#This doubled as vent art when I was working on it which is probably why I finished it so fast LOL

[chiscribbs]

The process of giving up...

Donnie held fast to the hope that his brothers were still alive for as long as he could, painstakingly sifting through every possible solution that his genius mind could come up with even as the rest of his family was slowly starting to accept Leo & Mikey's absence as a permanent thing. He spent countless hours reviewing the footage, scouring every remote corner of the internet for answers, chasing down every lead only to be met by dead-end after frustrating dead-end. He kept searching until his brain had run dry of ideas and his body was too sleep deprived to properly function anymore, leaving him staring at a blank search bar as the hours passed him by. In truth, Donnie never once lost confidence in his reasoning; what he saw when the portal collapsed was, in his mind, irrefutable proof that his brothers were still out there - somewhere. And if he could just find them, then he knew there was a chance they could yet be saved. ...But it was that elusive "if" that dangled precariously over his head like Damocles' sword; wire wearing thinner every day,...every hour,...every second...

More info about Disconnected AU here.

[eueuphoriaz]

Cold War between Levi and Hange: Part 3.1 - Double Date

Alright... Sasha managed to do something that everyone (probably except Eren and Mikasa) wanted to do - throw a little anger at Levi. So, with that little vent from her, the double date commenced.

Now, I am always curious why Isayama arranged it like that. If it is not for the purpose of a double date, then why would Hange arrange Levi to go with her, when Hange was still, supposedly, angry at him? If there are only 2 senior officers left, and Hange, being the commander now, should accompany Eren and Mikasa to continue the investigation. And it would also make sense to assign Levi to be on the Wall to watch out if the Marleyan Titans are coming back. Yes, Armin is already a Colossus but his power will blow everyone up too. Then we have Jean and Sasha who are injured, and Connie and Floch. From a logical point of view, Levi should stay at the wall because Hange has Mikasa and Eren around in case there are still roaming Titans when they go to the basement.

The other reason I can think of, is that Hange arranged for Levi to go to the basement as a form of fulfilment for Erwin's wish. I am not sure how much Hange knows about Erwin's personal dream to reach the Basement, but she knew that reaching the Basement is important to him and for the whole of the Survey Corps members. And I guess that was why the anime included the flashback of Erwin making reaching the Basement the sole goal of the Survey Corps during his recruitment speech and then switching it to Armin who stood at the Wall, much like Erwin standing at the wall supervising the battle and expedition.

So, Levi managed to get on the double date. The anime expanded the whole scene and focused on Eren and Mikasa as they walked through their memory. I thought it was really done beautifully, as it gives a chance for them to work on their trauma and grief from 5 years ago.

1) Keeping their distance

So, Hange continued to keep her distance from Levi. Here, the third person who jumped off the wall has a cloak. And then we have the scene of the 4 of them after Levi jumped off the wall. So from the positioning of the 4 of them at the wall before they set off, either Hange is avoiding Levi cos she is still angry, or Levi is avoiding Hange to lessen her anger, or both.

I am thinking that in this cold war, Hange is taking on the stance of "ignoring him", while Levi is taking on the stance of "observing and approaching when timing is right".

This can be really far-fetched, and it may just be from an art-making perspective to add dynamism to the action. But here are some observations when they landed.

Hange had landed at a distance slightly away from the camera lens. Her position is similar to where Eren landed. Then Levi landed closer to the lens, which is closer to Hange now, who had landed earlier than him and was jogging to let the momentum run off.

Here is a look to compare the landing position Levi chose (closer to the lens), compared to Eren. The 2 of them are in the same line of travel.

Probably it is due to his manoeuvring skills and that he is smaller so he can travel further. But my Levihan lens is showing me that he wanted to be close to Hange.

So if Hange had been jogging while Levi landed, that would mean that Levi is either ahead of, or next to Hange, after he landed and started jogging. But we see that Hange is still ahead of Levi after she had stopped jogging.

Ok, it could also be that her legs are longer and Levi needed to take more paces to catch up, which means he is still behind her. Or it just look better when animated. But, poor boy jogged to catch up with her is true.

2) Hange's silent treatment

Now, as the double date continued, Hange and Levi walked side by side, but looking at opposite directions. Then we have Levi asking Eren where is his house.

Just want to point out that in the manga, Hange is the one who talked throughout the walk until they reached Eren's house.

So the anime extended this probably to also highlight the tension between Levi and Hange.

