’t even have a class together. I see her sometimes when I go talk to Professor Duncan, but I hadn’t even talked to her before now. It’s crazy.”
           Already dreading the answer, you ask, “Did you say ‘yes’?” You hold your breath waiting for his answer.
           He shrugs. “Well, yeah. How could I say no?”
           “Yeah.” You shrink into yourself, a fist pulverizing your heart with each breath. Still, you smile through the pain and give him a forced, “Congrats.”
           “Thanks, I think.” Half of Jungkook’s mouth turns upwards. He leans down to rest his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, cocking his head to study you. “You really think it was a good idea to say ‘yes’? What if I screw this up?”
           “You won’t. It’s only a dance.” But in your mind, it’s much more. It’s your chance to reveal your feelings to Jungkook slipping away like quicksand.
           His smile becomes whole and turns into a grin. “You’re right. It’s only a dance. Not like I agreed to marry her,” he giggles. “Wait til I tell everyone else an upperclassman asked me out!”
           The thought makes you want to vomit but you laugh along. You don’t even know this girl but you envision her being everything you are not and everything Jungkook could want. All your plans and hopes are being dashed. Yet because Jungkook seems happy, you have no choice but to stand there and watch them turn to dust underfoot.
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foxfulloffantasy · 6 years ago
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The Power We Have
Its eerily quiet in the eye of the storm. At least, that’s what I thought this grey Thursday morning, as I entered the polling station to be greeted by two friendly ladies and an empty community hall, scattered with Hot-Yoga leaflets and the throat-catching scent of 100 year old dust. It felt the same last time. It felt the same the time before that. Months of drunken debate and 1am declarations of uncertain certainty. Weeks of abandoned tweets for fear of post-tweet tweet regret. Days of shaking off the creeping sense of doom by loudly exclaiming “the youth could swing it. They might”.
But they might not.
I have grown unhappily familiar with that all consuming feeling of defeatism. I feel it every time I turn on the news and listen to them talk about a divided country I never voted for. A government that doesn’t reflect my values. As long as I have had the privilege of voting, the vote has never gone the way I voted. I like to think I have built my views around my beliefs. I’m not reductive enough to think they aren’t likely influenced by the friends I surround myself with. The music I listen to (The 1975’s ‘Love It If We Made It’ battle cry hasn’t left my soul for months) and then the algorithms my Facebook feels appropriate to brain wash me with. I try to step away from it, distance myself emotionally so it doesn’t consume me or leave me dry sobbing into tomorrow’s copy of the Guardian.
But then I remember why it’s so rooted in us to care.
But then I remember why we always should.
I listened to Bob Dylan on my 3 minute walk to the polling station this morning. I listened to him ‘sing’ (does he sing? Or does he just make you listen?) that the Times They Are a’Changing. Those drawly words echoed through me, almost 50 years later. Timeless, he blew some wind (*rolls drums quietly) carrying hope into my morning. When the youth wanted change in the 60’s, it started with Rock and Roll in the 50’s. And there wasn’t Facebook back then. No funny yet mildly aggressive memes to get your point across. No. They had music. They had words. And because of them and their vision of a different world, their music and their words and their protest created that change.
So, Bob Dylan’s song gave me hope.
Then, I refreshed my Facebook feed. In between folk posting pictures outside their polling station with their flat whites awkwardly placed in the frame (is this a political statement? I’m confused) and the BBC Political Correspondent telling me at 9am Labours chances were screwed (is this allowed? I don’t think so Laura) was a photo of a woman who also demanded change. Emmeline Pankhurst. I studied the Suffragettes at GCSE. My history teacher was sure I was bound for imminent failure (feel a bit silly for chasing me down the corridor for that coursework now, Mr Jackson?). What no one at the time realised (or cared about.. probably) was I had engrossed myself in the Women’s Suffrage. Maybe because, as a woman, they don’t tell you what it means to be a woman until you’ve grown the boobs and made the mistakes. 15 is quite old, to know that until 100 years ago, you were ‘less than man’. I wanted to be an actRESS. I was a waitRESS. How are we to know where that ‘ess’ derives from unless you know to look for it? I looked for it. I read everything I could find and I gave Peter Jackson the shock of his life with an A* in the bag (brag). I read more because I felt it. I understood it somewhere in my soul. Those little things in everyday life that are engrained in society to make women have to work harder to get further made sense. So I respected Emmeline Pankhurst. Commended Emily Davison for throwing herself under the Kings Horse and decided I would always vote. And I always did. Because they died and fought and suffered so that we could.
