#\\ Also only like my third time writing for these guys! Any constructive criticism or feedback will be appreciated! I want to master them

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

-

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

[sweetpeaownsmyheart]

I think I’ll call you cupcake  (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Hi guys!! This is my first piece of writing  so feedback is always welcome as well as constructive criticism! Also I want to give massive thanks to @riverdaleimagines1 who inspires me so much and also gave me confidence to post this! I love your work and will continue to gush over it to you whenever I can <3

Word Count - Around 4000

Warnings - Some mild language

Summary - Sweet Pea meets a girl who may be too much for him to handle. Both parties soon learn that people sometimes aren’t always the hard person the show on the outside.

-----

When living near the border of the North of Riverdale and the South, you grow up with 2 rules.

1.       Don’t go out at past 11 unless you’re with enough people to fight off an angry mob

2.       NEVER cross the line without protection unless you want to be, well, dead meat?

Well you grow up with these rules, if you live on the Northside, rumours are that on the south it’s always go out past 11 to scare Northsiders and turn them to, well, dead meat.

So, as you wander home unarmed and alone at 11:30, taking the shortcut through abandoned streets, an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach and you wished you had taken Betty’s offer to stay the night.

While you were certainly no damsel in distress and knew your way around a knife and human anatomy enough to do some damage, it didn’t lighten the situation. With your phone reaching its last couple of percent and a chill forming in the air. Your desire to be home, safe and warm, was increasing as well as your pace – so you made the decision to cross into the Southside taking a shortcut over an overgrown bridge.

You didn’t believe the rumours of course. You were from a rare brand of Northsiders who genuinely didn’t care about where people were from and didn’t stereotype however that didn’t stop your fear as you crossed the bridge to a land which was still relatively unknown to you despite your friend, Jughead, living there. Although he only became your friend when he recently moved back to Riverdale high bringing all the serpents with him, you were very close to him.

‘Stupid and Reckless’. That’s what your dad would call it. Coming home late with no protection, no weapons and taking the shortcut through the southside? Yes, ‘Stupid and Reckless’. You could practically hear the words leaving his mouth even though home was a distant thought at this point, your mind more focussed on weaving through the streets preying you remembered the way jughead showed you last time you walked with him.

You knew your dad hated the shortcut, despite living on the northside, he didn’t hate the southside either, he just didn’t like the thought of you getting hurt, but it was serpent territory and being friends with Jug had its advantages plus the streets are usually deserted at this time of night anyway. So, you continue to walk keeping a tight grip around yourself to try to maintain the heat that was seeping away as a steady rainfall began.

At that point, slowly becoming more cold and wet, you really began to regret your decision not to have an impromptu sleepover with Betty. You debated your decisions. You could keep walking home or you could turn and go back to Betty’s. Both options would take about the same time and neither sounded particularly enjoyable knowing it would take you at least 25 minutes to reach your destination even if you ran.

A third option came into mind but was quickly replaced by the sound of motorbikes approaching. You were frozen to the spot (literally because the rain had you shivering and metaphorically because your brain couldn’t process what was happening) but as the bikes rounded the corner nearest to you, you jumped out the way, falling and scratching your hands on the rough ground.

As the bikes drew nearer you noticed the iconic serpent on the jacket and felt a bit more at ease despite not knowing who was under the helmet, at least these guys had morals and you hadn’t had an unfortunate run in with some ghoulies who decided they wanted more terf. Your anxiety spiked and then declined as a bike pulled to a stop beside you and the driver was revealed to be Jughead as he removed his helmet.

‘Y/N?’ He questioned getting off the bike. ‘What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight. You must be freezing, are you freezing? Come here.’

He fired off more questions barely breathing between and not giving you time to answer before smothering you in a jacket he pulled from the back of his bike and pulling you up from the ground. Then he became quiet and looked at you expectantly.

‘Huh?’ You were confused having barely heard his questions over the sound of rain hitting the ground.

‘Are you okay?’ He practically shouted back at you.

‘Yeh, yeh, I’m fine! I was coming back from Betty’s and decided to take the shortcut and then my phone was close to dying and it started raining and I couldn’t quite remember whether I had to turn left of right but then I heard motorbikes and now you’re here. And by the looks of it my hands are bleeding, but I’ll be fine once I get home.’

Jughead almost giggles as you get caught up in telling your story, but he quickly gains composure and grabs your wrist to look at your damaged hands. ‘They’re covered in dirt Y/N/N and some if it is IN your hands, come on I’ll get you cleaned up and take you back home in the morning’

‘Jug you really don’t have to, I’m almost home anyway and my dad thinks that I’m coming back so I really should go’

‘Y/N really? You need medical attention! I’m not just letting you go home without it because I know that you won’t do it yourself. Please just come with me, I’ll text yo..’

At that moment, the sound of another motorbike fills your ears and it too pulls to a stop besides you and Jug. The guy on the bike removed his helmet and you could swear a ‘holy fuck’ left your mouth which was met with a cocky smirk on the unknown guys face, although that may have just been him.

‘Who’s this Jones? Another one of your Northside girlfriends? Didn’t peg you as that type.’ The boy said with a scowl as he took note of your hands still in Jugs.

‘Piss off Sweet Pea, she’s just a friend.’

‘Yeah whatever Jones, I should have known that 2 northside princesses was too much of a miracle for you to swing…’

‘I do have a name you know.’ You piped up only to be ignored by the 2 boys. Jughead pushed you behind him when he saw Sweet Pea’s attention turn to you as you spoke.

‘What Jones? Scared we will corrupt her like we did your other one?’ Sweet Pea remarked noting the harshness that had appeared in Jug’s eyes and staring him down.

‘Damn, you could cut the sexual tension here with a knife.’ You say attempting to alleviate the awkward silence. It didn’t work. ‘Well if you do decide to jump one another I think I’d prefer to be going actually. I’m cold and wet and frankly can’t stand the amount of testosterone here.’ You say stepping out from behind Jughead and turning towards him. ‘Thanks for the jacket Jug I’ll give it back to you tomorrow yeh?’ you say before quickly making your escape.

As you began walking away you could hear hushed arguments behind you but were unable to make out the words until Jughead called your name.

‘Y/N, hey wait up.’ He shouted jogging up behind you. ‘your hands, they’re still bleeding. Please just let me clean them up.’

‘No Jug, I’m fine really. I just want to get home.’

‘And I want to clean your hands. Quicker you agree, quicker I can get you somewhere warm.’

You narrow your eyes at him but eventually reply, ‘fine but only because I know you’ll have a tantrum if things don’t go your way.’

At that point, the mysterious boy, he was called Sweet Pea if you remembered correctly, returned to your view with a questioning look on his face which quickly morphed into the pretentious smirk which he wore before.

‘What’s wrong with the princess, got her head too far up her ass to accept help from a snake like you? Not surprising for someone who thought it would be a good idea to come on our terf flaunting her northside self’ He asked harshly.

Jug went to reply but at that point you had had enough of him speaking for you so you cut him of turning to Sweet Pea and darkly responding, ‘you would know wouldn’t you?’

For a flitter of a second a look of shock passed over Sweet Pea’s face before it was replaced once again by harsh eyes and an unwavering stare which pushed you to continue.

‘Well you spout all this bull about how us Northsiders spend all our time judging you guys and looking down at you, but you, well you do the same to us.’

‘Y/N now is not the time please lets just go’ Jug whispered in your eyes grabbing your arm trying to get you to his bike. But you pull away and continue.

‘You’re such a hypocrite. Every time I see you around school you’re glaring. You can’t stand to be around people who aren’t from the Southside, but you don’t even take any time to get to know any of us. We’re not all horrible people you know. We don’t all hate you because of where you’re from you know.’ You get closer to him as you speak pointing accusingly at his chest. ‘We aren’t all made of money and good grades, some of us work hard for it so you can piss off with your superiority complex cupcake.’ You finish with a sickly-sweet smile.

You’re barely apart, staring up at him. Both of you are breathing deeply at a loss for words. You stop for a second and for the first time really take in the boy’s face. His brow is furrowed, and you want nothing more that to reach you and smooth it. His eyes are still dark and stare into your soul. The smirk that was still present on his face did not however reach the cold eyes but if you really looked you could see understanding, confusion and hurt? You’re stare morphed into a look of panic.

In different circumstances, you could have admired him forever but as quick as you were there, you were gone. Stepping back from Sweet Pea and turning to Jughead who offered one word to you.

‘Shit’

-----

You weren’t an idiot. You knew the reputation that Sweet Pea held. You noticed how he was never without one bruise or another and how even bulldogs would whimper when he walked past. You were aware what he could do to you so last night after your out of character outburst you ran. You ignored Jughead’s calls behind you, you ignored his phone calls later that night as you were cleaning your hands and you proceeded to ignore the voicemails that were left on your phone.

So, as you walked into school the next day, with bandages around your hands, hood up and headphones in, you wanted nothing more than to be at home. Slipping through the hallway you kept your head down and eyes on the ground dodging people and getting to your locker with no trouble.

As you reached your locker you look up and are met with the kind eyes of Betty who you wondered if she knew about the events of last night. Evidently not as she asked what had happened to your hands. You passed it off as an accident, which it was if you really think about it, but elected to avoid the topic of how it came to be and why you were practically hiding compared to your normal outgoing self.

Your mumbled explanation was cut short as Betty exclaimed, ‘hey don’t look now but one of the serpents is staring you down.’ You froze. Your will to disappear was stronger than any words that may soon be sent your way by him but as you turn your head to confirm your suspicions on who it was, you were surprised to be met with a blank stare rather than one filled with hate. 

-----

As the day went on, your overwhelming sense of dread lessened, and you went back to your normal self. You were no longer looking over your shoulder in fear of where the tall serpent was instead focussing on your friends and classes.

Betty, Veronica, and you were sat chatting in the student lounge at lunch that day when Jughead walked in and straight over to you. You quickly scouted the room for any other students and were met with the sight of Toni and Fangs approaching – lucky for you, Sweet Pea seemed to be elsewhere.

‘Y/N, what the hell. Why didn’t you answer me, I was so worried. You should not have left. you know how dangerous it is on the Southside. If something had happened to you what would we have done’ Jughead began ranting and pacing in front of you. You kept your eyes cast downwards ignoring the gazes of your friends which filled with worry as Jug continued. ‘And what were you thinking? You shouldn’t have said that. You really shouldn’t have.’

At that moment, Fangs, who you knew vaguely through your friends interrupted Jug. ‘Wait. You’re the girl who insulted SP?’ You held your breath waiting for the impacts of last night’s events but instead were met with laughter. ‘superiority complex, cupcake’ he choked out between giggles.

‘Damn girl, you must have a lot of guts to go up against Sweet Pea.’ Toni continued.

‘Wait, you insulted Sweet Pea? Do you have a death wish?’ Betty seemed exasperated yet still trying to maintain her cool. You shrugged in response before getting up.

‘Well Beanstalk will probably be here soon and as much as I love being subject to glares and I certainly wouldn’t mind taking the role of Jack and climbing the hell out of him, I think I’m going to head out. Bye guys.’ You say before turning and leaving hearing the distinct laughter and then voice of Fangs in the back – ‘She called him Beanstalk’.

-----

You had finished school for the day and were just heading out ready to walk home when you spotted Sweet Pea by the school entrance. You quickly did a 180 and began heading back to the other end of the corridor but you had already caught his eye and he began following you. While last night you were pent up with anger and had the support of Jughead behind you, now you were alone with no idea how events would play out.

‘Hey, Y/N wait.’ You heard from behind you. There seemed to be no malice in the words, yet it still caused your stomach to turn. ‘Y/N please just wait.’ He was louder now and probably gaining on you so you decided to bite the bullet and turn around.

‘What do you need Sweet Pea. As much as I’m sure you love my company, I do have things to do.’ You try a sweet approach hoping he wasn’t too angry.

‘Got somewhere to be?’ You nod slightly. ‘The exit is that way not this way.’ He had seen you making an escape then. You remain silent. He continues.

‘You’ve made quite a change since last night. What no comeback? Not going to insult me anymore’

‘If that is all you have to say I think it would be better for me to go.’

‘Wait no. Sorry. It is not like me to apologise, I don’t do it, you tell anyone, and you will receive hell princess.’

‘Wow hell of an apology that was.’ you respond sarcastically before turning to walk away again, you were now done with his attitude and all thoughts of what he could do to you were gone.

He looks at your retreating figure quizzically before calling after you. ‘I’m sorry I was a dick okay I just don’t like people coming onto our ground and flaunting their worth to us.’ You cut him off.

‘Flaunting our worth? Flaunting MY worth? You know nothing about me. So, don’t you dare paint me as the bad guy for taking a bloody short cut when walking home. You’re the one who insulted me, I just told you the truth for once in your goddamned life. Accept it, move on.’

He seemed quiet and his response shocked you to the core, almost whispering he apologised once again. ‘I am really sorry. It wasn’t fair on you. I just like to get a rise out of people like you because you’re so different than me. And I knew it would mess with Jughead. I didn’t expect you to respond that way.’

‘I can tell you don’t do this often.’ You respond with a raised eyebrow finally looking him in the eye. ‘Tell you what, let’s just put it behind us, start a fresh. No judgement. But I swear to you if you so much as put a toe out of line, your life will become a nightmare, cupcake.’ You send a quick playful wink his way before walking past him and out the door.

As you reach the school gates you hear his voice again behind you. ‘Wanna go to pops?’

‘Now that is how you apologise.’ You say with a hint of a smile

-----

A month later you were sat next to Sweet Pea, in Pop’s, his hand resting on your thigh and you head leaning on his arm, laughing at something ridiculous Fangs said to the point of tears. Over the month, you had grown to love the group and once you got over the initial awkwardness fit in perfectly. You became Toni’s best friend and Fang’s confidant yet the place you held with Sweet Pea was as confusing to him as it was to you.

You always left him with a kiss on the cheek. Your hugs lingered longer than ‘friends’ should, there was reluctancy to let go. He often found himself playing with your hair. At Friday movie nights, you’d be passed out with your head in his lap by the time the 3rd movie started. And he didn’t move you. He would look down at you with a gentle smile on his face and resume playing with your hair.

It went passed the limitations of ‘friends’. You were more than that. You were like soulmates.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by Fang’s barking a laugh. Reaching up, you rubbed your eyes and gazed around the table looking for something to distract you from the feel of Sweet’s hand on you, his finger tapping a beat.

Your eyes caught Toni’s over the table, and she gave you a knowing look before dragging you up and to the bathroom.

‘What is it T?’ You say

‘You looked like you could use a break from your thoughts, what is it this time? Thinking about the names of yours and Pea’s future children?’ You blush.

‘Toni no! I was just thinking is all. About how we are, how he acts. Just wondering if it’s just me.’ Toni lightly hits the side of your head and responds

‘Of course, it’s just you. Are you blind? Do you want me to go out there and ask him who else he looks at like that or holds like that? Come on girl, get a grip.’

‘Sorry Toni I just worry is all. We’re from different worlds, and we don’t judge each other but people judge us and I just… well I just worry.’ You say looking down. ‘And besides nothing has happened between us so I don’t think I need to start planning the kid’s names yet.’ You say adopting a jokey tone to hide your confusion.

‘But it will, trust me.’ She responded before walking out the bathroom.

-----

And it did.

A few days later at movie night, with Fangs and Toni, you’re leaned up against Sweets, his arm around your shoulders and your head resting on his chest. His fingers were absentmindedly drawing on your back putting you into a hazy, tired state (not surprisingly as it was nearing the end of the 2nd film). Noticing your sleepy state, he leaned down and whispered in your ear, ‘You tired Princess’. The name had now adopted a loving tone as opposed to the one of disdain he originally used with it.

You mumbled out incoherently prompting him to ask again and give your back a light tap – ‘I’m fine cupcake, wide awake.’ You respond still mumbling but enough for him and the others to hear, the use of the nickname causing Toni and Fangs to turn from the movie and giggle before Fangs asks, ‘why do you call him ‘cupcake’ anyway?’

Still half asleep, you turn up to look at Sweets before mumbling, ‘Because he is so sweet, get it?’ Before settling back on his chest and closing your eyes, reaching out to his free hand, and intertwining your fingers nonchalantly.

You heard the laughs and teasing from the others, you felt Sweets grip tighten around your shoulders and his thumb grazing across your knuckles. But with your eyes closed you couldn’t see the look of pure adoration in his eyes and the dusting of pink across his cheeks.

-----

It was at the end of the 4th film of the night that you were woken from your slumber to say goodbye to Toni and Fangs and get ready to leave yourself. You felt cold no longer leaning against Sweets but didn’t want to cross any boundaries by asking to stay the night. Luckily, the decision was made for you.  

‘It’s late and I’ve had a couple beers and I don’t want to drive – do you want to crash here?’ You hear from behind you just as you closed the door as Toni left.

‘Are you sure? I don’t want to impose; I can drive myself and bring back the truck in the morning if you want?’

‘Like hell you can drive. You look more tired than you did after you and fangs pulled an all nighter to watch Disney films.’

‘How nice of you,’ you say teasingly approaching him, ‘maybe you don’t deserve the name Cupcake.’

‘No princess I don’t. You should have it!’ He responds.

‘Okay then beanstalk!’ you quickly respond before darting off to his bedroom giggling with him chasing after you.

‘Say you’re sorry and I am not a beanstalk.’ He says cornering you. You quickly mutter back those words looking for an escape. ‘Now say I deserve the name cupcake.’ You didn’t want to admit that so dart past him.

His arm catches you at the last moment and you both fall to the floor giggling. Led next to each other, in that moment, giggling like kids, you had never felt more complete. As your laughter died down and you fell into a comfortable silence, you turned to look at him. He looked content, like all that was happening in the world didn’t matter, just being there with you was enough for him.

‘I could stay in this moment forever you know’, he said in a whisper, too scared to break the silence and too scared to meet your gaze.

‘I don’t know about you, but I think I would be missed.’ You respond, not sure how to deal with his candidness.

‘I’m serious.’ He finally turned his head to look you in the eye. You were closer than ‘friends’ should be and were reminded of the night you met him when you were this close but under different circumstances. In that moment, your lips met. It was a soft kiss, gentle and quick, but it was filled with all the emotions that neither of you could voice. As you pull away, your eyes are filled with adoration that no one could rival.

‘I’ll stay in this moment with you then’

With that you both break into wide smiles and you settle down next to him once again, your head rested on his shoulder.

‘Hey sweets’ you whisper after a couple of minutes silence.

‘yeh princess.’

‘I think you do deserve the name cupcake’ 

[siriusly-parker]

𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

never forget - part 1 i’ll do this later sorry

Pairing: James Potter x reader

Fandom: Harry Potter - Marauders Era

Words: about 850 (this is a short one sorry)

Warnings: Cursing, and more bad writing, lots of dialogue cause i’m a hoe for dialogue which i’m trying to beat and it also makes it faster to read so oops sorry the next parts are gonna be better and i know i said that last time but dude life is hard and i’m craving nachos

A/n: ok. sorry for taking so long to write the second part and for it to be so short. even though my writing is really really bad and i’m not exactly proud of this i’m honestly trying my best (which in my opinion is still not enough). i’ve been doing my research on writing and been planning the story (so if the writing is bad at least the plot is entertaining). aaaaalso the story is kinda taking a turn... and i don’t hate it. but i kinda hate myself for it. but it’s fine. kinda. ok. thank you so much for understanding and keeping up with the series. the next parts should be coming out soon. i love you.

Days passed and she didn't understand how he could not understand. He was her best friend. How had that changed? When had that changed? Why had that changed? How could it simply change? Why couldn't things stay the way they were? Too many questions and they all made her head hurt. They all made her heart ache. And it was all because of the same person that used to make her smile a week ago and promised to never hurt her years before that. But they grew up, things changed, and he broke his promise. 

At first, he didn’t even notice that she was ignoring him. Which made it all that much worse. He spent so much time with Lilly that he completely forgot about his other friends. Sirius missed his best friend and went to complain to her for the third time that day.

“Yyyyyy/nnnnnn….”

“Oh merlin, what again?”

“I’m boooooored…”

“Okay. And?”

“Do something about it.”

“I’m not your babysitter Padfoot. Doesn’t Rem-”

“Tutoring.”

“Well, Pet-”

“The one getting tutored.”

“Weeeeeell, then it’s a perfect occasion for you to study as well. Bye.”

“PLEEEEEEEEAAAASE!!!”

“SSshhhh…” 

They both turned to the angry little lady who hushed them. The library was definitely not the right place to do this. So she packed her things and dragged Sirius out of there by his Griffindor tie.