Also, I am guessing that Levi asking Eren where is his house is also a test to sense Hange's reaction to him. She basically still did not react to Levi, except to look to Eren after Levi asked the question on where is his house. So, I am guessing that Hange also had this question in her mind but she is choosing to be silent, because she is still angry at Levi.

3) Levi got his answer

Thereafter, we can see Levi walking slightly behind Hange and that gap between them....

Probably he realised then that Hange is giving him the silent treatment and he is also feeling a bit frustrated now. So the space between them got bigger.

Ok, the second frame probably is drawn because it looks nice. But the gap between Levi and Hange.....

And it is not just Levi, as the quartet get closer to Eren's house, we see Hange also widening her distance between Levi. Like, the 2 of them are just dancing tango with each other- i walk behind you, you walk behind me..... much like a binary star system.

So, finally they have reached Eren's house, but Levi is also slowly feeling the frustration of Hange's silent treatment. Unfortunately I have to do a Part 3.2 because there is a photo limit.

---------

Levihan's Cold War [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3.1] [Part 3.2]

[strawberryspence]

Vienna

Angst | Spencer Reid x FEM! BAU! Female

Summary: Spencer meets the love of his life while Reader continues to the search for her love for life.

Word Count: 2,1k.

Warnings: angst, no happy ending, reference to having sex, lots of sentimental stuff, rossi has a part in this he was the only old OLD member

Writer’s Note: Hello! I am sad, so this happened... I wanted to clear up that I used the song Vienna in this, tho the meaning of the song is more of a “slow down, you have a whole life ahead of you.” I took the song and made it the direct opposite which for me is “find yourself and never stop until you find it. vienna (your destined destination) waits for you.” I didn’t edit this and I wrote it in one sitting so I am sorry for the mistakes. This is basically me venting out my emotions and I am not entirely sure if this made sense.

Spencer knew that you would change his life the moment you stepped foot in the BAU conference room.

You were a new agent with a fiery passion for the job. You were a Psychology Professor before quitting and took up Criminology and after that you ended up in the BAU. You were eager to learn, always on the go and was always energetic to do any job Hotch gives you. You had a heart of gold and would do absolutely anything for anyone in the team and Spencer was in no doubt completely in love with you.

It took Spencer a year and a month to finally ask you out. By this time, you were already close. It wasn’t hard to be friends with you, you radiate warmth and brightness and you were always so kind to everyone. He honestly felt embarrassed and weak. You were this amazing, strong person but Spencer... he was only Spencer.

“W-would you like to get dinner? Or... L-like coffee?” Spencer fidgets with his fingers, staring at his stained converse as it lines up to your black ankle boots. The contrast was jarring, it shows the two opposite spectrums of your personalities. When he looks up, your face was hard to read and it makes his heart beat harder against his chest.

“Like... a date?” Spencer watches as you chew on your inner cheek, something you do when you’re nervous or anxious.

“Yes... But if you don’t want to it’s okay! You can forget what I sai—“ Spencer raises his hand as a sign of goodbye, as the other grips his satchel. He turns halfway before you hold his catch his arms, stopping him from leaving.

“No! I want dinner! I mean, coffee! Whatever it is!” He looks back at you, a smile now forming in your face, and no matter how many times Spencer have seen it, it still catches he’s breathe.

“Really?” A grin starts forming in his face as he watches a shade of pink color your cheeks, “Yes. Tell me when and where. I’ll be there.”

The date was perfect. Spencer picks you up with a bouquet of daisies in his hands. You pick one of the daisies, clipping it in your hair for the rest of the night making it hard for Spencer to look away from you for the rest of the night. He reserved a table for two in a small, quaint cafe. Even with the nerves Spencer had, the date went smoothly. You talked, he talked and it was just like any other day but this time it was a date.

That date leads to another one, and another one, and another one, until you both finally made it clear that you two were dating.

It leads to numerous adventures.

To museums where Spencer becomes your own tour guide, where he teaches you everything he can teach you, where he watches you become one of the beautiful art pieces and where he realizes that he can take something so beautiful and surreal home.

To libraries where Spencer opens a book, any genre, and reads it you as you both take a journey to another world together, where you watch him read books that he probably already have memorized in the back of his head and where you realized that the world is so much bigger than you thought. More than anything it makes you itch for that world.

To movie nights which more often than so ends up with you on his lap, making out like you were both craving for something only the other can give. If it does, you both end up in bed, tangled in each other as both of you catch your breathe as you make love to one another. If it doesn’t, you both watch a movie chosen by the other and just sit in comfortable silence, cuddled into each others warm body.