So that Facebook picture gave me courage.
And then I cast my vote. I crossed a box and smiled at the lady at the table as it slipped into the mix. I thought about all of the different stories that lead to those crosses. I felt the doom wash away, because in one way, at least for today, it was over. As I walked out I crossed paths with someone else, her brow furrowed and determined and a Morrison’s bag stretched precariously around her groceries. I’ll never know what change she wants. But then, isn’t that what we will all always have in common? We all want something to change.
I sat on the bus, everywhere I looked newspapers covering faces. Headlines damning both sides and moguls biases barely disguised with new-age propaganda. It’s so hard not to be angry. The power these people have to change all of our minds. The power to manipulate and manoeuvre and Murdoch your way to the highest high castle. I looked at my phone and refreshed my feed again. A video I’ve watched 1,000 times, demanded be played at far to many parties and the first time I saw it; ugly cried to alone in a mouldy flat above a McDonalds in Liverpool. For the one thousand and first time, I pressed play.
“You, the people have the power - the power to create machines. The power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure. Then - in the name of democracy - let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world - a decent world that will give men a chance to work - that will give youth a future and old age a security.” – Charlie Chaplin
When we tick that box, in that booth, in those community halls, we have the exact same amount of power as those men in high castles. In that moment alone, nothing separates us. And it absolutely terrifies them.
So, Charlie Chaplin gave me power. Well, he didn’t give me it. Just reminded me we have it. We. The people.
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muskan-sukarchakia · 7 years ago
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Exposing my roots
Ever since I can remember my grandfather always told me that the only way a person could truly know who they are is to trace themselves back to their roots.
When I decided to understand the word better, to be able to truly grasp that anecdote of wisdom he offered me Google was the medium I searched to get that answer.
Roots are the organs of the plant that lie beneath the surface of the soil in which they grow. I deducted that my roots would, according to him, lay beneath the soil in which I grew. My understanding of soil led me to believe that soil was in turn, society? The world I was put into. My environment? So in order to truly understand myself I needed to know what truly held my identity. Where it came from, what it was tied to, where did I grow from, what nourished me.
If I compared myself to a little sapling. That would mean my nourishment came from my parents. That my roots where directly tied to theirs. And I’m certain that’s what my grandfather meant. 
In Indian society, the society or garden I was born under, places a high value and respect for religion. Born into parents that where of different races poses an entirely different train of though than most uniform race born children feel. For children of mixed races you have two separate countries that you belong to. Your maternal and paternal side. Allowing you to identify with these two countries would give you a better understanding of who you are. 
So let me pose to you, my dilemma.
I’m not from two separate countries, but from two separate states in one country. I’m sure you’d think that would be easier to understand. They’re both from inherently the same underlying culture with a similar yet different set of beliefs. You’re not wrong. But it doesn’t make my disposition any better.
Indian families have most commonly followed the institution of joint families. Your mother or father decided to consummate their love or alliances in marriage and if you’re like most families in India. Your lineage follows a strong patriarchal line. Your mother now lives with your fathers’ family. You learn about your religion and culture through old family stories. You watch the rituals and traditions observed in your home and gather knick knacks about who you are, what you believe in and the various nuances that follow this information. That is until your conscious consumes you and your inner critic tends to question your family’s strict adherence to traditional, unorthodox and outdated beliefs of how one should go about their life. 
Or may be that’s just me.
Growing up I had religious grandparents. My paternal family was religious but they where not ignorant. They aren’t one to blindly follow rituals and stick to tradition unless it carried certain benefit. Peace of mind, feelings of community, acts of gratitude. 