“Ok. Let’s do this.” Y/n said.

“Wow. Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“Let’s do this. It’s cringe in real life.”

The school year had only begun, but autumn was already letting winter take its place. The weather, too cold to make a pile of leaves and jump into it, but not cold enough for snow, made going outside, not the best option. So they opted for the only thing that came to mind and the thing they were best at: Pranks.

The first prank was for Remus and Peter since they basically rejected Sirius out of their study session. Chocolate. Chocolate is all of what the prank consisted of. Well… Special, kinda magical, chocolate. Chocolate that makes you only say the truth? Maybe. Kinda. Yes. That’s exactly what it was.

“Mooooooonnyyyyyy…”

“Oh no.”

“Why does everyone react so disappointed?”

“I think it’s just your way of approaching people. Not you. As a… great… human being…?” Y/n tries to reassure her confused friend. And pretty much failing, with her just as much confusing and confused words.

“Well thank you, my dear. We came here REMUS, to actually give you a gift. But you’re a bitch. So no. And we hate you”

“Aaah...Aaactualy, no. We don’t, we still love yo-”

“Even though you’re a bitch.”

“Yes…Uhh... We have chocolate for you. My parents sent some to me and I thought you’d needed them more. Plus, I know they help you study.” Y/n says, the most convincingly possible.

“YEAH! SINCE YOU’RE STUDYING. RIGHT NOW. WITHOUT ME.” 

“Ok Sirius.” She adds while ruffling his hair which his dog side (and even his human side) enjoyed.

“Oh. Well, thank you, guys. That’s very thoughtful of you. Normally I’d say this is weird and probably a prank but in case it isn’t, I don’t want to make Padfoot anymore mad. For… no… apparent reaso-”

“OH. SO MISSING MY BEST FRIEND, ISN’T GOOD ENOUGH OF A REASON TO TAKE OUT MY ANGER ON OTHERS???”

“ᶤ ᵈᵒᶰ’ᵗ ʳᵉᵃˡˡʸ ᵗʰᶤᶰᵏ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ’ˢ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵒᵈ ʳᵉᵃˢᵒᶰ ᶠᵒʳ ᶤᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵒᵏ”

There was silence. Everyone understood that feeling. They all missed him. Y/n simply smiled at him. A sad smile. For that split second they understood each other’s pain. But a sudden cough made them break eye contact.

“Uuuhh… Can I get some of that chocolate too.”

“Of course Pete. I brought it for the too of you.” 

Y/n’s sweet smile made him blush. He’d never quite seen her like that. So...calm and kind? Not that she wasn’t kind, but she was more aggressive and rude. Not in a bad way, not “mean”, but more like she just had to be. She had to be like that to protect herself. As if to make her look strong. She just had that attitude that made it clear to everyone to not mess with her. The whole situation made her walls brake down. She had no protection and was completely bare. And that smile… It was forced… but it was so… so genuine?

“I think I’m just gonna go.” Said Sirius while already walking past the group of friends.

“I’m gonna go with him.”

Remus screamed “Uhh… Thanks for the chocolate!”, but they were already gone.

Y/n tried to follow her friend down the castle’s halls but lost him at the first turn he took. He simply disappeared. She kept walking, but suddenly stopped at a right turn. What she saw made her sick for some reason. It made her feel like she felt that same morning. It made her feel like when she sat beside Remus and James beside Lilly at breakfast. Hanging out with Sirius numbed the pain, but the view in front of her put the tears back where they were before.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

thank you so much for reading the second part of never forget! please comment what you liked and didn’t like, what you wish to happen in future parts, or any type of constructive criticism. i love to hear your feedbacks and support.

also! i decided to also post my writing on wattpad. i know. i’m sorry. but think about it. if you like my writing here, you’ll like it there. i don’t LIKE wattpad but i like the interface and how it’s made and how practical it it. I like how i can post messages for easier updates and you you can give better feedback. i’ll be posting on both. but i’m thinking in also writing original stuff (when i don’t suck as much, which may mean never) and tumblr is not the best place for that. wattpad is a platform MADE for writers and tumblr is simply not. i’ll of course be posting on both tumblr and wattpad. but if you want to keep up with this series and the ones that are coming, wattpad may be better. i’ll keep you posted on everything on here and on there as well. my username on wattpad is: @siriuslyparkr (parker without the e). tell me how you feel about this. also thank you for understanding and please don’t hate me. love you!

never forget on wattpad:

part 3 - coming soon!

taglist:

@hi-there-x @koreandrama-crazyyyy

@df841 @hanniejji @streetghostfighter07

@milouquinha @midnight-from-hell

@randomlyoblivious @littlebrownngirl

@emcchi @bellalikesboth @angelmarie823

@siriuslysirius1107 @wwhitewwolff @evyiione

@ateliefloresdaprimavera @marvelismylifffe

[orsino-the-enchanter]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent (the mere existence of a post-canon verse is diverging from canon)/ fandomless / complicated

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. It depends on what you mean as popular. Whoever has ever played DA2 knows Orsino because he’s important to the plot (especially in act 3) but the opinions on him are conflicted. like they are on any morally gray character. Still, he is a side character who has like 5 scenes in the entire game, so I believe he’s not getting the attention he deserves.

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. Orsino certainly is not everyone’s cup of tea, I can say that much. Physical appearance-wise he is very attractive for what he is: a stressed/depressed middle-aged DA2 elf who has seen SomeShit™ in his life. He has aged way more graceful than what he could have, but still, he is in his late 40s/early 50s, which can be a deterrent factor to some; also, the elves in this game have distinctive inhuman-like features that people either love or hate. Personally, I think that there is harmony and beauty in his features, which makes him weirdly pretty to look at and i love the fact that they gave him an hourglass body shape. However, Orsino’s true beauty lies in his personality and his calm, collected, polite demeanor. His voice is another huge bonus.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. I mean... he’s a First Enchanter who keeps his knowledge on blood magic and necromancy a secret, there are hints that he’s a somniari mage throughout the game, he has some very badass scenes where he kicks the asses of bigger/stronger opponents than himself when he’s outnumbered AND he has one of the 2 boss battles in the finale of the game. There is no doubt that he is a force to be reckoned with in battle.

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. I think he’s criminally underrated not just by the fandom, but even  the creators of the game, who gave him no backstory, only a handful of scenes and butchered his character just to add another boss battle.

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. Meeting him along with Knight Commander Meredith and Viscount Dumar earns you an achievement (the “friends in high places” one). He is one of the main antagonists in the third and most crucial part of the game and you can either choose to side with him or oppose him.

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. Lots of elements in the storyline depend on the protagonist’s political views on what’s going on in Kirkwall, and since Orsino is a prominent political figure, he is relevant to the protagonist’s views. He can be either an ally or an opponent, depending to what the protagonist’s views are. Also, he had been involved to the protagonist’s tragic loss of their mother -albeit indirectly-, since he was an informant of the murderer.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. He’s a controversial but VERY well-known public figure, to the point where he can be recognized in the streets -even if people have never seen him before, they can recognize the staff he carries, his distinctive robes and the fact that he’s an elf (an elven first enchanter is news in itself, so he doesn’t go by unnoticed). The protagonist has heard of him -along with rumors and gossip surrounding him- before he had the chance to meet him in person. He has such influence and people skills that he even carried out a rally to overturn the Knight Commander’s rule of the city and almost succeeded.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. Depends on who you ask. Mage sympathizers see him as a brave advocate of his people’s rights who wouldn’t hesitate to put his life on the stake for them. The common folk and the city authorities see him as a potentially dangerous troublemaker and rebel.

How strictly do you follow canon? — I try to follow canon mostly in my canon verse, while taking some artistic liberties due to the lack of a concise backstory. In post-canon verses and au’s, I have taken all the insights on Orsino’s personality, views and way of thinking and I have adapted them to fit each verse’s context.

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  For him ‘mage’ is not just a term describing his abilities, it is also a term describing his personality as a whole. He has that elegance, cultivation and mystical charm about him; he is morally grey yet charismatic; witty yet cunning and certainly not one to be toyed with. Despite the exterior of a powerful yet restrained scholar he maintains , however, there are many layers to him and each is darker than the last. He can be both the erudite conversation partner you’d like to have an existential conversation with over a glass of good wine, a trusted advisor you’d confide your problems to and a force to be reckoned with who would obliterate you or your enemies in battle, depending on the situation. Still, the First Enchanter has some very vulnerable sides too, but he tries to keep them to himself.

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  — In the main verse he’s a minor character; with not as much involvement in the protagonist’s life as other characters (such as the companions). He’s also kind of secluded and not in touch with whatever happens in real life -not just because he lives in the Circle, but because he has been institutionalized, like any other person who has been brought there from a very young age. Also, there is the age gap which can make him a bit harder to reach than someone younger.

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  When I played DA2 for the first time, Orsino piqued my interest because he was the very definition of a tragic figure.  He was the only voice of reason in the madhouse that is Kirkwall; yet he was fighting alone for a just cause that was doomed. He had the whole city and the authorities against him; still, he did not give up trying to protect his people; and he did his best to refrain from violence until the bitter end. His death -a suicide, no matter how you cut it- was equally tragic as the life he led; it was seeing the bringer of hope for mages losing all hope himself and deciding to go fighting and not on his knees. That, combined with his sarcasm and sophistication convinced me that I had to do justice to this poor underappreciated soul and dig deeper into his character -even try to write an alternative ending for him. Hence, this blog was created.

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  My amazing roleplay partners with all the good work they put into their characters and the love they have shown me and my character so far. I love you guys <3

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? i have my doubts sometimes, but i think i do ok. Still, I would love to have more feedback to see how i can improve even more.

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF Headcanons, metas, the works.

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO. I am not sure what is meant by ‘drabbles’ but sure, I’d love to write more of those.

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO. All the time, especially before going to bed. That is where all those rp ideas come from.

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? Again, i don’t really get much feedback, so i am not that sure if I am doing any good and if my Orsino sounds genuine

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. I like how i have written some threads more than others, I’m not gonna lie.

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO / SORTA. I am a sensitive person in general, but not someone whose feelings are easily hurt/triggered or someone who takes things that are not my business to heart.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  Criticism is welcome only when it is constructive; in the sense that there are clearly stated arguments as to what I do not do right and suggestions on how to improve. If someone sends me an ask like “i don’t like x just because” or anon hate, I am just going to ignore it.

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  — YES!!! YESS!!! YESS!!!!!!! I cannot stress enough how helpful it is for me to receive suggestions and questions that help me explore sides of my character i have not thought about so far! Even if your questions are the randomest things ever, i’d still LOVE to answer them. I have received some asks like “what would Orsino do in x situation” in the past and they were SO fun to write!

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  Of course! As I said, so far the opinion is supported beyond the ‘just because’, I will be happy to consider it. Anything that helps me broaden my perspective is welcome.

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  same as the above.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  — I do not really mind; i am the first person to recognize that Orsino is a controversial figure and people may hate him for whatever reason. I might not agree with the hate, but each to their own I suppose.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  — If they do not do it in the typical ‘grammar nazi’ style i’m chill with it. Grammatical errors tend to happen more often than not, just because i almost never proofread. *shrug*

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  I think so, yes. As I said, I am not easily annoyed, triggered or have my feelings hurt, and i am very excited to interact with new people. Still, i do recommend reading my verses/about/rules pages, if anything, to know what to expect from my portrayal and activity patterns.

tagged by: stolen from @theharellan tagging: @of-enormous-girth @oftevinter @the-old-and-the-hapless @soldier-of-visus @lathsuledin @redtemplarcommander​ @hisfavoritewolf​ @the-champions-of-the-just​ @lowtownbutcher​ @elderone​ @sworntoprotect​ @altuspavus​ @starkhavenprince​ @aqun--athlok​ @hornedchief​ @iamcole​

[queenmylovely]

The Fourth Stage

Summary: Gardner langway x fem!reader. Gardner meets someone new along his route. 

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: mentions of death, grief, depression, angst, cussing 

A/N: This is what I wrote for my first request. It’s much darker than anything I’ve ever wrote but I tried to be as true to the request and grief as I could. Also it’s in kind of a headcanon format but it’s over 7k words so idk. I hope you like what I wrote, and any feedback including likes, replies, and reblog are greatly appreciated!

Request: Something where Gardner falls for a PoC woman who’s emotionally broken

Disclaimer: I am not Black nor do I claim to know or understand the experience of Black people or Black women specifically. I was requested to write this by an anon that requested something with a PoC woman. I welcome constructive criticism for any part of my characterization of Reader. (I will not be accepting and will delete and block any racist hate.)

Masterlist 

☆☆☆

You moved into your dad’s house in May, a month after he died.

It was a sudden heart attack at work, but apparently your dad had a will, so you inherited his house. Because you wanted to keep it in good condition and didn’t have anything tying you to your current place, you moved.

You hadn’t done anything with his things so all of your boxes were piled into the garage and you lived with his stuff instead.

His death had wrecked you, and you had quit your stupid summer job because doing anything but laying down seemed impossible.

While he hadn’t been a rich man, he had left enough money that this was possible for summer; something that you would have thought was lucky if the thought of anything related to his death being lucky didn’t make you sick.

You spent all day everyday in your bed, maybe making it to the kitchen once or twice but only for saltines and peanut butter out of the jar or a can of cold chili.

The highlight of your day, if you could call it that, was taking the hottest shower you could, in an effort to feel something other than the dull ache that was knowing your dad was dead.

But all it did was leave your skin dry and stinging, the slight pain only making you feel worse because you knew it was nothing compared to what your dad had felt.

Your mom called once a week, but since you had been raised by your dad after their divorce, she had little to say and you sat silent while she tried to think of things that would cause any reaction in you other than a grunt or sigh.

About a week after you moved in, as you’re laying in bed, eyes closed but sleep never reaching you, you hear something that you had noticed the day before.

It was the sound of footsteps approaching your door followed by a metal creak and then footsteps retreating again.

Most of the time, you were too lost in your head to notice the outside world, but it just so happened that yesterday you were walking to your kitchen when it had happened and when the sound repeated itself today, you took notice.

The next day, without realizing you had been waiting for it, you heard the sound again.

After it repeated the following day, you looked at the clock, reading 3:25pm.

On the fifth day you realized it must be the sound of the mail deliverer because when you collected the mail that night at 2:00am, the mailbox made the same creaking sound.

Soon, it became a comfort to hear that sound because of how consistent it was. Part of you wondered how the mail carrier was so exact with their timing, but for the most part you didn’t really care.

Three weeks later you found yourself moving from your bed to the couch around 3:00pm and you didn’t really know why until you heard the sound. It was louder since the door wasn’t separated by any walls.

When 3:24pm rolled around everyday, you held your breath in anticipation, letting it out as soon as you heard the steps coming up the walk.

Another week later, you moved from the couch at 3:15pm, sitting against the door with a blanket until you heard the sound.

From this position, you could hear the person’s fingers against the paper of the envelopes as they grabbed them from the bag.

The next day you jump when the person coughed as they walked away; it was the first sound that really affirmed to you that it was another person outside the door.

Three days later the person sneezed just after the metal creak and you realized it was a guy.

You whispered, “Bless you” out of habit, though you knew that he would never know you said it.

Three days later, it wasn’t enough. Hearing his breathing and coughing and sneezing everyday was both too much and not enough to hear from this person you had never seen before.

You needed to make sure this person was real. Needed to know it wasn’t just the ghost of your own mind or a side effect of only sleeping in hour intervals and eating just twice a day on good days.

So, on a random Tuesday, you stood up at 3:23pm, swaying a bit from the head-rush that you got and tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating as you waited for two excruciating minutes.

When you heard the footsteps, but before the metal creak, you opened the door quickly, startling the person on your front step. He’s holding your mail in one hand and your eyes zeroed in on that and you reached out, grabbing the letters from him.

You closed the door just as fast but made sure it closed softly before dropping the mail on the floor and running back to your room.

Gardner stood on your front step, a little dumbfounded by what had just happened.

A couple of customers on his route knew when he delivered their mail, but usually they talked to him if they did.

He figured you weren’t trying to be rude though, with the gentle way you had taken the mail and closed the door. Plus, the look on your face had been more apprehensive than angry.

The next day, you stand and wait again. This time, you opened the door a little more calmly and actually looked at the guy.

He was an average looking white guy in a post office uniform. Your eyebrow raised imperceptibly at the hat he’s wearing but you just grabbed the mail again and closed the door.

Gardner looked down at himself as the door closed. He hadn’t missed the way your eyes had moved over his form. He also hadn’t missed the fact that you were wearing the same clothes as the day before.

Changing your clothes was a weekly occurrence. Somehow, your mom seemed to know that you needed to be told to, so you would after she called.

This week, you’re wearing grey sweats and one of your dad’s college sweatshirts from Howard.

Your hair was as dry as your skin from your too-hot showers. Naturally a 4a texture that you used to keep well defined was now frizzy and tangled. You didn’t have the energy to do your hair care routine anymore, only washing it and maybe pulling it into a low ponytail.

The third day he realized you’re still wearing the same thing and introduced himself before you could close the door.

“I’m Gardner.” You almost jumped when he talked, but the kind voice and harmless words reassured you.

“Y/N,” you replied, voice croaking from lack of use.

On the fourth day he said hi.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said with a closed lip smile.

“Hi Gardner,” you replied, and though the look of apprehension was gone, the smile was not returned.

Fifth day he made a comment about the weather.

“Nice weather today, nicer than yesterday.” he told you. You looked up at the sky for the first time in a while and nodded.

Sixth day he asked for the time.

“Do you have the time?” he asked as you opened the door.

“You’re wearing a watch,” you pointed out.

“It doesn’t work anymore,” he explained.

“It’s 3:25. You always come at 3:25,” you said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you,” he said with what almost looked like a little smirk but he’s turning away before you could be sure.

On the seventh day, you’re wearing different clothes. They’re still not necessarily real clothes; leggings that are pilled up and a Howard shirt, but Gardner still noticed.

“I like your shirt.”

“Thank you, it was my Dad’s,” you said, looking him in the eye. You didn’t smile, but there’s more expression in your face than before.

He nodded, knowing that if you wanted to say more you would.

Eighth day you’re wearing the same shirt but different leggings. Gardner made a comment about how it looks like it might rain.

This continued for another 10 days. Gardner always talked first, and you offered varying replies. Sometimes it’s just a nod, others it’s a sentence. You changed your clothes more often, and Gardner complimented you every time he noticed.

It’s a small thing, and the compliments were simple. “I like that shirt,” “Those pants look comfy,” or “I’m a fan of Jurassic Park too,” but whenever he said them, you got a small rush of dopamine that you’d gotten used to living without.

One day, you’re not at the door. Unbeknownst to Gardner, it’s the three month anniversary of your father’s death and nothing was enough to move you from your place on your bed. The dull pain was amplified in waves over the course of the day. Staring at the wall turned into uncontrollable sobbing in a matter of seconds and back again within minutes.

The next day, when you’re back at the door with red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, Gardner didn’t mention your absence. Instead, he commented on the number of ads in today’s mail.

“That’s how you really know that the 4th of July is approaching, the mattress sales,” he joked and the corners of your mouth pulled slightly up as you grabbed the aforementioned ads and shut the door.

Another week later, Gardner walked up and when you opened the door, there’s nothing in his hands. You raised your eyebrows in a silent question.

“You don’t have any mail today,” he told you.

“Then why did you come to my door?” you asked in confusion.

“I like seeing you everyday. Part of my routine,” he said plainly.

You made a face he couldn’t quite decipher and replied, “Okay.”

“That’s a good color on you,” he gestured to your shirt which was a dark green.

“Thank you,” you said, supposing that the pine colored shirt did compliment your dark brown skin well.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, turning around and walking away. You watched him until he got to the edge of your yard, noticing the way he trudged as he walked and how he looked down at his feet. Shrugging to yourself, you closed the door.

Three days later you opened the door and before he could say anything you talked, “Gardener’s your first name?”

“Yeah, but without the ‘e.’”

“Okay,” you replied and he handed you the mail.

Three days later, it hit 100 degrees and you felt it even in the air conditioned house.

You opened the door as Gardner was at the edge of your yard and watched him approach. It’s not until he’s just five feet away that he noticed the door’s open, a side effect of watching the sidewalk.

It’s easy to see the sweat that’s sticking his shirt to his chest, dripping down his neck, and darkening the rim of his hat. Even after only being outside for under a minute, you could feel the beginnings of sweat on your body as well.

Gardner looked at you as you stood there before reaching into his bag for your mail. You looked as if you wanted to say something, so he didn’t interrupt you with talk of the weather as he had planned.