To coffee shops where you both try as many different kinds of pastries, making a list of which one has the best pastries. The little corner shop down the street near the library is where Spencer learns that you liked croissants but only if they had chocolate in them. In the cafe down on 5th near the pet store, you learned that Spencer liked his blueberry muffin with cream cheese. The expensive, posh coffee shop in the high end street is where you were both kicked out for laughing way too much when you both realize that a muffin costs ten dollars each.

It leads to numerous sleepovers on Spencer’s double bed. Waking up to a new day with you was the best thing in the morning. Waking up tangled with your limbs all around him, waking up to you making him his favorite coffee and pancakes in bed, waking up to your naked body pressed unto him as you dream of him some place else.

It leads to home cooked dinners with silly dance numbers in the middle, warm hugs after hard cases and silent whispers of It’s okay’s, picnics in the park with packed sandwiches and it leads to five hundred, eighty one, forever treasured I love you’s.

One date leads you to numerous adventures and dates with Spencer.

But it was also a year and a month into the relationship when Emily video calls you both for a job offer in Interpol. She says, it would be a breathe of fresh air for the both of you. A new adventure. Together.

Spencer was set in his ways. Virginia was the closest thing he’ll ever have to a home and that’s because of the BAU. They were family. Penelope and JJ are the sisters he never had. Will, Henry and Michael was his extended family. Derek is his best friend and he loved being near him and Hank. Hotch and Rossi was the closest thing he’ll get to some kind of a father figure and he didn’t want to lose that in his life. He has long set his roots in this place, his home and he immediately shakes his head and declines.

He looks over you when the silence was to deafening to ignore and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the hesitation in your face. There was a spark in your eyes, the same one he saw when you first came to the BAU, the spark of excitement. You look at him and you see the way his eyes shines with sadness as he realizes that this was what you wanted. You shake your head at Emily and declines.

Emily smiles as she says her goodbye before reassuring both of you that there will always be a position open for the both of you in her team if ever anyone changes their mind.

That one video call leads to exactly six fights about the job opportunity. Spencer knew that you wanted to go and the selfish part of him wanted to hold unto you. So he did, he held, and he held, and he held until he couldn’t anymore.

Spencer stays late at the BAU one night. The two of you haven’t been the same since the job offer. You have left earlier to go home as he stares at the place he has called his home. Can he leave this? Was his love for you enough to leave everything he has known half his life?

“What’s keeping you here?” Spencer snaps out of the thought, looking up from his paper work to Rossi leaning over the railing right across his office.

“Nothing.” He looks back down, but he can see Rossi giving him a soft smile, “News flies fast around here.”

Spencer snaps back his head, “What?” Rossi nods, “We all know.” He continues to chew on his lip.

“I don’t know what to do.” Rossi walks down the stairs, walking closer to Spencer, “You remember Y/N’s first few weeks?” Spencer nods, the memory of your first week still vivid in his mind.

“You remember how before she was in the BAU she was a psychology professor? When she came on her first day,” Rossi smiles, reminiscing as he continues, “Remember how eager she was to do everything? There was this spark in her eyes and she was just passionate about the job and to learn?” Spencer nods again.

“Kid, in my life, I have met two kinds of people. The Mover and The Homebody. The Mover is the one who moves, they never get enough of the high that life can give, they go around looking for more adventures to learn and to help them grow,” Rossi looks down at him, a sad smile on his face, “Then there is the Homebody. Its not a bad thing to stay in one place. They are the ones who set roots in one place and grows in that place, they get comfortable and make that place in their life their home.”

“Are you saying I am a homebody? And Y/N is a mover?” Rossi forces a smile, giving his shoulder a pat.

“If you’re so smart then tell me, why are you still so afraid.” Rossi sings before giving him one last smile as he turns his back, not giving Spencer the chance to ask what he meant.

Spencer later learns from Penelope that it was a song written by Billy Joel. He asks Penelope if he can hear it by himself in her bat cave and she immediately agrees, leaving him alone with a song someone wrote in 1977 that perfectly fits and embodies you. As the final beats hit his ears, Spencer lets go of you.

The next twenty one days comes in a swift. Spencer stands in the airport as the team says their teary goodbyes to you. The team leaves to give the two of you space and privacy to say your goodbye.

“Spencer... I am sorry.” Spencer gives a smile. It wasn’t fake, there was no bad blood. He wanted to let you go, to go find the best version of yourself.