I grew up in a deeply religious country. I’m sure you’re aware India is a democratic country, truly secular, the pinnacle of humanitarian respect for all the states that have so graciously decided to put away their differences to live in harmonious glee.
Or a country far from it. But I’ll save that for another day. 
I went to a christian school, that would mean I attended our morning school prayers that consisted of the Lords Hymn. That’s where I met the Lord. Or I learnt the weight that the word carried. I also learnt about a new belief - Christianity. I learned all about Jesus, Adam and Eve, Lucifer, Judas and most of it in between. And even if I didn’t want to, our morning classes with Father Joseph and Brother John made sure these tit bits of archetypal knowledge where engrained into my confused little central organ. I could say that’s where it begun, but I can’t be completely sure. 
I’d image the discontent felt by my friend’s parents when their children decided they now prayed to Jesus and not Ram or Krishna. Blasphemy on their part? How could you blame them? You can’t eat KFC all day and then blame people for killing innocent chicken, now can you?
We’re all little chicken in most stories. 
When I decided it was time to listen to my grandfather to dig deep into the soil, to pull out my roots and let it’s stems be exposed to the sun so I can see them a little better, I noticed that my roots grew in to different places. Each moving in their own direction. My maternal roots and my paternal roots originated far apart found one another and began to grew together. And in the middle between the entwining, in a spot that got the most sunlight and water, I was born. 
The moment I heard what my grandfather said, the second my brain identified the meaning behind his words, I felt a warm feeling come over me. It made me feel like I was a part of something larger. I wasn’t alone. I was a part of a larger tree, and my branch hadn’t fallen off yet. It was strong and connected right to the root of my tree : my grandfather. 
We’re all gifted with both sets of grandparents and we learn a little from both. I learnt that I adored my maternal grandfather and he adored me just the same. I would spend days lying on his lap, eating cheese and jam while he showed me the trees and parrots that lay below the balcony we sat on. My eyes would hungrily watch him go for his evening walks while my grandmother offered me a glass of milk and all I wanted was to see him face and know that he saw me waving at him from above the parapet. And he always did. And I always smiled. And now years later when I recall this memory, I smile and knowing me, I probably always will.
He died when I was very young. All I remember of his death is my mother asking me to go into his room and kiss his forehead because I wouldn’t be seeing him again. I can’t remember what my brain pieced of that information when I was younger but I believe I didn’t truly understand what she meant. I was more focused on trying to understand everything that was happening around me. The huddle of women on the chairs outside his room hugging each other while wiping away each others tears. 
I’m sure if he was here right now, he’d help me understand one of the two plants that led to creation of my own roots. But until then I am glad I still have one plant to hold on to for now. 
I do believe what my grandfather told me helped me realise I had to tool to understand myself better and that sooner or later it would be time for me to absorb all that he meant with that one sentence. And I am sure I will not let that tool fall out of my hand, but pack in safely in my bag, and take it out when I need it. 
But right now on the journey I’m on is trying to grasp all the happenings around me. From communal hatred, to political feuds, the injustices faced by those whose roots where not as solid as my own because someone pulled them out of the ground before they could grow stronger. The world around me is a wonderful place. The air is fresh and the ground is firm yet soft enough to plant newer trees. But the world around me is equally rotten, with trees planted so firmly into the ground infesting the foliage that tries so hard to reach up to the sun. 
My journey starts with the desire to understand all that lies around me, and through this understanding I hope I can reach a solution. A solution to maintain the balance I see, and a solution to speak out against those that choose to tarnish all that we have worked so hard to improve. My journey is vague and uncertain. But it is through uncertainty I will try to find a path that leads to growth. I want to be able to help identify the root of the problem, to surround myself with those that wish to do the same. And together create a world that is better than the one we left behind. 
Academics, art, education, entertainment, the various tools are in abundance. And they’re all here, in our backyard for us to exploit and make our own.
I wish to expose my own roots, personally and silently, for they are of no certain use to you. And at the same time I wish to employ my resources to better all that grows around me.
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