“It’s too hot out,” you stated.

“I agree,” he agreed.

“I mean, it’s too hot for you to be outside,” you clarified.

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds,” he recited.

You shook your head in slight frustration and then rushed out, “Do you want to come inside for a minute to get out of the heat?”

“Oh, um, sure I can do that,” he replied. As you stepped away from the doorway, he walked in and you closed the door behind him.

You led him to the kitchen which was freshly cleaned. When you realized how hot it was this morning and decided to invite him in, you had cleaned the kitchen in a fury.

Growing up, your dad had always made sure to clean the house well before guests came over, and made sure you did the same. The thought of disappointing him in that small way gave you enough energy to do the work that you hadn’t done the whole time you lived there.

You pulled down two cups from the cupboard and filled them with cool water. You set them on the table, sitting down and gesturing for him to do the same.

“I didn’t put ice ‘cause you’re not supposed to shock your system with water that’s too cold, but this should still be refreshing,” you told him.

“That’s good to know, thank you,” Gardner replied before gulping down the whole glass. You quirked your lips at his actions. He was trying to act like he was okay, but obviously he was having trouble dealing with the heat.

As you stood to refill his water, he looked at you a little more carefully. You’re wearing black running shorts that he’s seen before, but instead of the sweatshirt that you had paired with them, you’re wearing that t-shirt you had been wearing the first day he complimented your appearance. This time, it was knotted in front and the sleeves were cuffed so less fabric was touching your skin.

Garner tried not to look too hard at the exposed skin of your arms and legs, forcing his eyes up to your hair. At first, he had thought it was in a low ponytail like it was sometimes, but as he really looked now, he could tell it’s in one braid that hits between your shoulder blades. He could see the curls even in the plait, and as you turned around, he noticed that a couple of curls had escaped and were framing your face.

“Your hair looks nice,” he said softly.

You reached up and felt the braid. “Oh, I was cleaning,” you said, almost more to yourself than him. To keep your hair out of your face while cleaning, you always used to pull it into a simple braid. You hadn’t even realized you had done so today.

The two of you sat in silence for a minute until Gardner spoke up, “This is a really nice house.”

You could tell by the way he said it that he’s kind of purposely not asking any questions, just complimenting, but you slightly answered anyway, “Yeah, it was my dad’s.”

“Like the shirt,” he said as he pointed to the shirt you’re wearing.

You looked down and laughed, a sound he hadn’t heard yet. It’s a sound that surprised you as well; you hadn’t heard it in months. All of a sudden, it’s all you could do as an almost hysterical laugh took over your body. You’re laughing, gasping for air, and wiping the beginnings of tears from your eyes for a full minute before you answered, “Yeah, like the shirt,” in between giggles.

Gardner, to his credit, didn’t look freaked out and instead was smiling at the sound of your laughter. He decided that he really liked the sound, and would love to hear it again.

The two of you were smiling at each other for the better part of a minute before you dropped your gaze and took a sip of your water. Gardner copied you, waiting for you to make the next move.

You’re tapping your fingernails against the glass and looking into the water as you said your next words, “He died in April.”

Gardner nodded, but you only saw it from the corner of your eye. He had suspected for a while that something had happened. Well, really since April. While he had never met your dad, he noticed the mail pile up and then the change in only the first name on all of the mail. “That sucks.”

“It does,” you replied and took another sip of your water. You appreciated that he didn’t say I’m sorry like most people do and wondered what’s happened to him that he knew that those words don’t really help.

There’s a comfortable silence for another few minutes before Gardner finished his second glass and cleared his throat, standing up.

“Thank you for the water and for letting me come in here and cool off. I’ve gotta finish my route, so I have to go,” he informed you and you nodded.

“You’re welcome, Gardner,” you said as you led him back to your front door. You waved as he went out onto the front step, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he said back and started down the walk. Just before he reached the edge of your yard, he turned and looked back at you, smiling when he saw you hadn’t closed the door yet. You smiled back before closing the door.

Two days later, on Friday, it’s hot again, but it didn’t reach 100. You decided to invite him in anyway.

When you opened the door and he handed you your mail, you asked him, “Do you want to come inside again?”

He made a face you couldn’t quite comprehend. His eyes were squinty and his mouth was pressed down in a firm line. After a second, he replied.

“I actually can’t today. I have more mail than usual and I can’t get off track.”

“Oh,” you said, casting your eyes downwards and you started to slowly close the door.

“But I can come back after my route…?” Gardner offered, wanting to see you again.

“Okay,” you answered, the slightest of smiles creeping its way onto your face.

Gardner nodded and told you he’d be back around 5:30 and just as he started to turn away, you told him to wait.

You ran to your kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and filling quickly with water and just a bit of ice. Rushing back to the front door, you held it out to him and said, “At least take the water so you can stay hydrated.”

“Thank you. I’ll bring it back when I come back,” he said before waving and walking away.

You closed the door behind him and sat down on your living room couch. You sat there for a while, feeling something that you couldn’t quite place.

The feeling kept building slowly, and when you felt a drop in your stomach, you realized what it was. You’re nervous. It’s something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Since all you typically felt was the numbness, dull ache, or shooting pain, and now the calmness that came everyday at 3:25, you hadn’t recognized it at first.

Now, it was all you felt and you had to remind yourself to breathe in and out at a regular pace so you could remain at least a little calm.

Standing up, you walked to your bathroom and splashed some cold water on your face.

You looked in the mirror, taking in your appearance and seeing someone changed by grief.

Your hair was still in the braid from two days ago, and was very loose and frizzy. You took out the braid and shook it loose, watching it fall limply to the sides of your head, the natural volume and shape washed out by the harshness of the hot water. Knowing there wouldn’t be enough time for an entire routine, you pulled it into a much tighter french braid and called it good.

Next, you took in your face and how sunken your eyes were. Lack of sleep did wonders for the bags under your eyes.

Your skin looked dry and so did your lips. Trying to find some way to remedy this, you looked under the sink for lotion or something. Thankfully, your dad was very diligent about staying moisturized, and there’s shea and cocoa butter that you pull out.

Once you grabbed those, you could see what was behind them and smiled to yourself. It was a big jar of coconut oil, and you sent a little thank you to your dad. You used the butters to moisturize and the oil to help tame the baby hairs at the crown of your head before leaving for your bedroom.

There, you put on one of your less dingy pairs of black leggings, a black tank top, and one of your dad’s flannel shirts that you left unbuttoned.

You spent the next hour or so that you had to wait cleaning up the little mess that had accumulated since he last came inside.

At 5:31, you heard a knock at the door and opened it, as you had already been standing there.

“Hi, Y/N,” he said with a slight smile, even though he seemed to be a little out of breath.

“You’re late,” you said seriously.

“I’m sorry, my brother Calvin wouldn’t let me leave without telling me about his day, it took longer than I thought. I practically ran over here,” he said in a rush, with a worried look on his face.

“I’m joking,” you reassured him with a small smile and a little laugh. His face relaxed and he smiled back at you. “You’re only a minute late, so that doesn’t even count. Come in.”

“Thanks for understanding. I try to be very punctual,” he said as you led him into the living room and you both sat on the couch.

“I’ve noticed. I think that’s a good quality, but you shouldn’t stress yourself out about it.”

“I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t going to come or anything,” he explained.

“Well, you could’ve texted me or something.”

���I- um, I don’t have your number,” he pointed out, cheeks getting a little red, and not from the running.

“Oh, that’s right. Here, where’s your phone?” you said, reaching your hand out towards him. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. You quickly went into his contacts and added yourself. You handed back his phone and he looked at it, a fond little smile coming onto his face. “There. You know, I like the uniform, but it’s kinda nice to see you out of it.”

Gardner was wearing just an orange and white striped polo shirt and jeans. He flushed slightly at your words but smiled back and barely whispered, “thank you.”

A slight silence fell, but neither of you really seemed to mind. Gardner was taking in your living room and you’re taking in him.

He was really a very unassuming person but he was actually pretty cute and you always found yourself unusually calm in his presence. Even after the afternoon that was filled with nerves, as soon as you opened the door and laid eyes on him, everything had evened out.

“So you have a brother?” you asked, breaking the silence. His eyes flicked back over to you when you spoke and he nodded.

“Yeah, Calvin. We live together. Well, I live in front of the house. In a boat,” he told you.

“A boat?” you said, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“A boat on stilts,” he explained.

“Do you ever take it out?” you asked, slowly understanding what he meant.

“Not really.”

“Mm. What does Calvin do?” you said to switch the subject since he didn’t really seem to want to talk about the boat.

“He works at a mechanic shop. It’s pretty good work, he likes it.”

“The one in town?”

“Yeah, I mean it’s the only one in town, so yeah,” he replied.

“Then I’ve been there. Maybe I saw him. It was a little while ago, though. Last year,” you continued.

“He’s shorter than me. Great hair though,” he said.

“Hmmm, I think I’d remember great hair,” you said with a chuckle and Gardner joined in.

“Do you wanna see the rest of the house? A tour?” you asked him after a second and he nodded happily.

You stood up with him and guided him towards the hallway. First, you pointed to the bathroom then walked down to the bedrooms.

Opening the door to your dad’s room, you felt a slight shiver run over you. It’s a mixture of how cold the room is since the door is always closed and the same pang you felt in your heart every time you looked in.

Usually, you looked around the room every couple of days, wanting to feel closer to your dad, and sometimes you got the best sleep on his bed, lying on top of the comforter. Still, every look reminded you that he’s gone.

You looked around the room as Gardner stood next to you. Unknowingly, you brought a hand to your chest as if you were trying to ease the pain that was there.

Seeing the physiological manifestation of your grief, Gardner felt his own heart hurting for you. He could relate to how horrible the first months were without a parent.

Carefully and slowly, he reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it and then leaving it there. It comforted you, and when you finally swallowed the lump in your throat, you moved your hand from your chest to his hand and held it there for a moment before turning around and showing him your room across the hall.

It was still a bit of a mess, but all of the trash had been removed and your dirty clothes were piled into the overflowing hamper. Gardner didn’t seem put off by that fact and looked around your room.

It was technically the spare room, but when you stayed there with your dad, it had practically been your room and was partially filled with little things your dad knew you liked.

On the windowsill were a couple beeswax candles. The top of the dresser had an interesting mix of children’s books and classics with a boxset of The Lord of the Rings on one side and of Star Trek: The Next Generation on the other as bookends.

“The Next Generation?” he asked in amusement.

“Definitely, it’s a classic,” you returned.

“Hmmm, I was always more fond of the Original Series,” he stated with a smirk.

“Well, I hate to inform you, but you’ve been missing out on the best Star Trek has to offer,” you said, only slightly teasing.

“I’m not sure about that…” he said, definitely teasing.

“Why don’t we watch it and see?” you countered with a smile that he quickly returned.

“Deal.”

You grabbed the box set and the two of you headed back to the living room. You popped the disc into the player and turned on the TV. As it started up, you realized this is the first time you’d be watching anything you used to watch with your dad without him.

Your breath hitched for a second, and Gardner noticed, turning his head to look at you. He saw how the look on your face had changed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

You took a second to breathe again and then nodded slowly, “...yeah, I just used to watch this with my dad and haven’t since he died.”

“We don’t have to watch it if you don’t want,” he offered.

“No, I do want to,” you told him, making sure to look at him so he could see the clarity in your eyes. He nodded and the two of you turned your attention back to the screen.

The two of you watched the episode, laughing at the funny parts and gasping at the surprises. By the end of it, you felt content, except for one thing.

“Gosh, are you starving? I swear my stomach was rumbling through the last 20 minutes,” you said with an easy laugh.

“That was you? I thought it was the show,” Gardner said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Shut up,” you said, giggling and Gardner joined in. “How do you feel about a pizza?”

“That sounds great,” he said with a grin.

“Good, what kind do you like? I like pepperoni, so we can do half and half if you like something else.”

“I like plain cheese,” he confessed a little sheepishly.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, picking up your phone and heading into the kitchen to find the pizza place’s number. You dug through a drawer your dad had with all that type of stuff and found it, placing an order for a delivery in half an hour.

You walked back in the living room and found Gardner sitting there with his hands in his lap, the TV paused.

“You didn’t have to pause the TV, I’ve seen all of these before,” you told him, sorry that he was probably bored.

“I wanted to watch with you,” he explained and you smiled, feeling your cheeks get a little warm.

You complied, sitting down on the couch and resuming the next episode. About ¾ of it passed before the pizza came, and you paused it again to get up and pay. Bringing the box into the kitchen, you beckoned Gardner to follow and he did willingly; his own stomach had started to rumble halfway into the second episode.

Pulling two plates down, you handed one to him and the two of you placed two slices each before grabbing a couple napkins.

“We can go back in the living room,” you informed him and he followed, you. Both of you dug in as soon as you pressed play.

Before long, the entire pizza was gone and the fourth episode was almost done. You noticed Gardner yawning into his hand and when it’s over, you offered to drive him home. He protested at first, but you insisted since it’s nearing 10:30pm and it’s already dark outside.

The drive was mainly quiet, the only words being said were Gardner’s directions. After about 10 minutes, you pulled up behind a boat on stilts. You laughed a little because part of you had doubted its existence, but there it was.

As Gardner started to reach for the door, you spoke up, “So what’s the verdict? Do you admit that TNG is better than TOS?”

He turned and looked at you with a slight smirk, “I don’t know. I’m still not sure that Picard can hold a candle to Kirk.”

“Okay, how dare you? Guess you’ll just have to watch more until you’re converted,” you told him, looking at him with a smile and a sure look in your eyes.

“Sounds like a plan. See you Monday,” he told you, opening the door and getting out. “Oh! I forgot your water bottle, it’s in the boat, I’ll go get it!”

He closed the door and started to jog away but you rolled down the window.

“Wait, Gardner!” you called out and he came back. “Don’t worry about it, you just keep it. You’ll get more use out of it than I would.”

“Okay,” he said, still a little unsure. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. See you Monday,” you told him and then drove away as he waved.

The drive back felt different. You didn’t drive much these days, only when you were absolutely out of food and could no longer ignore the hunger pangs in your body.

But, it’s kind of nice to drive again, and you felt happy for a second thinking about how nice the night was with Gardner. You got excited as you turned off your car to go inside and tell your dad all about it; he had always been incredibly supportive and understanding with your dating.

You left your car and used your keys to open the front door. Just as you opened your mouth to call out to your dad, you realized your mistake and the shock ran through your entire body.

Falling to your knees right there in front of the door, sobs racked your body and you had no choice but to give yourself up to them. That night, you fell asleep on your dad’s bed, having crawled to his room to try and find some comforting feeling there.

The next two days you spent all of your time in his bedroom, trying your hardest to feel his presence.

Monday came around and so did Gardner. Whatever kind of normalcy you had returned and the week continued on. On Friday, you invited Gardner over again to keep watching Star Trek.

This time, you ordered Chinese food and Gardner made you laugh as he tried to teach you to use chopsticks.

The summer heat had finally broken, and nights were finally getting cooler. Earlier in the day, you had opened the windows, and now they were letting in a cool breeze that was actually making you chilly and you noticed that Gardner had goosebumps.

Getting up during the theme song, you went to the hallway closet and grabbed a fuzzy blanket. Sitting back down, you draped it over both you and Gardner, and you had to sit closer so it covered the both of you.

Gardner thanked you and his voice cracked a little because the warmth he could feel radiating from your thigh touching his.

The two of you went back to watching the show, but between the blanket and Gardner’s warmth, you felt extremely cozy and started getting sleepy. Blinking slowly and yawning every couple of minutes, you tried to fight off the tiredness, but within 10 minutes, you’re dozing off.

Gardner noticed your tiredness but didn’t think too much of it until your head slumped over onto his shoulder. He turned his head and could see the profile of your face. Your eyes were closed and your face relaxed, your mouth just barely open.

He stayed as still as he could for a few minutes until he’s sure you’re deep asleep. Then, ever so slowly, he moved his arm from underneath your head so it could rest just above your shoulders on the couch.

Even in your sleep, you moved instinctively further into him, angling your head to lay on his chest and your legs came up onto the seats of the couch, pushing you further onto him. Your motion caused his arm to fall onto your shoulders and he left it there as you hummed happily in your sleep.  

Eventually, your closeness and the soft sounds of the TV that he had turned down so as to not wake you up lulled Gardner to sleep as well.

The two of you remained sleeping until the morning. The sun shining brightly through an east-facing window was what woke you as it was directly on your face.

You kept your eyes closed so the sun didn’t blind you and immediately felt a pain in your neck. You thought to yourself that you must have slept wrong. That thought confused you, though, since normally you didn’t fall asleep long enough to cause any aches or pains.

The next thing that confused you was the movement you felt underneath your head. Bringing a hand up to shield your eyes from the sun, you opened your eyes and blinked rapidly, trying to get the sleep out of your eyes and take in your surroundings.

You gasped, moving your hand to cover your mouth as you realized that the thing moving underneath you was Gardner’s chest.

He’s still asleep. His head was leaning on the back of the couch, his mouth open, and you could hear his slow breathing. His right arm was resting on the arm of the couch and his left fell from your shoulders to your waist when you sat up to look at him. He had almost no blanket on him and you cringed at yourself for hogging the blanket.

You cringed again thinking how awkward it’s about to be when he woke up.

Pushing past your hesitation, you gently shook his shoulder, saying, “Gardner, wake up.”

Slowly, he started stirring and stretched inwardly, his arm tensing against your waist as he did. His eyes blinked open and he sleepily looked at you, confusion running onto his face as he saw how light it is.

“What time is it?” he asked worriedly.

“Ummm, 9:30am,” you informed him, looking at your phone.

“I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to impose. You just kind of fell asleep on me and I didn’t want to move until you woke up on your own but I guess I fell asleep too,” he rambled, looking around him. He saw his arm on your waist and quickly pulled it back to his side, blushing furiously.

“Gardner, it’s okay,” you told him, reaching for his hand at his side. “If anything it’s my fault because I fell asleep on you. Seriously, it’s all good.”

He looked at his hand in yours and nodded, looking up to you when you gave it a squeeze.

“Do you want some breakfast?” you asked. He nods again and you stood up to lead him to the kitchen.

This week, when you had gone grocery shopping, you had gotten more things than usual. That taste of pizza the previous Friday had reminded you how good cooked food was and you started actually cooking for yourself again.

You grabbed pancake mix and the griddle from the cupboard and got started.

Gardner chatted to you about how Calvin makes waffles but he likes pancakes too and about the events of the episodes the two of you watched last night.

He made you laugh with his theories about Riker and Deanna, and Picard and Dr. Crusher. The two of you shared little stories over pancakes; you told him a little about your dad and he told you about his friends at work and along the route.

After the two of you eat, he said that he should be on his way and that he could walk this time. You acquiesced, with the condition that he texted you when he got back so you would know he made it.

He opened your front door and stepped onto the front porch before turning back to say goodbye.

“Thanks for the food, it was good,” he said, a little awkward because he didn’t know where the two of you stood.

“You’re welcome,” you said, stepping out of the doorway and up to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek and then told him softly, “I’ll see you soon, Gardner,” before going back inside and closing the door softly behind you.

Gardner stayed standing there for a moment, reaching a hand up to his cheek and repeating, “soon.”

He remembered to text you as soon as he got back, walking into the house instead of climbing into the boat. Calvin spotted him walking through the kitchen and called him into the backyard for a game of horseshoes.

“Hey, man. How’s it going?” he asked as he picked up his shoes.

“Pretty good,” Gardner replied, picking his own up.

“You look kinda tired… Aren’t those the clothes you were wearing yesterday? Holy shit, did you stay the night at that girl’s place?” he asked gleefully, putting the pieces together. He tossed his first shoe and missed by a foot.

“Y/N, and yes, and yes. But we just slept. Well, she fell asleep on me on her couch and then I fell asleep too. My neck kinda hurts,” Gardner explained, rubbing his neck then throwing his first shoe, ringing it.

“Shit. Does she like you?” Calvin asked before throwing his second one that landed so it’s touching then pumping his fist in celebration.

“I don’t know, Cal. Maybe? She’s going through a rough time, her dad died a couple months ago and I don’t think she’s totally herself yet. You remember what I was like when they left,” he reminded him, throwing another ringer.

Calvin nodded in agreement. Gardner had been changed forever when his parents abandoned him, but that first year was especially brutal. Tossing his shoe first, and getting a ringer, he asked, “You like her though?”

“Yeah, I really really do. I know I don’t actually know the real or normal her, but I swear sometimes I get these flashes of her and it’s like the sun coming out after a cloudy day,” he said, pausing to throw his last one; it spun around the peg before landing on top of the other two. “But she’s amazing all the time. She’s kind and trusting and giving and non judgmental.”

“Why do you always win?” Calvin muttered under his breath before responding. “Well, she sounds great. Good luck.”

The pattern continued with you and Gardner, although it ramped up in frequency. He started coming over almost every other day, and the next weekend, asked you to dinner at a restaurant in town. Although you’re a little apprehensive, since you know Gardner will be there for you, you agreed.

It’s a great night and the two of you ate and then walk around the river, talking for hours. That night, when you dropped him off at the boat, you asked to see it and he welcomed you gladly.

You shared your first kiss after he brought you inside. Gardner was unsure at first, but you just pulled him closer and he lost his nerves when you placed his hands on your waist and then ran your own through his hair.

After a little while of making out, you decided to leave, knowing you aren’t ready for anything else. Giving him a final peck on the lips, you climbed back out of the boat and drove home. That night, you slept in your own bed, making it all through the night and only waking up once.

From then on, the two of you split your time together at your house, his boat, and going places in town. About once a week, you joined him on his route for an hour or so.

Gardner made you laugh, but also knew when you’re especially missing your dad and talked to you about him so his memory could comfort you.

One night, after the fifth season finale of Star Trek, you and he were cuddling on the couch. You’re sitting upright and his head’s in your lap facing the ceiling. Your hand was moving in little circles on his upper arm and he’s watching your face as you watched the credits.

It was a scene that was not uncommon between the two of you, but Gardner can’t seem to be able to help himself as he breathed out, “I love you.”

Your eyes snapped to his, and though he might have wished you missed the words, you heard them loud and clear and were looking at him in a way he can’t decipher.

“You do?”

“Yeah, um, I do,” he said, averting his eyes from your gaze. He knew that it might be too soon, but once he had the thought, it left his brain through his mouth and there was nothing he could do about it.

Gardner’s cheeks and neck are blushing red as he looked away, but you moved your hand to their junction, and used his jaw to turn his face and eyes back to you.

“I love you too, Gardner,” you told him earnestly.

He sat up and turned to you, mouthing “really,” and you nodded. His hands moved to your face and you moved yours to the back of his neck. When he didn’t close the gap, you did, pulling him to you and kissing him softly to assure him of the meaning behind your words.

Life continued, and you relished the last two weeks of summer before you had to go back to school. Since it would only be a 30 minute commute, you decided to continue living at your dad’s house.

You started to move your things out of the garage and into the house, packing away things of your dad’s that hold less significance to make room.

There will still be bad days in the future, and you won’t know when they’re coming or how long they’ll be. But, you know you have Gardner to lean on, and while he can’t take away your pain, he can offer you some comfort as you deal with it.

★★★

Taglist: @somekindof-cheese @gwilyoubemine @deacytits @supersonicfreddie @siriuslovesmarlene @bowiequeen @acdeaky @deakysgirl @sunflower-borhap-boys @deakyfordays @queensilveryrog @happy-at-home @ceruleanrainblues

I just kinda created this taglist so if you would like to be taken off or added, just send me a message or ask!

Reminder that my requests are open! If you would like something in a sort of one shot format/length or blurb, etc. send it in! I’ll write for any of the Borhap or Queen boys (Freddie only platonically), Lucy, Patrick Murray, Gardner Langway and adult!Tim Murphy or possibly any of the other characters these people have played if I know enough about them!

[letswritefuriously]

Details

PLEASE PLEASE REBLOG NOT JUST LIKE OTHERWISE NOBODY SEES IT AND I SPENT HOURS ON THIS. HOURS ON THIS WHEN I WAS 13, BUT HOURS NONETHELESS.

Okay so I wrote this month’s story at 13, so don’t judge. You can clearly see the difference in the writing style (You be the judge of what’s better, find my last story here. Or just go back to my third last post, if you can’t get the link).

Warnings: Possible trigger, attempted suicide, character death (again lol, it’s sort of a recurring theme in my stories okay, I’m going to attempt to have one without death soon), nightmares, dreams, visions, comas

This also had a word limit (f*** the word limit, am I right) so it’s a bit rushed at the end.

(I would LOVE to have constructive criticism, positivity and feedback of any form, so long as you’re not rude, because then I’ll probably cry).

Details

Arwen was on puppet strings, floating, flying through the air. It didn’t matter who was controlling her, because it was beautiful.

But it couldn’t last. She saw it – the black fraying at the edge of her vision. She knew what it meant but couldn’t recall it. She also knew that the floating was going to end soon. Arwen sighed. It always ended. But then she noticed the red blossoms. Not flowers, but blood.

She soared to the ground at lightning speed. Please no!  

She wanted it to end now – she knew what was going to happen. A screech emanated behind her. She leapt forward, soaring twenty metres, the puppet strings aiding her. The air whooshed behind her, and she turned, but the creature had already gone. She jumped further, seeing a door ahead. It had appeared out of nowhere, but that made sense now, as she knew what this was; a dream.

Just as she reached the door, a hand grabbed her and imprisoned her, her outstretched hand a centimetre from the doorhandle. She shrieked and pivoted to shove it away, but it wasn’t a monster – it was a boy of about seventeen.

“Listen!” He said. “Wake up. Wake up now!”

“I’m trying! She protested, attempting to wrench her arm away from his.

“No. Wake up fully.” Another screech. “If you don’t wake up now, we’ll die.”

She glared at him. “But I don’t know who you are!” She cried.

“It doesn’t matter-” He broke off. “It’s too late. They’re here.” He looked her directly in the eyes and said, “I’ll be dead long before you wake up.”

And the monster’s claws pierced her heart.

Arwen jolted awake. Her heart was hammering. It’s only a dream. It hadn’t felt real – she knew that. She had been lying here, in her bed, the entire time. It’s only a dream.

9:00 found her at school. She stopped as her friend Kaya bounded over.

“Hey Arwen, what’s up?”

“Cool with me, I- “

“You’ll never guess what happened!”

Arwen sighed internally as she prepared to hear the latest hot gossip. Every other girl in the school was gossiping to her friends – all they cared about were celebrities. She liked Kaya, but she was so shallow!

“Someone had an affair with aliens?” She said sarcastically.

“No! Of course not! Honestly, you can be so thick sometimes! Anyway, these two hot celebrities – that you probably don’t know, you rock dweller – got married, but the guy was cheating! And the article was traumatising, I was crying...”

Arwen tuned out. There were more important things to worry about, like the maths test – she frowned. Was there a maths test? She checked her timetable. She didn’t even have maths. She turned to tell Kaya that something didn’t feel quite right, but the bell rang before she could. Thank goodness for that. She thought; Kaya’s blabber was over. Now I can get on with my day.

Arwen plonked down at a table with Kaya and buried her face in a sandwich to muffle her friend’s commentary of her Instagram. She looked up for a moment, and the sandwich dropped from her hands. She hadn’t been able to place her finger on it before, but now she knew what was wrong.

Like she had seen before, every girl was blabbering to her friends about the latest gossip. But what she hadn’t seen, was that they were all the same. Every single girl was a perfect copy of Kaya, and every girl talking back was the same identical girl wearing designer clothes.

They were all copies. The edges of everything turned white, and she couldn’t see any details. Mist covered the horizon. Something creaked, and Arwen whirled to see the dream boy next to her. “Wake up!” He yelled. “Wake up now!”

She gaped at him.

“I will be dead, long before you wake up!” He screamed.

Arwen sat bolt upright. She’d had many of these dreams lately; they began like a normal school day but became increasingly unrealistic until she realised she was dreaming, and the boy came and told her to wake up.

She walked into the kitchen to pour herself some cereal and stopped dead.

“It’s you!” She gasped. The boy had his feet kicked up on the table like he owned the place.

“Me.” He agreed. “I- “

“But you’re real!” She gasped, looking around wildly. It seemed like it was real; but then again, all the dreams did.

“I don’t have time for this!” He said. “You’ve been asleep too long – you’ll die!” He looked at her meaningfully. “And I will too.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Arwen pried. “Every time; wake up, I’m going to die. Why?”

“I don’t have time!” He cried. “Just wake up!”

“But I am awake! There’s enough details...” But she trailed off, noticing that they were disappearing rapidly. “But what do you mean? Every time I think I’ve woken up, it’s only another dream! And you’re there every time! How do I wake up? How will I know?”

“You wake up by seeing the detail. You wake up by knowing that it’s fake. I can help you. And you’ll know you’re awake when you- “

Arwen sat up rapidly, and nearly brained herself on the wall.

It was only a dream.

She pinched herself. The pain was real. The dream wasn’t.

She was in the kitchen, making breakfast, about to pour herself a bowl of cereal –

How did I get here? A moment ago, I was in my room... I don’t remember walking here. It’s almost like a dream... She gasped and scanned the room. Everything was perfectly ordinary, extreme details, there was nothing wrong-

My parents! In my dreams, they’re never here! And they’re not here now.

But the white streaks weren’t appearing. They just weren’t there. But the red streaks were. She shrieked.

“Help me!” She screamed. “Help!”

A shadow crossed into the room. It stole towards her and raised its claws, preparing for the kill.

She raised an arm, but it didn’t stop the claws from cleaving her head from her shoulders.

When she woke up, it was slowly this time. Her head hurt, and her vision was blurred.

“It’s the second time they’ve got you.” A voice said. “You need to wake up. Now.” The boy stood up. “You can’t let them kill you again – we’ll both die.” He sighed. “I don’t have time to explain, but you need to wake up.”

“How?”  

He smiled. “I think you already know.”

Arwen woke up several more times, but nothing lasted long.  

“Congratulations.” The boy said. “You only have to wake up one more time. Then you’ll really be awake. I- “

Glass smashed as a shadow burst through the window. The boy grabbed Arwen and pulled her up out the door. The house disappeared; the world was a blanket of white. She sprinted ahead, and the boy followed. The dream was fading, but not fast enough. The shadow reached out and grabbed the first thing it found: the boy.

In seconds, he was on the ground. The shadow stood for a moment, as if savouring its victory.

The boy smiled. “I’ll be dead long before you wake up.”

And the dream vanished.

The world blinked its way into existence, and Arwen knew that this time, she was truly awake.

“Oh, thank God!” A voice sobbed, tears marring the words. Arwen recognised the voice.

“Mum?” The woman hugged her, and a man on Arwen’s other side was crying softly.

She was in a hospital bed, in... a coma ward?

Her mother nodded. “You were out for three months. It looked like you were going to die, and then he came.” She nodded towards a bed on the left, and it was then that Arwen heard the flatlining. Without even looking, she knew who it was. “After you overdosed, you were just getting worse and worse. The doctors worked away, and they said that soon you would be recovering. But you didn’t. You stayed asleep.  

“But he came, like a miracle. And we don’t know how, but he said he could save you, and he did. The doctors argued, but we thought it could be our only hope. We insisted. He sat on the bed next to yours, and he asked the doctors to knock him out. They agreed, and within a day, you were already better. Another week, and here we are.” Tears streamed down her face. “We don’t know what he did, but he did something.”

“And he’s dead now.” Arwen said. Her mother nodded.  

Arwen looked over at his bed. The machine was still flatlining.

Thank you. I will never give up again, I will never wish to die again. No matter how long it takes to recover, I will not give up.

And I will always look for the details.

[blizzweirdo]

StarCraft Fanfiction: “No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

A few months ago, during the StarCraft 20th anniversary celebration, I created a blog for the sole purpose of remedying a great injustice: according to an infographic I saw here on Tumblr, fanfiction involving my favorite character, Vice Adm. Alexei Stukov, comprised only 1% of StarCraft fanfiction (in English, I’m assuming). 

And so I embarked on a months-long odyssey, putting together what I thought would be a short story about how Stukov would react to the UED returning to the Koprulu sector. What it turned into is a multi-perspective, most likely novella- length text that I think would work well as a serial.

In “No Omen, No Country’s Cause,” I seek to reconcile discordant parts of Stukov’s personality, give him something to live for, flesh out his backstory, make him to engage in some badassery, and get him back to where he was in SC: Brood War (personality wise). Along the way, expect a lot of battles, new characters, and interactions with other canon characters like Adm. Matt Horner, Valerian Mengsk, Alarak, Zagara, and others.

This teaser is rated T, but expect some chapters to be M for language, violence, sexual content, and zergy squish-squish. I’ll probably post small bits once or twice a week, releasing what I’ve written so far and giving me a chance to write more. I do see myself finishing it (I’ve already written the ending but not the middle) unless there’s just zero interest.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to view this in a different format, it is also available on FanFiction.net, Archive of Our Own, and Wattpad under the same username.

Note: someone pointed out this sounds like it’s going to get political. I promise it is not.

“No Omen, No Country’s Cause”

TARSONIS CITY, TARSONIS: 09:55

"Five minutes to air time, people. Let's get moving!" Kate Lockwell paced behind Adm. Matthew Horner as he stood at his podium. From the side of the makeshift stage, she shouted at a few people in the wings. "Tim! Where's Kallie with the other camera?"

"The replacement lens didn't come in. Wasn't a 'priority' shipment and didn't make it through customs. She knows a guy uptown and she's going to borrow one. She'll be back in fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen?!"

"We'll start without her! It'll be fine. No one will notice we're down a camera."

"They'll notice if we're down two presidential debaters... Where're my challenger candidates?" Kim Lockwell stopped on her heel and put her hand on the shoulder of Horner's blue suit.

"Well, if there's one thing that I can say for you military types, at least you're punctual, Mr. President." She winked at him, and before he could respond, she was gone. 

Horner leaned over the podium and looked into the "audience." In the makeshift broadcast room, there were about two-dozen seats, all of which were full of journalists from around the sector-Umoja, Moria, and even some of the outlying colonies. All were there to see the beginning of Tarsonis's new government as it shifted from the Terran Dominion to the Terran Republic. After defeating Amon and negotiating peace with the zerg under Zagara, Valerian Mengsk had begun focusing on rebuilding Tarsonis and Korhal, and that's when the political shitstorm started. The Dominion needed the Umojan Protectorate's help, but they refused to acknowledge a "medieval monarchy spawned by a dictator" as a valid government even though it was constitutional. The Umojans also released more information about Valerian that was potentially damaging-that the labs run by Mobius Corp. had been more closely supervised by him than he had originally said. Skygeirr Station was the most egregious. Horner had asked him, man-to-man, what he actually knew. He had told him that he was only aware they were performing experiments on zerg and xel'naga tissues-he didn't know about the hybrid breeding program. But he did know about what they were doing to UED POW Vice Admiral Alexei Stukov. Valerian said that he willingly turned a blind eye to what they did to him because he thought it vital, at the time, to finding a way to neutralize Sara Kerrigan. Whether it was because he was UED or because he was infested and technically zerg, news reports focused on the hybrids and glossed over the torture of someone he knew to be a decent man. If it bothered Valerian, it was hard to see, which made Horner watchful of him now, waiting for more of his father to emerge. The Umojan Protectorate has a point, Horner thought.

Valerian was forced to step down, and his cabinet named Horner as his interim successor until the Terran Republic could build its infrastructure enough to hold an election. The Umojan Protectorate began helping Tarsonis pick up the pieces of the coup against Arcturus Mengsk and the invasion by the Queen of Blades. It had been five years, and Horner was just now thinking that he had the hang of governing-and now he would have to publicly debate other candidates and run for the position to keep it for another five years. Even so, Horner had doubts about his leadership capabilities. Raynor should be up here-not me, he thought. But he knew that would never have worked. Jim Raynor had not wanted to lead even when he was with the Raiders. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them, he thought, Valerian was the first, Raynor the second... But Valerian was disgraced and Raynor had vanished. Hopefully I'm the third... After Valerian stepped down and the smoke cleared, there weren't many other options.

Horner took a deep breath and thumbed again through his notes on the datapad in front of him. His main talking points were those of national security. They had been burned before by outside threats. Other than a few outlying factions, the protoss were their allies, but on the other hand, the zerg, even with Zagara leading them, could be fractured by a new leader-just as Abathur almost had done. Worse, if Horner had learned anything, it was the threat that could not be predicted that always ...bites you in the ass. Restructuring was also critical. The military needed its academies back online, and the education system-especially on Tarsonis-needed new buildings, updated materials, and staff that were not praising the "glory of the Dominion." Trade deals with the Kel-Morians and the Umojan Protectorate to bring food and other resources to people who needed it were his other sticking points. Things we can all agree on, not too detailed, and enough to talk about but not enough to make me look like a boring, stuffed uniform-I hope.

Finally, one of the other candidates entered the studio. The journalists all stood at once, their cameras flashing as she strode in. He recognized her; It was Dr. Joan Slavens, a philosophy professor at Tarsonis City Colonial University, the largest and most prestigious public universities on Tarsonis-before it was shut down by the Dominion. She had settled into being a nuisance via private broadcasts during the war. Horner had watched a few of them. Dr. Slavens was a good speaker, and she had the air of a rumpled intellectual with her barely-tamed blonde curls and wrinkled tweed jacket. She waved warmly to the journalists. This made him even more nervous. Dr. Slavens was a well-known personality and respected. She already had a following, and it would be easy for her to build a bloc of voters. He, on the other hand, had name recognition, and was known as a war hero on one hand but a compatriot of the now-controversial Valerian Mengsk on the other-his alliances could make someone's decision either way.

Dr. Slavens took her place at the podium next to his and adjusted her microphone, tapping on it to test it. She put her hand over it and turned to Horner, giving him a rueful smile.

"Of course, Mr. Marinakis isn't here yet. I hope his freighters are timelier than he is."

"You have some experience with Marcos Marinakis?"

"Unfortunately, yes. He told me he would let me interview him for my vids a half a dozen times... He was a no-show on half of them and more than an hour late on the rest. We could be here a while. I mean, this only a presidential debate, after all. I'm sure his business brunch was much more pressing."

"Well, if he's much later, we'll have to start without him."

Marcos Marinakis was a shipping magnate-one of the few that wasn't Kel-Morian. He had a reputation of being loud, obnoxious, but shrewd in business. Some people would believe that would make him good at guiding the Republic, but Horner didn't really see him as a threat. Because of his manner and what inevitably comes out about anyone who runs a large company, he was by far a long shot.

Horner's thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble far in the distance. It shook the building, and a little bit of plaster rained from the ceiling.

"What the hell was that?" Lockwell said. Horner's security detail, two marines in street combat gear, came in from outside the room.

"Mr. President, we have reports of an attack on the outskirts of town heading inward to our position. We need to get you all to a secure location."

"Where?" Horner said quickly.

"The basement of this building is a nuclear bunker. We should be able to hide out there."

Horner sprung into action.

"All right everyone, listen," Horner said into the microphone. "We're all going to do this quietly and without panicking. Please follow these gentlemen downstairs. Keep aware of your surroundings..."

There was another rumble and the power went out. Horner shouted over the din of fighting and the journalists talking nervously among themselves.

"And don't panic."

The journalists filed out of the room with Horner taking up the rear. He paused to look out the window. Republic troops had began flooding into the streets, and before them, a nydus canal had opened. The infested crawled from its maw, waves of them flooding over abandoned hovercars and the makeshift barriers troops had constructed along the way. In the distance, a siege tank and a platoon of Terran Republic troops began firing at them, but were overwhelmed by the sea of flesh and claws almost instantly. With dread, Horner realized there could be only one person responsible: Stukov.

And there's the threat we didn't anticipate.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

When Words Fail - Chapter 1

Hey, yeah, so, I NEVER post a fanfic without completely finishing it first, but I’ve just had so much trouble writing these days. I was thinking I’d post the chapter I have finished for this fic and that any feedback would hopefully end up giving me inspiration/motivation to finish writing. It’s all there in my head, I just can’t seem to get it on paper.

So! Please let me know what you think! I would love constructive criticism considering it’s my first time writing for these characters/this fandom, so please send it in if you have it!

Come scream at me when you’re done reading. It’s what will feed me to keep writing lol

Virgil knew what it was before the lesson in school. Most kids did. He had asked his parents about it in a panic the first time it happened, marker marks appearing on his skin without his doing accompanied by a strange, tingly feeling.

His mother had simply smiled, telling him to ask his father and turning back to her phone call. His father gave an exasperated sigh before sitting down and explaining.

It was called a “soulmate.” Someone whose soul was tightly linked to his own, a bond that could not be broken except through death. Because soulmates were so hard to find, the universe had taken pity and given them a way.

Any mark you made on your skin, whether it be with ink, paints, or something else, would also appear on your soulmate’s skin. That way, if you ever met them, you could know they were your soulmate through those marks.

Virgil’s father explained all of this to him in a bored tone of voice before shooing him away, claiming he had work.

Virgil was fascinated. Someone out there was destined just for him. Someone out there would love him no matter what, just like his parents loved each other. He was too scared to write to them on his skin (he couldn’t write very well anyway, being so young), but he knew they were there. And he couldn’t wait to meet them.

-------------

They were finally formally taught about soulmates when they were eight. It was a nationwide event, like the way they did those big tests for the highschool kids, so all the kids learned about soulmates at the same time and didn’t freak out when writing appeared on their skin. It was a generally ignored fact that most kids already knew about soulmates at this point.

Virgil followed his teacher with the rest of his class to the cafeteria. The principal stood on the small stage at the front of the large room, usually used for the sub-par performances of various elementary classes. The weird folding lunch tables that everyone hated had been folded in such a way that they now appeared as benches.

Virgil was glad his teacher had trouble rounding up the class to get to the assembly, it meant that he got to sit closer to the back. Less of a chance of being noticed.

Eventually the principal called for quiet and all the third grade classes fell into whispering instead.

“C’mon, kids! Listen up,” a teacher called from the sidelines. “This is important stuff!”

The cafeteria only got a bit quieter after that, but the principal deemed it acceptable enough to start her lecture.

“Alright, guys, I know a lot of you already know this stuff from your parents, but we still gotta talk about it, okay? How many of you have heard of soulmates?”

Almost every hand in the room shot high in the air.

“Great!” The principal said, moving closer to the front of the stage. “If you didn’t raise your hand, your soulmate is a very special person meant just for you! Now, a lot of people think it’s gonna be really, really hard to find their soulmate, but there’s a special way you can talk to them and recognize them if you ever meet. How many of you have ever drawn on your skin?”

Guilty hands slowly made their way into the air. The principal smiled knowingly.

“It’s okay,” she said, a bit of laughter in her voice, “most of us have, right? Even if it wasn’t on purpose, The reason us grown-ups have always told you not to is because anything you write on your skin will appear on your soulmate’s skin too! We didn’t want you guys to scare your soulmates off before they knew! Now, how many of you have ever had your soulmate write on their skin before, seen it on yours?”

Hands shot in the air again. Virgil wished she’d stop dragging this out. He knew all of this already. He slouched down further in his seat and crossed his arms.

“It tingles a little, right? It feels kind of funny. And sometimes, if you two talk enough, you can even feel your soulmate’s emotions when they write to you! And they can feels yours!”

Virgil perked up a bit. This, at least, was something new.

[Read the rest on AO3]

[stabigail]

11 questions meme

1tagged by @myrkks, tagging....... @pentaughast @ghoste-catte @beamkatanachronicles anyone who wants to ig :V

1. how would you describe your writing style or “voice” as a writer?

HONESTLY i still feel like i’m growing into my style, lol! and i often feel inconsistent, but i think part of that is a lack of confidence, still, forever #justwritingproblems. being more realistic, i would say that i tend to write from a very firm point of view and my narrators tend to be quite unreliable; i also tend to focus a lot on sensory details. generally i’m very much a stream of consciousness writer! it’s what i love 2 do.

2. do you prefer to write in first person, second person, or third person, and why? which tense do you prefer?

it depends on what i’m working on, and i definitely flip-flop some, but i almost always write in third person. for me, first person works really well for Very Unreliable Narrators who are trying to skew their story in a certain light, or for stories that are literally one person talking to other people. i love love love first person in podcasts! alice isn’t dead is probably my favorite podcast that utilizes first person, and i really love the depth of emotion that it conveys as a result, so i am more likely to us first person for projects like that.

generally, though, i struggle with first person because it limits narration in a way that i struggle with at times. second person kind of creeps me out as a writer because i feel like a soulbonder?? WHICH IS NOT A KNOCK ON SECOND PERSON, i think it makes for beautiful work, but it’s just not for me. so 3rd person limited is my favorite and has been for a while!

as for tense, i used to write exclusively in past tense but now i write exclusively in present tense and i couldn’t even tell you why. is it because the focus on the present makes for more dynamic writing? is it because i’m pretentious? is it both? likely.

3. what is one thing that inspires/motivates you as a writer these days?

oh man haha . . . spite . . . no not really, it’s a little spite but more feeling a lack and a motivation to fill it! my original work right now is based around a lot of feelings i have about both personal and global uncertainty, and while it isn’t a political piece at all, i’ve definitely found motivation to explore topics that i wish were easier to talk about. when it comes to fandom stuff, it’s usually “i love this pairing, but i never see work for it” or “i love this pairing, but i wish there was more diversity of work around it,” because i like filling gaps and also just always fall for pairings few other people care about. i’m also deeply motivated to write character exploration pieces for fandom because holy shit, nothing makes me happier than picking apart a character’s motivations and rearranging them in a new form. i’m the sylar of other people’s characters.

that being said, sometimes my motivation is “why are there only like 2 smut fics of this lesbian pairing and 238974293874 of this pairing of 2 dudes” and that is spite and i’m not sorry for it.

4. what is one of your strengths as a writer?

uhh,,,, i think i have a good attention to detail? is that a cop-out answer? maybe. i have a good grasp of figurative language, i think, and i actually am quite proud of that now that i think about it. i used to write super purple prose, and through the past few years i’ve been able to really neaten my writing up so that it’s . . . still flowery! always will be! not sorry! but it’s not overbearingly so, and the figurative language i use enhances the story rather than drowning it. shoutout to @pentaughast who has been writing with me for like five years and giving me feedback until my writing stopped being a horrible disaster thicket of metaphors, you’re a pal.

5. what is something you’d like to improve about your writing?

(rolls out scroll)

no but seriously: my number one thing to improve right now is learning to stop editing while i write. every writer is their own worst critic, but i will literally write half a sentence and then go back and change the whole thing, because i’m convinced that everything has to be Perfect the First Time. which is in fact a microcosm of my entire personality. so, anne, don’t edit while you write! also, your first draft is not your final draft! i don’t feel a need to just barf out a certain number of words per writing session, but i do think it’ll benefit me to have momentum and iron out kinks later.

6. what is one genre you enjoy writing in, and why?

hmmm this is interesting because genre is such a broad and subjective thing. that said: urban fantasy is and has always been my jam! i wouldn’t say i’m particularly good at it simply because 1) it is a super vague genre with few hard and fast rules, so i’m not sure how much of my stuff is urban fantasy even, and 2) i’ve been struggling a lot with writing original stuff over the past few years, which is where i have written urban fantasy stuff in the past.

overall i enjoy writing in fantasy or fantasy/sci-fi most of all genres, but never high fantasy because it causes me physical agony. aspects of f/sf i like a lot are basically f/sf as a mirror to our world or otherwise connected to our world (without necessarily using f/sf components as a substitution for actual discussion of oppression cuz, nah,) as well as f/sf as satire, that is my FAVE. discworld (t. pratchett) was the first fantasy series i really locked onto and it was v formative, obviously; also gaiman, stiefvater, jemisin. this question was not about my influences but too bad here they are!!!!!!!!!!

7. what would be the biggest compliment someone could give you about your writing?

the biggest, biggest compliment would be: while i was reading this, i forgot the world existed. because that has always been the biggest thing for me as a reader! the way reading can just take you somewhere, so no matter how shitty things might be in your actual situation, you can just take a break from that and follow bilbo around, or whatever. another really excellent compliment that i actually have gotten (both in writing fic and rp) is “i can hear their voice,” either in narration or dialogue. that’s huge! and it makes me really happy to hear. basically i would love for my writing to be an immersive experience for people, and that’s what i’m always striving to improve.

8. what is one piece of advice you’d give someone experiencing writer’s block or feeling stuck with their writing?

READ

idk, for me, fighting my writer’s block literally does not work. just staring at a piece of paper or a computer screen makes me upset and frustrated. reading, though, is both enjoyable and relatively passive; you don’t have to come up with ideas, you just have to take in someone else’s. as a writer, too, you can read both as an audience member and as a fellow writer observing. what does this author do that works or doesn’t? how does this style work in this context where it might not in another? how does it relate to your style? etc.

more generally, do something nice for yourself cuz sometimes that will boost your creative spirit. self-care is huge!

9. what is one piece of advice you wish someone had given you when you started writing?

lskdjfskld uh . . . don’t follow any of the advice people give you because most of it either only works for specific people or is entirely bullshit? i suppose more specifically i wish someone had been more supportive of fantasy/sci-fi as a legitimate genre with meaning, although of course that is a societal view rather than a specific one that surrounded me as a kid. it’s shitty, though, because until fairly recently i viewed the type of writing i enjoyed as “less than”/less meaningful than like, i don’t know, anything written by racist old dead white guys.

also, young adult fiction is fucking valid and doesn’t make you a less “serious” writer. i, a Fucking Grown Up, am still most captivated by YA fiction because there are fewer restrictions on it and writers tend to experiment more and, most importantly, because stories about transformation and trying to figure out who you are will never not be compelling.

10. what is a common piece of writing advice you disagree with, and why?

rubs hands together

one: write what you know. what the fuck is that, i want to know who came up with it because fuck? you??? definitely it’s fine to write about things that you have a personal perspective about, or to write in a way that reflects your worldview or emotions or whatever. but write what you know is literally the stupidest, most limiting garbage, and i have met so many grown ass adults who believe in it so strongly. curse that mess.

two: you must construct x type of work in y format following z formula. a lot of times this is really great and works well for people, but other times it can be, again, really limiting. beginning-middle-end is great, but even that can be inappropriate for certain stories, depending on what they are? for me, strictly following writing formulas made me overly focused on “”accuracy”” and less focused on writing what i enjoyed.

three: this one isn’t quite as cut and dry as the previous two, but: write protagonists that people can relate to. here’s the thing: i feel like this often gets translated to “protagonists that are charmingly aware of their own assholeishness, totally perfect and always right, or bland,” and it’s kind of a shitty trap to fall into? this is another reason i love unreliable narrators, bcause you can have that nuance and imperfection without the entire story being about how shitty the character is. their imperfection is part of the story and perhaps even a driving force, but they aren’t just sort of a paper cutout used to drive the story along. hello i’m anne and i struggle writing protagonists.

11. what writing projects are you working on these days?

excited buzzing. a couple! i am really shy about talking about original stuff, but i am working on scripts for (tentatively) a podcast about a very apathetic and cynical gal who is one of a very few survivors of a series of natural disasters and also may?be the one who made them happen. Whoopsie.

fanfiction-wise, i am working on finishing . . . christ on a raft let me count. four! one-shots. there’s a fifth one that i wrote 10k words of in like 2015 and still haven’t finished and i don’t know if i’ll trash it or not lol. regardless, i am working on those! there is a fic that i started working on a while back that was meant to be a multi-chapter fic called reverse about giorno tripping into vampirism and fugo having 0 idea what to do about it; i’ve let it dangle for ages, but i am slowly fleshing out the plot again and getting it going. i’m very excited to do this! i love giorno having to figure out how to vampire and i love fugio.

finally, @relares and i are starting to work on a reset fugiomis fic which, weeps into tea, will kill us both.

[mary-magizoologist]

Just Friends - Part 4

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader x OMC, Charlie, Reader’s mom.

Pairing: Reader x OMC, eventual Sam x Reader

Summary: College Student AU. Sam and you meet at Stanford. It’s the beginning of a new life, with new people, and old. What will happen through all these years?

Words: 1753

Warnings: terrible summary, some flangst.

A/N: This is the third part of my first attempt at writing a series, so feel free to leave any constructive criticism.

Catch up here

Just Friends - Part 4

"Mom, you're worrying me here and you not telling me anything is making it worse-"

"Your dad and I split up," she cut you off, spitting everything.

“What…” you stopped to think, “For how long now?”

“A couple of weeks,” she told you, “We didn’t want to tell you because we thought we could solve everything.”

You sighed. You knew your parents were having lots of fights, they had them way before you left for college and it was one of the reasons you chose to go to a university that far from home, but you never imagined things were that bad between them. You closed your eyes and ran a hand through your face. You were sad and wanted to cry, but you didn’t want to give your mom something else to worry, a separation was enough.

“I’m sorry, mom…”

“Why are you feeling sorry for?” she asked.

“I don’t know, I mean, because of the situation, I think it wasn’t nice for any of you.”

“No, sweetie, but it’s probably the best things right now.”

“And what are we going to do now?” you asked, “Where is he staying? What are we going to do for Thanksgiving?”

“Right now your dad is staying at your grandma's house. And as for Thanksgiving… we’ll see what we do okay? Don’t worry about it now.”

“Okay, mom,” you nodded, even though she couldn’t see you.

“Did you start packing your stuff?” she asked, clearly changing the subject to a more trivial thing.

“Uh, yep,” you answered, “I prepared everything earlier today.”

“Great. Well, we’ll talk tomorrow, honey.”

“Good night, mom.”

“Good night,” she said back and hung up.

You put the phone away from your face and stared at it. You were kind of glad your mom had decided to tell you about her and your dad, otherwise, it would have been everything but a pleasant welcome home surprise.

You plugged in your phone by your bed and let it charge. You changed into your pajamas and got into bed.

The next day was one of the worst days ever. You overslept, missed the first part of your philosophy class, and thankfully managed to get to the second one without the professor noticing your arrival.

"Did he took a roll call yet?" You whispered the guy sitting next to you.

He shook his head.

"Thanks," you smiled.

You turned in your place and started to take notes. Or tried. You couldn't even concentrate on what the man in front of the class was saying. You got two words, then blank, a couple more words and then a blackout again. You felt your phone buzzing in your pocket, you grabbed it to see who it was and it was a text from Thomas.

Can we talk later?

You frowned at your screen. What does he want to talk about?

You tried to focus on the lecture again without much success. You took in a deep breath and then let out a long sigh. This week before the holidays is become a total bummer. You hated when things got into you and affecting your life like this. You didn’t want to sound like a drama queen, but it was like the universe was laughing in your face as if it was pulling your leg. You could totally picture it saying 'What? You really thought things were going to be easy now, darling?' Sick. Joke. Well, in that case, thank you, Mr. Universe.

By the time you thought this class couldn't take more time to finish, the professor dismissed the class earlier because he had a meeting. You thanked God or whatever was out there for that. At least there were some good things, you knew how to appreciate even the little ones.

You threw everything in your backpack again and ran from the classroom, and as soon as you'd pass through the door you collided against someone's broad chest. The person in question hold you to prevent you from falling and you stood there dumbfounded.

"You okay Y/N/N?" The person with a manly voice asked.

You frowned. You knew that voice. You raised your head to look at him to discover it was Sam.

"Oh, Sam, sorry," you apologized, "Though I'm glad it was you who I stumbled with."

He laughed. "It's okay," he stopped to look at you. "Are you alright? You look tired."

"No, yeah, I mean-" you shook your head. "I am tired. I overslept this morning, got late for my class, Thomas texted me saying he wants to talk to me, my parents are going to divorce-"

"Let's go," he cut you off.

"Where?" you frowned.

He put his arm around your shoulder and started to guide you.

"We'll get some coffee, a couple of those chocolate chip muffins I know you like and you'll tell me everything. Now, enjoy the walk with my pretty self," he said with a smug smile.

You mocked him by making a grimace.

"Hey!" he complained.

"I'm kidding, Sammy, I always enjoy your company," you giggled leaning against him.

At the coffee shop, you ordered a Vanilla Latte and Sam ordered a regular latte for himself, with a couple chocolate chip muffins.

"Wanna tell me what's wrong?" he asked.

You sighed.

"I already told you," you looked down at the table.

"I don't wanna push, but you know you can talk to me whenever you feel like it."

"I know, thank you, " you smiled at him. "It's just, things where fine. Despite the whole break-up with Thomas thing, everythings was great. And now my mom called me last night and says she and my dad split up. They used to have a lot of fights, yes, but I haven't thought that it was going to end up like that, you know? And it all happens a few days before I go back for the break. And Thomas texted me when I was in class because he wanted to talk to me. He goes MIA and now he wants to talk?" you huff, taking a swig of your coffee. "I should've asked for an Irish coffee."

Sam laughs. "Don't worry that much. I'd like to say that your parent's stuff is going to work out, but I don't wanna say anything and then things go south. But I'm sure that they know what they're doing and whatever decision they make it's trying to do the best for them and for you."

"No, I know... When I was little there were moments where I wanted them to get a divorce, because of the number of fights they had. It might sound terrible what I'm about to say, but watching them fight that much made me learn what I don't want in a relationship," you let out a sad chuckle, "God. I just... It just caught me by surprise, you know?"

"I understand," he showed you a sympathetic grin, "It's pretty normal that you feel the way do. What about the deal with Thomas? Are you going to talk to him?"

You raised your eyebrows and made a pout. "I actually don't know. I should give him a shot at redeeming himself, right?"

"That is up to you."

"Ok, you know what? Enough about me. Let's talk about you. Tell me what happened with Jess. Did you call her?"

"Do you always get that type of coffee?" He asked suddenly.

"Are you really changing the subject, Samuel Winchester?" you pretended to be hurt, "You made me come here and tell you about all my problems and you can't give me some information?"

"Fine, I called her like you told me to do, and we're seeing each other again before I leave to Lawrence, she accepted to go and have dinner with me," he grinned.

"Sam, that's great! I think you both are going to make a really cute couple," you smiled.

He chuckled. "Now, tell me, do you always get that type of coffee?"

You pursed your lips at his attempt to change the subject again, making Sam laugh.

"Yeah," you answered, "I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to coffee and this is the only type that I really like and doesn't taste way too strong," you shrug, "I've tasted others, but they aren't appealing to me. Do you always drink lattes?"

"Well, it depends. I like lattes on regular days, cold lattes on chilly days, when I'm too tired I drink plain and black coffee. And I also enjoy a good smoothie every now and then."

"Like those smoothies made out of oatmeal, fruits, kale and stuff?" you grimaced.

"You know? My brother makes that exact same face everytime he sees me with a smoothie," he grinned and you laughed. "But yeah, those kinds of smoothies, they're good for the organism."

"Yes, no, I don't think so. Call me basic, but I do like a good lemonade with ginger and kale one in a while," you smiled.

"I really like that kind of lemonade too!"

"We have to do it sometime. I'll get the lemons and the ginger, you'll get the kale."

"Deal," he said. "When are you leaving home?"

"I have my flight this Friday's afternoon, you?"

"Friday night, I'll have my date with Jess on Thursday."

"Are you nervous?" you asked.

"Not that much, I am, but I think I'll be more nervous when I'll have to knock on her room door," he laughed.

"I think you'll do great, if she likes you, she wouldn't mind the fact that you'll freeze," you smirked.

"Thanks, that's reassuring."

"Well, it is! Trust me," you winked.

You looked at the clock on the wall and you had to leave for your next class. You were totally getting a change of schedule the next semester.

"I gotta run, bud," you announced.

He took a look at the clock.

"Yeah, me too, I'm going late for my class. Time flies when you're having a good time right?"

"It certainly does. See you later, Sammy," you waved at him.

"See you, Y/N/N," he smiled and left to the other way from yours.

Part 5

Feedback is very appreciated!

[3laxx]

Breeze Analysis

Here we go.

Ao3 / FF.net

Hello, I am 3laxx.

I am the writer of the fanfiction Breeze on archiveofourown.org and Fanfiction.net.

And since I have received a lot of negative feedback lately because of various characterizations or scenes in my story I decided that I want to explain a few things.

This is not a call out post and I do not want to name any of my commenters or reviewers, they know what they wrote and I hope they stand to their opinion so that I can write this honestly and answer truthfully.

First off, I wrote this work to entertain.

Yes, to entertain in the angsty way that Breeze is written but still, I wrote this fanfiction for myself to write and for you guys to read. This is a free work and I’m honestly very disappointed that I have to point this out since somehow it should be common knowledge:

Fanfictions are free works, written for nothing else than the writer’s fun and maybe some recognition outside if the writer decides to upload it. I do not own money with Breeze and I have put time and effort in this fanfiction to make it work.

Second off, this fanfiction is my story. I wrote it and I decide how it will go and how it will end.

And third, I am welcoming honest reviews and comments, I am valuing constructive criticism and I am always looking forward to being able to tell you why I wrote something the way I did and why some persons are reacting the way they did.

I am also always smiling over people yelling at me what I have done and what they want to do to the characters that are doing the bad things. That is fun to read and I get like that over other stories as well.

What I do not like, however, are comments that are trying to tell me what to do or what should and should not have happened or should and should not happen in the future. Comments telling me how I should or should not have written the story and then trying to command me to do certain things they want to see in my story, things they want to read and how they think everything should happen now because to them it would be logical.

Do not get me wrong. I respect people who start thinking about my story and who are building their own opinion on how it could continue. I actually love to read their speculations and I love answering them why something is or is not plausible or why it would not make sense for some characters to react the way they propose these characters could. Or how much of their theories make sense.

It really is an honor to me that so many people are reading my story and that so many people have left comments or reviews, anonymous and with an account, that were both interesting to answer and nice to read.

I am reading every comment and I am reacting to each one if there is a question or a problem that they want to have answered. I am also reacting to other comments, just because they were nice. And I absolutely love to explain myself. If someone writes me that they do not understand why a character reacts the way I depicted it in the story I always want to answer as quickly as possible and explain myself because I have written on Breeze for about a year before uploading it. I want to tell you what my thoughts have been outside of the story. I have beta read it multiple times, alone as well as together with two others, and I have thought out every single character and why they react the way they do.

But apparently, I have failed to make it obvious enough in the story since too many people have been trying to tell me what to do, since (strangely to me) practically nobody understood Marinette’s position and why Alya, Adrien, Tom and all the others are reacting the way they are.

At first, I thought they just have not read the story closely enough since yes, Breeze is providing answers in a very subtle way and maybe a bit later than you might think. But as these comments became more and more I began doubting my own story. Have I not explained the characters enough? Have I not been able to show how they are feeling?

Since I really do get this feeling I want to explain these things here now, answering for all your questions and doubts in one big rant. I hope you will find your answer in here and if you do not feel free to ask me again.

And I want to point out again that this following text is my opinion on my fanfiction and that my work stays just this, my work. Since I am the writer I am basing the work on my experience. Since I have never seen humans fly without the help of science or gravity I do not write flying humans except the world is a different one.

If you disagree I ask of you to approach me reasonably and keep it clear that it is your view on my thoughts. I will treat you with the same amount of respect as I am treating everyone, I will not be rude and I will not be angry. I love to hear your thoughts on my work and I want to read what you have on your mind. However, if you try to tell me what I have to do or how I have to continue I will not answer.

(I will proceed by explaining the most criticized characters in terms of 1) the overall characterization, 2) coping with Ladybug’s death, 3) how they are treating Marinette and 4) how they are treated by others (if it is required), then I will go over to a few stylistic problems and at the end I will rant a bit more.)

 So, first off, the class (As in Sabrina, Alix, Mylène, Max, Kim, Juleka, Rose, Nathaniel and Ivan. I am excluding Chloé, Alya, Nino and Adrien since I am characterizing them individually).

Many people have criticized how I depicted the Miraculous class in my fanfiction.

I feel like I need to begin at the very root on which I have based their characterizations. Again, these speculations on how the characters are reacting are based on everything I know. I have thought about this for over a year now and everything mentioned here is my opinion and my view of the world.

1) So, back to the class. In Breeze they are all aged up three years and since it is canon that the class is around 13-15 years old in the series they are all 16-18 years old now. In my experience 16-18 year old people who are aiming to do their a-levels go to the last or one of the last years of school (there are always kids that are finishing school with 12 or people dropping out of school with 21 because of reasons but well, the Miraculous class is still together and nobody skipped a year and nobody went back a year. Also, this class and overall school seems really like an upper class environment to me, with the daughter of the mayor, the son of a world renowned designer (that Adrien was allowed to go there by his father can only speak for the school. I doubt Mr. Agreste would have let him go there if it was a regular school) and the daughter of a cook in a very luxurious hotel owned by the mayor).

Since I just finished school I have just been there. My friends and I are all around 18-19 years old and I have based the Miraculous class on their respective characterizations from the series and the official wiki as well as my experiences with young adults of that age. I tried to age them up accordingly without losing their strongest traits which was challenging considering they are just side characters in my story.

So, as I have seen it, people of that age generally become more serious. There is not as much happy going lucky in the characters anymore and the focus is not on who is holding hands with whom (as it has more been a topic with 14 years) but rather on managing school, already looking out for a future education like studying or an internship or at all managing their lives themselves. There is more and more responsibility being placed on shoulders of people that age, like becoming a co-trainer in a sport they did for a few years, being asked to mentor younger kids in the school, being asked to keep an eye on an unattended younger class for a moment and completing tasks at home that the parents or other adults would not have asked of younger kids. Most complete their driver’s license which comes with an insane amount of responsibility (at least it should be) and a few are already doing a side job to own a bit of money on their own, to have worked before finishing school, et cetera.

So, the average stress level is pretty high.

As I have experienced it people of that age are, even if they are more reasonable, they tend to also be more sensitive to stress from the outside, like parents urging them to finally go out and find a side job, to care for an application for studying or an internship or to write better grades to finish school with a good certificate.

Of course, people of that age also tend to be very careless, they start partying, they do silly and funny things. Not everything is all serious and grey, it’s also quite funny and exciting to be of that age.

Just serious topics are taken more seriously and there is a different understanding of the world than it had been three years ago.

For me, quite a lot has changed in the past three years and I can say with almost full certainty that everyone would agree.

Growing up is a weird process and especially during puberty a lot of things will start to be handled differently. Some tend to get more insecure and self-conscious, some tend to get more confident. For everyone puberty had a different impact but it is pretty safe to say that for everyone, it had an impact. Some consequences are bound to happen since the brain starts working differently. I am not saying that we start seeing everything more like adults and stop being childish, I do not know anybody to who it happened that way. But I am saying that we are approaching serious situations differently then.

2) This is what brings me to how the class is coping with Ladybug’s supposed death. It is a new situation for everyone and nobody really knows how to deal with it.

Of course, all of them are shocked, sad and helpless. They do not know what to do, they do not know how it will go from there. Maybe some of them have never lost a family member and thus do not really know how to deal with death on a personal level at all. Ladybug was an inspiration, a hero and a role model. And suddenly, she is gone.

At this point, nobody is able to think straight. They are scared and helpless and Hawkmoth’s Akumas are coming almost every second day, maybe even twice on one day, to defeat Chat Noir. What then? Will they all feel so cold and controlled by that madman again, like when they were akumatized by him? Will Paris burn in the end? Will they maybe loose Chat Noir as well? Will the damage stay? But Ladybug and Chat Noir both seem so young, how could someone just have taken her life, especially after three years of fighting crime? She was experienced and then suddenly a classmate of them, one of the sweetest girls they know, gets akumatized over practically nothing (I will talk about that in Marinette’s characterization more detailed) and her twisted and turned form claims to have killed Ladybug in the timespan of maybe twenty minutes tops (since Marinette briefly talked to Alya, then ran home, got worked up, got akumatized, brought her Miraculous to Hawkmoth and then attacked the school. That is a really short timespan to kill the experienced hero of Paris).

They feel unsafe even if Chat Noir is doing his best to fight the Akumas. They feel that sooner or later Chat Noir who is obviously getting exhausted will be overrun by the sheer pressure Hawkmoth is forcing on him and then, everything will be lost. Because someone they knew has killed their beloved hero. Because someone they are seeing every day has destroyed the dynamic and beloved superhero duo and has brought doom upon all of them.

Because, simply and quite frankly, they are scared, confused and angry.

3) Which is the reason they are acting the way they are. They would have never thought that Ladybug could have died, they would have never thought that someone they know could have killed her and they could have never even fathomed that it could be their sweet, courageous, patient and dorky classmate Marinette. Especially over something that they see as a normal and everyday thing. Nobody really acknowledged Chloé bullying Marinette when she started standing up for herself thanks to Alya (and her newfound confidence through her secret life as a superhero) so for them it is not special and especially not worth getting akumatized over since Chloé is just Chloé, right? Nobody is really realizing the dangers that come from mobbing and hey, better let the rich snobby girl do what she wants since she may call her father if we intercept. Marinette had always stood up for herself when this happened but somehow, this fateful day, she has not.

They are angry at Marinette for letting Chloé get to her when it is pointless listening to that girl.

They are confused how it could have come that far with her when she had handled it just fine before and they do not understand how she could have gotten so mad over something so invalid.

They are scared because it could happen again. In the four years that Ladybug and Chat Noir fought Akumas it is given that people have been akumatized again. Quite frankly, they are all afraid of Marinette. They do not want her anywhere near them and they certainly do not want to set off the monster she was transformed into again.

Since her akumatized form has killed Ladybug they set her apart from all the other Akumas. For them it is not a normal Akuma incident, for them Marinette and Miss Fortune are one person since they need a murderer. Ladybug is dead and blaming nobody except the phantom that is Hawkmoth? They need to blame someone they can see, someone they can look at and say “Yes, she killed Ladybug.”, because they somehow need to cope with it. For them it is not enough to just blame Hawkmoth since he is practically thin air for them. They cannot even see him. The only indication that he is there are the Akumas that are repeatedly attacking the city.

Coping with the death of a family member, a friend, a person we knew or a pet is pretty hard. Thankfully, I have not been there that often but I have and in my experience, it has always been hard accepting they have just passed away. When a family member died of an illness I could not understand that nobody was at fault. Surely the doctors have made a mistake or the medicine has failed. Surely there was something else wrong and surely, we could have helped them if only the science had been more developed. Accepting that there was nothing we could have done was almost not possible for me.

Something can always be blamed and be it oneself for not caring for the ill person enough, for not being there for them or something else.

It is, however, a completely different thing if a family member dies through an accident (comparable to Breeze since nobody in my family or at all, people that I know, has been murdered, thank god).

If a family member dies through a car accident, someone can be blamed. Someone I can see, someone I can look at and know “You have killed my family member.”, because I needed that.

I needed someone to blame, someone to have taken that person from me. So, I based their reaction on my experiences because frankly, that is all I can do. Everyone is coping with death differently and since the class are side characters I focused more on their respective traits.

Like this, Kim is a more loud-mouthed character. He does not sit around and wait for better times, he stands up and openly asks how to get rid of Marinette. Because he is scared of her, because he is irritated and because he does not draw the line between his classmate and her akumatized form. Because he buries it within himself that he is uncomfortable with Marinette being near him because she (or a form of her because it must have somehow still been Marinette, just as much as he has still been Dark Cupid) has killed a human. And not just any human, she has killed the greatest real-life superhero he has known. Alix and even Max are quite similar.

On the contrary we have characters like Nathaniel and Mylène. They keep quiet because they do not know how to handle the situation. They do not intercept, they do not want to start any more drama around Marinette since they are just as scared and irritated but they also do not help her.

In their eyes, she has still killed a human, a superhero, so they shut their mouths and mourn in quiet.

Then there are characters that are more in between. Sabrina for example.

At the beginning, she is mostly on Chloé’s side but she also is more the type to cope with Ladybug’s death quietly. And as I will be hinting to, she is also kind of agreeing with Nino. Instead of helping Chloé bullying Marinette she takes a step back at some point, she starts observing more and she is more and more realizing that it could not have been Marinette who has killed Ladybug, like Nino said. She will not be the only one in that class to do that.

One comment has really confused me, though.

They said that the class was bullying Marinette, all of them.

But they are not. They are not helping her, granted, they are hostile against her and they are ignoring her, but they are not actively bullying her. Chloé is doing that (I will talk about that in her characterization) but none of the others is. The scene where they have tried to vote Marinette out may have thrown some of the readers off but Marinette has not been in the room to that time. They are scared of her and irritated by her but they do not bully her.

 Now, Chloé Bourgeois.

She is, even if it may not seem the way I depicted her in Breeze, a very complex and yes, conflicted character.

1) What I want to say about her first is definitely that she is not just some bratty rich snob as she may seem to everyone. Yes, everyone has that impression of her and yes, she does not do really much to prove them wrong but in my opinion, Chloé is a very insecure character. She is constantly denying she is at fault for anything and she is always searching for another who can be blamed (again, the question of blame about which I have already talked before. It will come up in point 2 and 3 for Chloé again).

Also, Chloé is pretty similar to Kim, she is loud-mouthed and she definitely does not wait around for something to happen. But in contrary to Kim she has a very distinct view on justice regarding herself and especially on self-administered justice. If nothing is done about something you can be sure Chloé does something. This can be an honorable trait and it can be used for good but I have aged up Chloé fully based on her character in the series and not on the potential that she has. I do not want to spoiler anything but that is how it is right now in the story and I needed it plot wise. Everything else is a spoiler and will not be discussed further.

But there is also the side that Chloé has always had, the bully side. Yes, she is depicted as a bully in the series and since I have based my work on the first season I have aged her up accordingly, as mentioned above. Because of the bully side I have decided to keep her bratty attitude and to not give her a redemption arc since it is needed plot wise.

2) Ladybug has been a hero to her. Yes, Ladybug is a hero to all of Paris, she is a superhero, but she has been Chloé’s personal hero. There are a lot of theories about how Chloé may base her redemption arc on Ladybug’s (or more like Marinette’s) kind personality and that she wants to be more like her so she changes herself.

So, there we are, the only role model she has actually looked up to (maybe after her mother? Or even Mama Agreste?) and she was killed by the girl she already hated in the first place. Ladybug meant so much to her because she would not show weaknesses and suddenly she is killed by some random Akuma. Not just some random one but Marinette’s, of all people.

Chloé is furious. Of course, at first, she is mourning Ladybug’s death and she is really sad to have lost her hero. But after some time, she feels anger and hate bubbling up inside and guess who it is directed against? Yes, of course Marinette.

Like the rest of the class, she does not draw a line between Miss Fortune and Marinette and so, she of course blames Marinette for Ladybug’s death.

3) Which brings me to why Chloé deals with Marinette the way she does. On the first day, she does not even notice her in any way. Chloé is in a horrible state since she lost the one human she ever accepted as a role model lately. But as soon as she, too, needs someone to blame she of course starts attacking Marinette. She is the only one actively doing that to Marinette, she is the only one who is bullying her when she notices. The rest of the class is talking about her behind her back but Chloé is the only one telling her to her face that she is Ladybug’s murderer – because Chloé does not have a problem doing this. She has talked to Marinette in that manner for years already and she has also been physical before (she did push Marinette on quite a few occasions in the show), so it is no surprise that Chloé does not have a limit in bullying Marinette now. Especially since, again, Marinette stands alone. There is no Alya to have her back anymore.

Also, Chloé does not take any blame for akumatizing Marinette. For her, too, it has been a daily thing to speak to Marinette that way and she does not take any blame on anything at all, that is just her personality. But instead of fearing that she could be akumatized again Chloé openly shows her how much she hates her for “killing” Ladybug. How much she is holding that against her. How angry she really is. She does not tolerate that Marinette is “playing the victim”, when she is obviously a murderer.

4) The class and everyone else is certainly not complaining about Chloé doing something like that to Marinette. They are all feeling the same way in certain amounts, they all feel like Marinette should not play victim here. Plus, as already mentioned a few times, they do not blame Chloé for giving the initial start for the akumatization. For them it has been such a minor occurrence in the entirety that is Chloé’s overall bratty attitude that they feel like Marinette does not have the right to feel hurt by anything. They all have successfully managed to block Chloé’s hurtful words out, all these years, and they have watched Marinette doing just as well as them not listening to anything.

So, of course they do not blame Chloé. She has just been herself, she has just been as always. For them it is Marinette to have made the mistake of listening to her.

 Next on the list is Tom Dupain.

Again, a very heavily criticized character. But I do have a reason for writing him the way I did.

1) In the show, he is depicted as the stricter parent. As seen in “Timebreaker” and “Simon says” he is the one calling Marinette and harshly reprimanding Marinette that Ms. Chamack is waiting to be let in to get the cake she ordered. He is also the one telling her that she should wait in the bakery the next time she is home alone and a customer needs to get a delivery. In “Simon Says” he is the one talking to her about her absences, not Sabine.

That does not make him less loving. It also does not mean that he is the “mean parent”, because he isn’t. Tom is a very loving father and husband and I did not change anything about that, I merely let one thing outweigh the other because of how I felt he would see it.

2) To be honest, Ladybug’s death does not affect Tom too much. Of course, he is worrying about Paris and of course he is worrying about Chat Noir. The other superhero must just be as young as Ladybug has been and Tom does not think it is good for the boy to shoulder such a great responsibility, protecting Paris as the last line of defense. Of course, he thinks Ladybug must have been way too young to die and he asks himself if her family knows about this and if they are mourning (it is quite ironic and frustrating, yes).

He is also worried that every damage will stay and that someday, Paris will most likely be in ashes, Chat Noir will have broken down because of exhaustion and Hawkmoth will win. He is not exactly sure what Hawkmoth will have won and how it will benefit him because nobody knows that but it cannot be good for the city if he is already destroying it like that now.

To break it down, he is more worried about Chat Noir’s condition and the situation the city is in than about Ladybug’s death. He is, in my view, rather pragmatic and yes, he does have his thoughts about her death but he is rather looking forward than back because he himself did not have a close connection to Ladybug (again, very frustrating to think about). He is rather worrying about the people who had, people who saw her as their role model or who were friends with her.

But what shocks Tom the most is how Marinette started acting as an Akuma. Since I am basing Breeze on the first season of Miraculous Ladybug I can only guess if Tom and Sabine have been akumatized in the three years that I have aged the characters up.

Since it is unlikely that not because they are characters who are so much in focus of the series as well, I assumed they have been akumatized but I didn’t elaborate on it any further. So, Tom most likely knows how akumatizations work and how twisted some people have gotten when akumatized. But all the other Akumas have been fought by Ladybug and Chat Noir. No damage did stay, no injuries, no bad feelings.

The Akumas have become a normal occurrence in Paris but they have mostly been defeated in the duration of a few hours. The Parisians have gotten used to it.

3) And then there is this Akuma that falls out of the scheme. Who is so completely different than all the others. And it is his daughter, of all people. He is asking himself what caused Marinette to lash out like that, what caused her to be such a-… Monster? Quite frankly, he is conflicted.

On the one hand, there is his daughter that he loves dearly and strongly, his little baby daughter who he raised to be a strong and beautiful young woman.

But on the other hand, there is this terrifying thing she was turned into by a mad man, someone capable of killing coldly and mercilessly, and one of the superheroes of Paris, mind you. And not just that, no, that thing also attacked his beloved wife. Almost killed her. Flung her around on her neck through a room, hurt her.

Someone took control of his daughter and made her turn against her own mother, without an apparent reason. Without a warning, even.

Tom is not angry at her and he does not hate her. He is still the loving father and husband. But he is simply unsure how he should handle the situation at all. He feels like he has to choose a side, like he has to choose between his daughter and his wife and since his wife is the injured victim he had cared for first while the twisted form of his daughter practically plunged Paris in its doom, the decision is a hard one for him to make.

There is his wife who is holding no grudge against her daughter while her neck is only slowly healing. And then there is his daughter, taken advantage of, a cruel form of her having taken away Paris’ hope, the hero who could have healed his wife in a few seconds.

He cannot look at his daughter differently anymore, he only sees the hurt girl a madman has turned her into.

He is only able to see the thing that almost killed his wife, the thing that killed Ladybug, he can only see Miss Fortune in her eyes and while he feels sorry for her his anger takes over.

Not anger directed towards her but towards that Akuma that was inside his daughter’s mind. That Akuma that was planted there by Hawkmoth. He is angry at Hawkmoth for using his little girl like this. For turning her in this, yes, monster.

He is shocked and hurt and overall just furious because how dare Hawkmoth doing that to his family. But he is human, after all. He is shocked in the wrong moment, in the moment in which Marinette wakes up and wishes for nothing more than understanding and comfort. But her father is irritated and confused and all that he feels is not yet sorted. So many questions in his head and all is unanswered. As soon as he develops the hate towards Hawkmoth it is already too late and Marinette has turned again.

That is what is discouraging him from caring for her. She has turned away, she is blocking everything and she is shrugging off every attempt by her mother to comfort her. It is irritating him how depressed Marinette has become and how little of her old self he can still recognize in his daughter. Because of this frustrating misunderstanding between father and daughter he is not acting and she is thinking that he does not love her anymore.

4) In case anyone is wondering, Sabine and Tom are still talking to each other and Sabine is encouraging him to step to his daughter but everytime he tries Marinette blocks off. Because Breeze is mostly told from Marinette’s view when it is regarding Tom we do not see his attempts to get through to her. I will get into detail for this in Marinette’s characterization.

 Because I feel like it, Sabine Cheng and Nino Lahiffe. It can only help hearing from them as well even though I do not need to go too detailed on these two.

1) I gave them about the same role in Breeze but we see more of Nino than of Sabine. These two are, funnily enough and contrary to the most comments, the most abnormal characters in this fanfiction. They are not reacting with mourning or anger towards anything, they are immediately jumping in to help and care for Marinette. Most of the comments said that Nino and Sabine are the only normal and human characters in the whole fanfiction even though they are everything but. They are, more likely, idealized characters, acting like we all wish we could if something like this happens to us.

To some extent it is possible to act that way, maybe even fully, but I gave them a more ignorant view towards the outer world, maybe even Nino more than Sabine, and towards their own needs. In Breeze, they do not even fully comprehend Ladybug’s death, they never even think or talk about it. All they see is the miserable state Marinette is in which is very honorable. Yes, they are, as the only ones, doing the right thing but in my opinion, it is only borderline possible since the world they are living in right now is way more dangerous and serious than “just” caring for Marinette’s well-being.

Do not get me wrong, I love these characters for being able to do that. I just think that it is funny how most commenters saw them as being the most normal while they clearly are not.

2) They see Ladybug’s death the same as Tom. Sabine maybe sees it a bit more motherlike, ergo she worries for Ladybug’s family (same frustration here) while Nino sees Ladybug more as a role model who has now died. It results in the same, namely the worries for Chat Noir as well as Paris.

3) They are caring for Marinette because they are the only ones drawing the line between Miss Fortune and Marinette like everybody should. They try to encourage her and comfort her but it is obviously not working since Marinette blocks off against her mother because she blames herself for hurting her and she does not really notice Nino’s attempts to comfort her. I will talk about that more in Marinette’s characterization.

4) Nino is still tolerated in the class and he is a huge help for Alya but nobody is really approving of him coming to Marinette’s defense. They think he is right to a certain extent but as I characterized them they are still blaming Marinette. But their focus is not on Nino, especially because he cannot exactly actively help Marinette (as I will talk about in her characterization), but on “the murderer in the class” so it does not really matter for the plot of Breeze.

 One of the heavier judged characters is Alya Césaire.

Yes… Yes. Wow. The feedback I got for her was-… Huge. Not quite uncommon was wanting to kill her. So please, let me break this down to you all.

1) Alya is Marinette’s best friends. We all know that, we all love their relationship and they are easy to ship because the chemistry is just there. So, I got a huge negative feedback on how I depicted Alya’s character in Breeze because in my fanfiction, she broke that picture and a lot of people (including me, by the way) did not like that. Let me explain why I did it and why I did it so extremely.

So Alya is without a doubt Marinette’s closest friend. They are like sisters and nothing ever broke that bond. So why did I decide to be a mean author and, of all things, break that relationship?

Okay, because I am sure we all know Alya’s character quite well I do not need to explain that again. As mentioned earlier I aged all the characters up accordingly so everything from the overall class characterization regarding age and seriousness can be projected onto Alya’s character plus her personal traits.

Let us start at the turning point in the first chapter. When Alya steps in to protect Marinette against Chloé. Marinette only has in mind what Chloé said to her, “Don’t you see they just hang out with you because they pity you?”, but Alya unfortunately did not hear that.

She is pulling Marinette now towards the office of Mr. Damocles to finally have some consequences for Chloé’s behavior. Marinette is asking her if Alya pities her and Alya thinks she is doing the right thing by answering yes, to comfort Marinette, but because she did not hear Chloé’s claim it is just the wrong thing to answer. Thus, the drama starts and the whole akumatization happens.

Alya is a mess. She has been attacked and hurt by her best friend, her role model is dead and nothing seems to make sense or give hope anymore. Nino, her love interest, is suddenly taking the side of his former crush (or so she thought? She is not sure about Nino’s interests at all anymore which additionally weighs down on her), Chat Noir is acting so completely not hero-like and it is pretty clear by now that at some point he will be overrun by Akumas and Paris will be lost.

2) Ladybug’s death lets Alya’s whole world crumble. Her role model, her favorite celebrity, her personal hero, killed by her best friend. For her it is basically the same as with Chloé just that for her it is way harder to deal with it. Chloé hated Marinette before, for her it is not a big deal to hate her even more. For Alya it is a mess. Not only has her best friend been akumatized because of her but she also attacked her, she killed Ladybug and on top of that she is trying to claim that Ladybug is not dead. How should she know, nobody remembers anything from their akumatization? Why is Ladybug not showing up anymore, then? Why did Marinette let something get to her that is so normal to them, the Chloé problem? Why, why, why did it happen at all?

Quite obviously Alya loses all hope at first. And all trust in Marinette. Her best friend has reacted to an originally comforting reply completely unreasonable and then has attacked her – after killing one of Paris’ greatest superheroes. She is completely drowning in fear, irritation, confusion, disappointment and anger that she does not even know where to start sorting out her feelings.

3) For this point I have decided that I will explain Alya and Adrien differently than the others since these two are the most important to understand. Now, I want you to imagine your best friend, a bully or a mean person you know and your role model. You have them all in mind? Take your time and imagine them. If your best friend and your role model are the two most different humans you can possibly think of (ergo you cannot imagine your best friend putting on a mask and then suddenly being your role model) then that is the best possible start. And now for the example: We have your best friend here. You are giving them ice cream. Everything is fine, you are laughing and the sun is shining. Suddenly, your best friend drops their ice cream that you gave them because the bully is shoving them. You act quickly and you smile and say “Don’t worry, I’ll get you another one.”, but your best friend is suddenly going crazy over the fallen ice cream. They are so in rage (and you absolutely do not understand why because it is just ice cream…?) that they kill your role model and attack you but completely leave the bully out.

I bet you are confused. Why would I compare Breeze to something like that?

Well, it is fairly easy. You are Alya Césaire, your best friend is Marinette, the bully you know is Chloé and your role model is Ladybug. For Alya it has been a normal situation, the ice cream that has been dropped to the ground can be an everyday thing. Normally you would say the bully is at fault but your best friend does not go crazy over the bully shoving them but over you telling them it is fine. And suddenly, your idol is dead, killed by your best friend over something so invalid that you cannot grasp just how it could have happened, especially over you being understanding and nice to your best friend. How would you treat your best friend?

Some would hate them. Some could not be able to look into their eyes anymore. Some would distance themselves from them because they cannot believe what they did.

But I bet that nobody would pat them on their shoulder and say “No, it’s fine you killed my idol, you weren’t yourself.”

And that is what I based Alya on. I cannot explain better how I decided to write her because that example hits it perfectly. It is an everyday situation and on the nice comment her best friend goes absolutely crazy. Of course, there are factors like Hawkmoth and overall akumatization but basically, it is just that. That Marinette has been akumatized is taking a backseat. Because all that Alya sees is “What the hell went wrong?”

 I think the most criticized character is Adrien Agreste.

So, let me explain that as well.

1) Adrien has been locked away from socializing for most of his life. We all know our sunshine boy. The first real friend he makes is probably Ladybug since technically, he meets her first. The second friend he makes is Nino. Then Marinette. Probably a bit later Alya.

So, he quickly considers Nino as his bro or best bud and Ladybug as his other best friend. And he falls in love with her. We all know the love square and we all know how hard Adrien is swooning over that girl’s superhero form. Now that we have the basics we can move on to how he’s coping with Ladybug’s death.

2) Not at all. His best friend, the love of his life, et cetera, is dead. Just like that he has been robbed of the one person who truly knew him, knew some of his darkest secrets since they have surely grown closer over the years by someone he considers a friend. Let us be honest, Ladybug was his world. And her being dead is just not imaginable. It is not fathomable for him, he cannot grasp it, he is truly lost. During the fight, he still believes she might show up but when he slowly comes to understand that Miss Fortune must be speaking the truth because where would Ladybug be if it was something else, he completely loses it. That is the reason why he deals with Marinette so harshly, because he just came to realize he has lost the love of his life.

3) And now imagine we take the scene from Alya, we are just replacing the best friend with someone you know and are on good terms with and the idol with your one true love (does not have to be crush, just the overall person you believe you will spend the rest of your life with) and you are watching the exchange, you are not even part of it. It is the same principle. The ice cream, the bully, the nice comment of their best friend and they go crazy. You do not understand, how, how could this have happened? And suddenly, the love of your life is dead.

For Adrien, there is also the exhaustion. He is the last remaining superhero, the last remaining defense and he is balancing his already stressful schedule with his superhero duties that have now doubled. The Akumas have doubled, the time to fight them has doubled, everything has doubled and he is not able to think straight anymore because of mourning Ladybug’s death and the overweighing exhaustion that is pulling him down. That boy is running himself ragged. He is slowly breaking down. Caring for Marinette would be too much for him, especially if he cannot even look at her.

He is feeling it like that class and especially like Alya, he is dealing with an overflow of emotions and he just cannot sort them all and push them aside in favor of comforting his lady’s murderer.

He is dealing with enough himself and ignoring Marinette is definitely his smallest problem.

Okay, that is the first half, the second will follow as soon as I wrote it with a reblog/follow up post.

[caiotlyn]

Chocolate Bars and Lucky Stars

Title: Chocolate Bars and Lucky Stars

Pairing: College AU - Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 1663

Warnings: mostly fluff, light cursing, mentions of divorce, a tiny bit of self-loathing, angst?

A/N: This was written for @dancingalone21‘s AU Funny Quote Challenge. I restarted this story who knows how many times, but I think I kinda sorta like it now? I dunno, feedback and constructive criticism would be much appreciated! It’s also the first Sam fic I’ve ever written, so I really hope I did alright!

Feel free to check out the rest of my masterlist!!

~~~

“Ugh,” you groan. “I hate Shakespeare.”

You slam your textbook shut and spin your chair around, turning toward Sam, who is sitting cross-legged on your bed with all of his notes and textbooks spread out haphazardly, the eraser end of his pencil in his mouth.

“C'mon, Y/N/N. It’s not that bad. Just a few more exams, and then we can go home for spring break,” Sam tells you.

You groan once more. "I just don’t understand why we’re analyzing his crappy writing. I already suffered through it in high school,” you complain, turning back to your desk to glare at your notes.

Sam quietly chuckles, a small grin appearing on his face, and shakes his head at your frustration.

You open your textbook again and break off a piece of the half-eaten chocolate bar that’s on your desk.

"That’s gotta be, like, what? Your third candy bar in the last hour?” Sam asks you, a disgusted yet somewhat amused look on his face.

“Hey, it’s exam week. I can have as much chocolate as I want as long it keeps me focused on studying,” you argue, popping another piece of chocolate in your mouth.

“Yeah… because that’s clearly working.” Sam rolls his eyes and looks back down at his own textbook.

You finish off the last of your chocolate bar and stand up from your chair.

“C'mon,” you start. “Let’s head out.”

Sam lifts his head up and furrows his eyebrows.

“What do you mean ‘let’s head out?’ Did you forget about all of the cramming we have to do?” he questions you with a confused chuckle.

“Yeah, I know, but I just need to get up and go somewhere. Y'know, stretch my legs and take a break.”

“Okay, well, you go have fun. Meanwhile I’ll be…” He trails off, glancing down at the textbook in his lap. He laughs and continues, “…trying to learn about 18th century European art.”

“Why did you even sign up for that class? Aren’t you going to law school?”

“Yeah, but I needed to take one more class to earn all of my credits, and this was the only one that I was even mildly interested in. But after a few lectures, it’s actually pretty cool. There’s a ton of stuff on architecture, paintings, even some stuff from the late renaissance that–”

"Okay, okay. I get it. You’re such a nerd, you know that?” you tease, earning an embarrassed grin from Sam.

“Sorry, you don’t really care, do you?” You giggle and shake your head in response.

"I’m gonna go now,” you say, pointing to the door. “I need more food.”

“You mean you need more candy bars.” He raises an eyebrow.

You smile innocently. “Yep. Can I borrow some money?”

“Dude, I’m not enabling your sick habit. You’re like one of those lab rats that pushes the pleasure button instead of the food button until it dies.”

“Hey, at least with chocolate it’s both the food and the pleasure button.”

Sam rolls his eyes in amusement, the corners of his mouth turning upward slightly.

“Fine,” he relents. “My wallet’s in the front pocket of my bag.”

“You’re the best.” You thank him after grabbing a few bills and heading towards the door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

~~~

Being gone for much longer than twenty minutes, Sam had taken notice and sent you multiple texts wondering where you are and what you’re doing, but you haven’t answered any of them, your phone on silent and chucked somewhere in the back seat of your car.

You sit on a grassy hill near campus with your knees pulled close to your chest and your eyes roaming over the city below. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t even notice when Sam sits down beside you.

“So how’s that grocery shopping, Y/N/N?”

“Oh my god! Sam, you scared me,” you laugh, lightly punching his shoulder.

Sam chuckles in response and raises his hands in surrender.

The laughter quickly dies down, and Sam regains a serious tone.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Does something have to be wrong for me to enjoy the lovely view of California?” you question him, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable interrogation that’s soon to come.

“Well, no, but good try dodging the topic. I know you only come out here when something’s on your mind.” He stares at you worriedly, eyebrows knit together. “Is it your parents?”

Surprised, you turn your head quickly, and your eyes meet his. “H-how did you know?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders. “Lucky guess.”

“Heh, Sam the Mind Reader strikes again,” you try to joke.

“Y/N, I’m serious. You know you can tell me anything,” he insists.

You take a deep breath and compose yourself. “My, uh… my parents are getting a divorce.”

Sam raises his eyebrows, trying to figure how you’re really handling everything, but your face is void of emotion.

“I thought things were improving between them?”

You let out a humorless laugh and look down at the ground, picking at the grass beneath you. “I thought so, too.”

“And how are you holding up?” Sam asks.

“I’m managing,” you answer, drawing in a shuddery breath.

Neither of you speak. Sam simply looks at you, concerned.

“I don’t really know, Sam,” you sigh after a few moments of silence. “I thought that after my sister moved away that my parents would try to work things out. There was always a little bit more tension between them after she left, you know? They were constantly blaming each other for her not wanting to be part of the family anymore. And then I moved halfway across the country to go to college.” You pause, your voice dropping down to almost a whisper. “I just never thought things would get this bad.”

You finally break down, allowing a few tears to slip from your eyes.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I feel like everyone I get close to ends up leaving me.”

Sam’s heart breaks a little at the slight crack in your voice, and he places his hand gently on the side of your face, turning your head to face his.

“Y/N, not everything in the world is out to get you. I know you, and you’re not one to give up so easily. You’ll push through this, and if you can’t handle it on your own, I’ll be right here if you need me.” Sam smiles at you.

You sniffle softly and smile back at him. “Thanks, Sam. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you say sincerely.

“You’d probably lose your head,” he teases, earning a teary-eyed chuckle from you.

You turn your gaze back to the sparkling lights of Stanford. Sam’s eyes, though, stay fixed on you, that gentle smile never leaving his face. You feel his eyes on you, and you look back at him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” you ask. “Is there something on my face?”

Sam shakes his head, his expression remaining the same. “No, nothing’s wrong with your face. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” you inquire.

“I’m thinking about the day we first met. It was freshmen year, and we were both new to Stanford, both lost little eighteen-year-olds trying to find our classes. Some guy was running through campus and he nearly shoved you down the stairs. I remember that I was behind you and I kept you from falling,” Sam recalls fondly.

“Heh, yeah, I remember that. And then you hit on me with some lame-ass pickup line.”

“Okay, that was only because Dean and I had a bet going on. You know damn well that I would never use those in an actual situation,” Sam defends.

“‘I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. ‘Cause I sure wouldn’t forget a pretty face like that,’” you mock, lowering your voice comically. “I mean seriously, has your brother actually gotten girls with that line?”

“Knowing Dean, it’s probably worked once or twice,” Sam answers, a smile playing at his lips at the thought of his older brother.

“How are things at home, anyway?” you question.

“Same old, same old. Dad’s still not home; Dean’s doing his best to keep up the shop. I don’t know. We’re managing, I guess.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll be outta here in a few weeks, and you can finally go back home and help your family.” You scoot a little closer to Sam, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Sam sighs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

The two of you sit there in silence, leaning against each other and sifting through your thoughts.

“How in the world did you get me to spill everything to you? If I remember correctly, I came out here to comfort you, not the other way around,” Sam says, breaking the silence.

You shrug against his shoulder. “I guess we both needed someone to talk to.”

“Can we just stay like this, out here, forever?”

“Maybe not forever, but we can certainly stay for the rest of the night. We’ve done enough schoolwork already.”

You look up at Sam, your eyes studying each perfect feature of his face. He meets your gaze, his eyes filled with as much admiration as your own. Before you can process what’s going on, Sam leans down and captures your lips in his. You take a few moments to respond, but once you do, it’s like everything falls into place. The kiss starts off slow but is deepened once Sam’s hands come up to cup your face. His nose squishes against yours, neither of you bothering to tilt your heads. Your lips move against his as if they’ve done this countless times before.

When the kiss finally ends, Sam leans his forehead against yours, both of you relishing in the moment.

“I think that this was an awesome study session.” Sam smiles down at you, his hands still cupping your face and your hands tangled in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.”

[charlierejouis]

My Incredibly Unpopular Thoughts on: Criticism and Art

I know what some of you are thinking: Wouldn’t that be a better thing to talk about on that other blog you run? Isn’t this a series from there?

Well, while I do think that my followers on @natsubeatsrock could definitely benefit from reading this, I think that this is an issue that extends farther than the Fairy Tail fandom. So while I’m going to use Fairy Tail as an example, this can go for a lot of things.

By the way, if you want to hear more about this idea, go to this really long essay about anti-snark, which was a partial inspiration for this post.

Stop me if any of these statements sound familiar. (You can't because this is text, but bear with me.)

“If you think that it's so bad, I'd like to see you try to do a better job.”

“If you have negative things to say about Fairy Tail, you should keep them to yourself.”

“Mashima works hard to bring us new chapters every week. How dare you bring down his work?”

“If you don't like this series so much, why don't you just read something else?”

“Kill yourself.”

Yeah, that last one was kinda extreme. I should stay off Youtube...

Otherwise, I see comments like this all the time.

Usually, someone who tries to defend Mashima from the “haters” will say something along those lines and get more notes than this post will probably get. And every time someone does, I cringe. Usually more because of the people going “Preach!” in the notes for the post than anything in the actual post.

Eww…

Of course, that’s not to say these are good arguments. Hence the rest of this post.

I don't normally do this, but let me say why some people might think that I shouldn't be arguing these points. Everyone has a bias behind their arguments. However, with this argument, there may seem to be a conflict of interest that I feel is necessary to address.

I am an art creator. More specifically, I am a musical composer. If you don't know what that means, I write music. I do a lot of other musical stuff, but I enjoy writing music the most. In fact, you might find a few pieces that I've posted here if you look hard enough on my blogs.

From the perspective of a composer, I totally understand the appeal of this arguments. I don't want someone who doesn't know the functional difference between an A sharp and a B flat (or, at the very least, that they sound the same) to try and devalue the hard work I've put into my work. Especially considering that, whenever I put notes on a page, I put a piece of myself on the page.

It's even worse when people don't know the struggle. It's been said that it takes minutes to consume art but hours to create art. I've spent weeks, months even, working on single songs. It's a combination of things that are hard to explain without going into too much detail.

So, why can I still say these arguments still fail?

Because they’re not about content being criticized. They’re about the critic. The problem is that the person making these arguments are essentially saying that the person who is criticizing something is unqualified to do so.

Think about the first one. It's impossible to say anything bad about a series if you're unable to create something as good or better?

How is it possible to have taste for anything if you can't have problems with something without being able to make something like it but better? Simply by having taste for something, you are saying that “I think this is better than that.” You may never vocalize or understand that you are doing so, but that's what's happening nonetheless.

Also, why does this always only apply to people who are saying bad things about the series? Why is it that I only can't say anything bad about Fairy Tail unless I've made my own manga series? Shouldn't it also work the other way around?

No one goes around and says “Stop saying good things about a series unless you can make your own.” Heck, imagine if someone said, “Stop saying anything about anything you can't make.” Again, how would we be able to have any taste for anything if we can only say things about things we can make?

As for the third argument, it honestly doesn't matter if there was a lot of hard work put into something if it isn't good. There are many instances where something that wasn't well made becomes popular and stuff with more thought put into it.

And often, as any honest arts creator will tell you, you'll work hard on something and realize how bad it is. Then, you'll show it to someone who isn't an art creator and they'll love it. The fun is usually figuring out who's right.

Now here's where it gets interesting. As an art creator, I value criticism differently than you'd probably think. I appreciate compliments from anyone and constructive criticism is always good. However, the criticism of the unintelligent means little to me. And often, I ignore criticism that is meant to be critical.

For example, I play electric guitar. I won't listen to people who don't like how loud I play a certain heavy rock piece. That's the point. However, if I'm told to put down my volume down because I'm causing audio issues, I definitely will. 

What is tricky is hearing what is meant to be constructive criticism that is not constructive at all. For example, one person I play with had the nerve to tell me that I was not creative enough with the intention of being helpful.

What?

I did appreciate one of my jazz instructors telling me that my own original solo skill needs to be developed. He explained that I sound like I'm searching for notes to play instead of playing a cohesive line. That hurt to hear, but I appreciate that more than “you’re not creative”, even if that was what the first person meant. 

And, as an art creator, I don’t even have to listen to any kind of feedback. As shocking as it may sound, I don’t necessarily have to listen to people regardless of their opinions of my work. While the internet allows for more connections, it also allows people to distance themselves from people they don’t like. 

Say I decide to take my music to the public. If I post music videos on Youtube, I can turn off comments. If I have a social media account, I can block people I don’t want to hear from. I can even swear off social media. If I sell my music online, I can ignore any and all reviews entirely.

Even if you want to argue that doesn’t stop criticism because people can send me their complaints through newspaper reviews, fan letters or in-person, I can still ignore criticism. I don’t have to read newspapers. I don’t have to share my address or have a PO Box. I don’t need to interact with anyone who only knows me through my music. With the advent of self-publishing and self-production, especially considering music, I don’t even need to have anyone help me with the creative process.

Now, what I’ve just described probably sounds depressing to some of you. Not being able to listen to any input on your work is probably disturbing. Sure, you get rid of the “haters”. But doesn’t your art suffer as a result? 

That’s the point. I will admit that this is an extreme set of examples and that not listening to any criticism ever can cause an art creator never to grow. But, as an art creator, an important skill is being able to weigh out criticism. It is important to recognize when criticism is meant to encourage your style/work and when criticism is trying to discourage on your style/work.

Mind you, I say this as someone who took writing music seriously about 4 years ago. Hiro Mashima’s been making manga for longer than many of the fans in his core demographic have probably been alive. This guy has a Twitter account and gets messages from fans over all kinds of stuff on tweets about games (I know because I follow him). I’m pretty sure that by this point, anything bad that I have to say about Fairy Tail means very little him.

As a side note, some of you might be wondering why I’ve been using the term “art creator” instead of “artist”. Maybe this is just me, but the term “artist” implies visual arts of some form. I feel that the term “art creator” is more inclusive to other forms of arts. It includes people who make music, like me, others who film and edit videos and those who write stories or poems.

Now to that fourth comment. I feel like this defense is misguided. I don't think you should waste your time with something that you don't enjoy. There's plenty of great anime and manga out there. I'm taking my time reading three series, but I read each new chapter about three times each week and I often have to go back and remind myself of events from past chapters.

But let me ask you a question: Do you honestly think I would still be here if I didn't want to be?

Many people criticizing Fairy Tail are fans who have realized that this series is not as good as once thought. Heck, you can go through my posts in chronological order and see me be more cynical of Mashima. While some are here just to rag on the series, many of us criticize Fairy Tail because we want the series to be better than it is.

And honestly, at this point, is it even worth it to go? Fairy Tail is only a few months away from ending at this point. What would be the point of dropping the series now?

I think the worst thing about these arguments is that the people using them have a great opportunity to argue for the series but argue against the critics. If you genuinely think the series doesn't deserve this much flack, it's probably better that you prove why then stop all criticism of it.

In my last edition of this series, I mentioned that there is a similar problem with Sword Art Online and its fandom. Digibro, one of my favorite anime YouTubers (which probably says a lot about me), has gained a lot of fame by ragging on the series. In fact, I linked a few of his videos in that last post and he expressed similar qualms with the phrase “Why can’t you turn your brain off?” that I have with the first phrase. (read: I said almost the same thing)

Recently, he’s made the point that his popularity doesn’t come from being negative about the series, but by talking about the series. In fact, it would be better for him to say good things about SAO than to say bad things. The problem is that no big Youtuber has proven the “merits” of SAO.

The same is true about Fairy Tail. There are tons of people ripping Fairy Tail online. However, there is not a whole lot of people making a defense of the series. The biggest person on the Internet I know that might (Glass Reflection) has yet to finish the series and I don’t know if he still would. 

Instead of less negative opinions about it, the Fairy Tail fandom needs more people to give good reasons to like the series and/or give a good defense for the problems people have for it. And as weird as it may sound, I actually want people to prove that Fairy Tail is really good. I want someone to justify following this series for years. 

But I’ve seen plenty of arguments supporting different things about Fairy Tail and almost all of them range from just off to illogical to “Why is this an argument people use and believe?”. About the only things that don’t are for unpopular ships and some characters. But no one I’ve seen has made a great case for this series. A lot of the people that I think could are too busy telling people with negative opinions to shut up.

See the problem here?

In Conclusion:

If you think that we're wrong for not praising this series, then, instead of asking for less discussion about its flaws, create more discussion about its merits. Make good arguments that the series is better than me and other folks think.

[winterwarmachine]

Sleepless Nights - One

Summary: You, reader, are the niece of Tony Stark and live in the tower as a doctor and biochemical engineer, helping Bruce and Tony at times. When your insomnia starts getting worse, you find an interesting fix that results in the blossoming of a new relationship with Bucky Barnes.

Characters: Reader, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner (mentioned)

Word Count: 584 (kinda short, but this is my first fanfic anything)

Warnings: insomnia??, that's it

Pairings: Uncle!Tony x reader, Bucky Barnes x reader (eventual)

A/N: So this is my first writing that I’ve posted here on Tumblr. I really hope to get some feedback. Constructive criticism is wanted. I really want to improve, so don’t hesitate to let me know of any typos, things I should include/change. Thanks, and enjoy. :)

It was the third day in a row that you'd woken up this early. It wasn’t like you wanted to wake up every day at 3 in the morning, but your mind wouldn't stop shuffling through plans and ideas and you had to get to work or you'd sit there the whole night without a wink of sleep. Turning over in bed, the sheets now draping off the side onto the floor, your eyes groggily attempted to focus on the clock on your bedside table, that read 3:29. Considering you had only finished drawing up recent plans 2 hours before, this was the most sleep you’d gotten all week. Deciding you weren't sleepy enough to fall back asleep, you quietly made your way over to your desk, turning the lamp on quickly. Grabbing your bound notebook, filled with formulas and plans, and your glasses, you slowly opened the door to your room, padding softly down to the lab. Although you had entered quietly, the tower’s AI could obviously sense you. F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted you loudly as you entered the room,

“Hello, Miss Stark.”

Putting on your glasses, you shushed her quickly.

“Quiet down F.R.I.D.A.Y., it’s late.”

“Actually Miss, it’s early.” she retorted, now at a lower volume.

Nodding your head with a smirk, you moved around the tables with your notebook, settling yourself at your usual perch. Situating your materials and pulling up the schematics you had been working on, you started your work, not focusing on anything else. Losing yourself in your work so much that it took Tony raising his voice, not to mention several hours later, to get your attention.

“Y/N! Hello? Earth to Y/N!” he shouted at you, holding a cup of coffee.

Startled and not at all having paid attention to the room, you realized that Bruce was also in the lab working.

“O-oh sorry. What’s up Tony?” you replied a little shaken, looking back to your work and accepting the cup of coffee from him.

“I went to wake you up this morning for breakfast, and you weren't in bed again,” he stated, acting like an overprotective dad. “What time did you go to bed?” he asked, squinting at you and taking a few steps closer.

“Uhh, I’m not exactly sure, so this might be like a rough esti-“

“What time Y/N?” he interrupted your rambling.

“Around 1 o’clock. I came down here at around 3:30,” you grumbled.

Shaking his head, he came closer to you, grabbing your shoulders and turning you to face him. You looked at your feet to avoid his piercing gaze, feeling bad for making him worry. Placing his fingers gingerly under your chin and tilting it up to his face, he made you look at him.

“Listen kid, I’m only looking out for you. You need to sleep.” He stated quietly.

Breaking from his hold, you turned to your notes and work, retorting to his claims.

“I understand, but I just can’t. There’s so much information running through my head and I have to work.” you sighed, turning around to face him again.

“Ok, well how about this then. Take a quick break. You go upstairs to the med bay and patch up the guys who came back from a mission and I’ll take a look at this. How does that sound?” he offered.

Nodding your head in agreement to his proposal, you made your way upstairs.

[incaseyouart]

Time for another batch-answer!! Sorry if this is impersonal but I didn’t want to spam people’s dashes!!

1. Yes I like to try and avoid white backgrounds when I can! Even if it’s just a simple block of colour.

2. This is a FAQ - I use Fire Alpaca, which is amazing and free for the PC and Mac. I’m not sure if it works on a Chromebook but I assume it does? You could also try Medibang Paint which is very similar and also free!

3. Congrats!!

4. My animation professors have told me that if you’re doing it properly you actually should lose track of time - something about using the right brain. References are ESSENTIAL to creating accurate art, so yes, they are extremely helpful and I’m glad you’re using them!!!  DAPGO is a treasure trove :D

5. Yes I think you should post your art!! People will give both negative AND positive feedback - I believe you have to receive constructive criticism to grow as an artist. That’s literally all that working in a studio or for clients is - creating your stuff and then getting revisions (but it has to be constructive, not just empty feedback like “that sucks” or “that’s great”). Please read these posts on self-esteem!

6. Haha I love that phanime, and I’m so grateful @arctoids let me collaborate with her for the third episode!!

7. Hello! Thanks :D There are some ideas on this art challenge list I made here: http://incaseyouart.tumblr.com/post/155100106331/31-art-challenges

8. See answer 5! And don’t focus on notes/likes/social currency so much as creating stuff for YOU and your friends - if you genuinely are happy about the stuff you share, then people will enjoy it more, seeing you’re happy.

9. Thank you!! I have had a lot of practice drawing Phil hahah~

10. My favourite thing about being an artist is creating my own content - like, not original characters because mostly I draw fanart - but seeing inspirational things (like Dan and Phil), having a vision in my head, and being able to translate that vision into something visual.

11. HAHA DID YOU JUST ASK ME FOR EDITING TIPS?! Basically just practice with timing I guess? I’ve been editing videos for like, 10 years now, with various software (Adobe Premier, iSkysoft, Windows Movie Maker, and recently iMovie which is the best ever omg) and each time I learn more about how to cut clips and time them to music, how to add in sound effects, change opacity of the clips etc.. I’ve kind of just been learning it all on my own slowly - I’m sure there are tutorials on Youtube!!

12. It’s okay to take a break! Here’s my advice about getting over art block.

13. http://incaseyouart.tumblr.com/tagged/watercolour%20tips I’ll try to make a video soon!

14. I’m glad you’re feeling better and that I could contribute to that :D Thank you! Have a good one ^_^

15. Try some of my art challenges!!

16. Can you go out to a cafe or maybe a library or some other public venue with table space?

17. Wacom Intuos Draw (Small) is what I use (see my tags about drawing tablets here)

18. Being able to critique your own work is an essentially critical skill to growing as an artist. But you have to balance self-critique with positive feedback - try to find two things good and one thing you need to work on. For example maybe the head and eyes are really well drawn, but you can work on the hands? Seeing your mistakes and then knowing how to correct them is a REALLY really good skill, NOT a bad habit. For tutorials on shading, Google has some good ones - the most important thing is figuring out your light source(s), and knowing the physics (plane changes) of whatever you’re drawing.

19. Yup pretty sure! If you scroll through all my palette challenges here you’ll see them~

20. Just drag & drop the image file directly into the software and it becomes a layer, and then lower its opacity - BUT I WOULD HIGHLY DISCOURAGE TRACING DIRECTLY FROM IMAGE. INSTEAD YOU SHOULD REALLY TRY TO REFER TO/COPY FROM AND MAKE IT YOUR OWN.

21. I would just use a mouse, personally!

22. So, with realism, it’s more difficult because there’s the expectation that all the details and proportions have to be EXACTLY accurate - as realistic as possible - and that takes a more time and patience than a caricature of a human figure/face. But, to accurate caricature something you need to be able to draw it realistically first. So in my opinion cartoon-style is both easier (you can communicate the same body language/emotions with less lines/detail) but also harder because you need to have everything be SIMPLE but also ACCURATE.

23. I often think a sketch looks better than the lineart because with a sketch you are more free as you draw - it is messy but also all the lines flow well and it just looks more organic. When you focus on making the lines perfect or cleaner you lose some of that organic flow. My suggestion would be to do an extra step in between the sketch and finished lineart - so draw your image 3 times - sketch, rough lineart, clean lineart. It might help transition your cleaned version a bit better!

24. Break down the figures into LINES OF ACTION and basic shapes before adding ANY detail at all. Check out my life drawing gestures here!

25. Aaaah sorry I hope I answered in time - regardless of medium you have to break down the face into basic shapes and guidelines before adding any details. Charcoal can blend really well to shade easily!  

26. When I have time, yes!

27. Just a simple “hello” would do, I think! That way the person on the other end can greet you back, and then you’ve established a connection without the pressure of thinking of any topics of conversation - you could put the ball in their court, so to speak. Also you could just like and reblog a bunch of content you like, and leave nice comments!

28. Haha I don’t know if any of it is natural talent - it took me 14.5 years of almost constant practicing to get to where I am now!

29. Yay, more fanart!! ALL THE ART!

30. Oh my God thank you that’s so sweet (this makes me think of what people say about Phil Lester because he’s such a ray of sunshine <3)

31. It’s okay to take breaks! Step away from drawing for a while and just write a story, or read, or play outside, or do a sport, or anything else you like! Don’t force yourself to draw!

32. Watch my video on self-esteem for artists and hopefully it’ll motivate you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5AjCbYrPlk&t=95s You’ll only get better at a skill if you practice it :D

33. I would just get the better drawing tablet first if you can afford it - unless the cheaper one is a good brand like Huion or Wacom!

34. You are improving if you use references, trust me. An easy way to see improvement is looking back at your old art, and maybe redrawing it?

35. Yay! Yeah tools can be common amongst artists - it’s just the level of practice and time put in :D

36. It can take a while to gain a strong following, but keep doing what you’re doing and people will come!!! Keep creating and sharing with the world :D

Thanks for all the asks guys~

[erinjdoyle]

Writing classes

If you want to be a writer it seems like you should go take a course to learn how, that’s totally a thing that you should do, right?

Ummm….

I have taken a range of writing classes and I have mixed feelings about them. On the one hand, I have met other writers and improved my craft. On the other, I have wasted hours of my life on pointless readings, listened to people who are really only out to stroke their own egos, and even been reduced to tears. So, I figured I would tell you about the classes I have taken and what I thought was good or bad about them.

 The first writing class I tried was a correspondence course where you were sent a set of readings and then had to so an assignment based on them. This course put emphasis on writing to be published, on writing to be paid, but it otherwise lacked focus. It started out talking about magazine articles, and slowly made its way through radio and short stories, and then children’s books, and novels, then screenplays, and then I just stopped bothering with it. I dropped it because I had a clear goal in my writing that wasn’t being addressed but such a broad array of topics.

It was too tightly focused on writing products instead of writing beautiful things, things which could inspire or challenge, things that were acts of self-expression. This is fine, if you want to be published no matter what and don’t care about quality or artistic merit. But I think you risk writing things that are too formulaic, with cardboard cut-out characters that no one can actually care about. It might be marketable but that doesn’t mean it’s actually good (Fifty Shades of Grey, for example).

 The second writing course was the cheapest and by far the worst. This was a night class held at a local high school. The problem with this is that anyone can teach a community education program. The guy teaching the class was a local play write of no significance, not someone in publishing or someone who had won critical acclaim, not someone who had studied writing (except for the same correspondence course I had already dropped, as it turned out). What’s the problem with him being a play write? Normally nothing but in this case, everyone in the class wanted to write novels. Writing a play is very different and his experience wasn’t suited. He explained that he had actually wanted to teach a screenwriting class and that the admin people had made him widen the scope to recruit more students- he didn’t want to teach what he was teaching and it showed.

Instead of course readings, he liked to read his own work aloud to the class and then tell us why it was effective. Listening to your teacher read their own unpublished work aloud really doesn’t count as a course reading- students don’t benefit from being told why their teacher is amazing or from seeing just one style of work. The more diverse the written material they are exposed to, the better writers they will be because they will have had many teachers. Having diverse course readings also increases the chances that each student will find something that really speaks to them, we are all different after all.

The third problem was he that was, technically speaking, an arsehole.

He explained that we were to hand in a new piece of writing every week. He said it shouldn’t be hard to do because we were all adults then he looked at me, clearly the youngest in the class, and with a less than friendly tone said: “those of us that aren’t sixteen anyway.” He had decided that I was a child and that I wouldn’t meet his expectations- even if I had been sixteen at the time (I was in my twenties) that would have been a jerk move. A person’s age may give you an idea of the issues they will talk about in their writing, but not the quality of it or how hard they are willing to work to improve, or the validity of their work.

So, we handed our first pieces in for him to read. I had written about a woman learning that the child she have given up for adoption years earlier wanted to meet her.

The following week, he started the class with a big speech about how the quality of the pieces handed in had varied but been generally disappointing, and how one was so bad that all he had written on it was “read a book” and then he laughed. Following this harsh and public criticism of an unidentified person’s piece, the work was handed back and we were each asked to read our work allowed to the class. It came to my turn, and he told everyone that mine was the terrible one that he mentioned before and that they were to pay attention to find the problems and learn what not to do. I swallowed the humiliation and read it. When I finished, he mocked my choice to say that the child in the story was only fifteen years old when she decided she wanted to meet her biological mother, because he didn’t think it was realistic. He mocked my description of the mother’s fear of the letter she received and how she didn’t open until several days after it came. This was not fun, but the thing that made it even harder to endure was that every word I had written was true- to him, it was a meaningless piece of crap scribbled out by a child he didn’t want in his class, to me it was the story of how I meet my sister. I told him it was a true story and he didn’t care. Even after he had reduced me to tears he kept going with his criticism. I gathered my things and left. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had kept going after I was gone.

I am going to assume everyone who reads this can see why mocking a student for being young and then ruthlessly tearing their creative work apart in front of the entire class on their first try isn’t a good thing.

The other issue with his method in general was that he was telling the class what to think about pieces before they read them. It’s better to let people think for themselves first and to then guide discussion.

 The third writing course I took was at university and it was everything the other courses weren’t. It was a class in writing creative non-fiction (a nice tight focus after the first course I never finished) and it was taught by someone who had a doctorate in writing, who had publications and multiple prestigious awards under her belt. And, you know, she was nice. The experience was so good I ended up taking every course she offered.

The classes were interesting and entertaining. I remember learning that it was okay for me to use informal language, even swear words (this was a major revelation to me). Some of what she talked about seemed a little wishy-washy, but I was already a dyed in the wool scientist by that point and anything that was abstract and unsupported by numerical data was at risk of seeming that way, so she was forgiven.

We were not given firmly defined writing assignments. Each week we were given at least two pages of ideas to work with, and had to pick just one. This allowed for each person to find something that worked for them. We were also given a range of things to read. We were given a collection of short stories and poems and were recommended novels, and we could pick and choose what we wanted to read from this assortment of material. Some of it was connected to writing assignments (e.g. read this poem, then write a response to it), and others were not so closely connected but were still excellent pieces of writing that fitted on with the general topic. We were given a lot to work with so that we could find our own path within the course.

The other part of the course was a weekly workshop. We were randomly assigned to workshop groups of less than twenty people each, and we stayed with this group for the entire course. This allowed us to get to know each other and establish trust, which is important for any writing workshop. We would email everyone the piece we were going to bring to the workshop in advance so they could read it and think about it (some people don’t like reading stuff in advance but it was nice to have the opportunity). Then, we would sit in a circle and take turns reading our work aloud. Everyone would then offer constructive feedback. I’m going to say that again, CONSTRUCTIVE feedback. We would pair any criticism with a positive, e.g. “I like the way… but I’m not sure that this part…” This approach was super helpful, and I learned a lot while also making some great friends.

However, there is a potential problem with workshops. If one person is a bit in love with themselves, they can be a disruptive or negative influence. Like, people who waste everyone’s time by bringing things to share but refusing to listen to any feedback, because they have already decided their piece is perfect. Or, they start acting like the teacher, stating their opinion like it is the only right one and acting like everyone needs their permission in some way. Because of these problems, it is best of there is a teacher/leader who can guide the conversation a bit. But, the teacher may not do this well, which means you may have to find some way to insulate yourself from the disruptive person.

 Okay, so what have I learned from all of this?

1.      Choose your writing courses with care. They are not created equal.

2.      If a course isn’t helping you, quit.

3.      You learn more from a good workshop group than you do from an average teacher.

4.      Someone may have an opinion about your work, but it is up to you to decide whether or not they are right.