“This is what you need in your life to grow. I am happy for you.” Your eyes sparkle in tears as your heart softens.

“I’ll be back, if you are still in the same place as we are today, can we pick up were we left?” Spencer nods, as he opens his satchel and reaches in for a box.

You open it and inside is the same daisy you pinned in your hair on your first date, but it was dried and framed. You look up at him with questions in your eyes, “I stole it from you after our first date. I kept it for future purposes but it’s more suiting to give it to you right now.”

“Last call for passengers of flight 582 bound for London. Again, last call for passengers of flight 582 bound for London.” You both look at each other as the announcement rings through your ears

“I love you.” You whisper. Spencer gathers up all the courage he has and pulls you into one last kiss. His hands stays on the curve of your neck as he pulls you closer to him and as you snake your arms around his arms.

Spencer kisses you with fervour and fear. This was the last he’ll kiss you and if he had to tattoo it in the back of his mind he will. He will remember the distinct taste of your peach lip balm, the way your lips moves against him and how your hand presses hard on his back to pull him closer. Spencer pulls away when a voice in his head screams at him to not let you go. He had to let you go now before he change his mind, screams and beg you to stay with him. His heart breaks a little more as he sees tears flowing down your cheeks.

You pull him into one last hug and it sinks in, his holding you for the last time. He tries to memorize how your hands wrap around his neck and how you perfectly fit between his arms. Your body vibrates as you sob against him.

You pull away from him with tear stained cheeks and barely catching your breathe, you smile through it as you wave at him, “Goodbye Spencer.” You sobbed as you start backing away from him. You see him clench his hand as tears start filling his eyes.

“I can’t wait to meet who you’re going to be. Good luck, Y/N.” Spencer raises his hand to wave at you as the inches between the two of you grow bigger.

“Thank you. I love you.” You bid him goodbye before turning your back on him and running to your gate number. Spencer smiles through his tears as you give your ticket to the airport staff. You look back at Spencer and give him one last smile before boarding the airplane.

“Vienna waits for you, my love.”

-

taglist (if you want to be added, please message me 🥰): @all-tings-diego @shemarmooresfedora @averyhotchner @samuel-de-champagne-problems @bingereid @sweetandsunny @reidsbookclub @spencerreid-187

[partnersatfazbear]

Sketchbook Pages 41, 42 (according to my notes)

Hope you guys are enjoying all these double uploads of art and fanfic =XD I’m just really wanting to leave yall with something to tide yourselves over!

To give some background info, I’ve been: drawing a lot of anatomy, especially legs; drawing a lot of non-FNAF fan art (because I’ve been playing old games as a comfort mechanism--I am absolutely miserable without my things and it sucks)

Page 41: I scribbled a lot of notes... Spoilers for RS Chapter... 17? Some fluff, some crazy!Will. I drew his face upside down and like... ya know without turning the paper, and it came out pretty creepy. I hate it XD I reread RS and I just really love William talking to the Spring Bonnie head. I’d probably watch an entire movie of him just crazy rambling, venting, and crying over this inanimate thing he loves. It’s really where you can tell William has gone off the deep end. Even though this was an idea I had originally, I’m glad that TSE’s actually reinforced the idea somewhat. Rewatching FNAF 6 again cuz why not... my wife and I always joke that Henry would encourage Mike to purposely fuck up the Scraptrap salvage mini-game. XD Drew a little comparison of my Mike and William, since they are very similar. The top drawings were done in a pen I prefer, but I misplaced it (like always) and had to switch to a more liquid pen and... well, my sketches get super sloppy with it since the heavier ink tends to dab and smear. I drew this spoiler sketch for Sammy and the AlmagAfton and was wondering where I got the inspiration from (pretty sure it was End of Evangelion. I’ve been biding my time waiting for my wife’s vacation to watch Evangelion 4.0 and it sucks waiting. End of Evangelion, which 4.0 is a recreation of, happens to be in like my top 3 anime films of all time, so...) ANYWAY, I decided to give CEO!Sammy a rabbit... he names it PJ... I very very much picture him like a Bond villain and that’s OK. =:) Oh, the random girl in the center is my personal OC. I wanted to draw her in the night guard uniform >>; She’s a cop in my universe, anyway...

Page 42: The top left has some scraps from other pages (you aren’t missing anything, I was doing non FNAF comic page planning underneath). These were done in pencil, hence the shade difference. Drawing faces and emotions is a huge comfort for me.Like I said before, I reread RS and it’s such a shame Elizabeth and Charlotte didn’t hang out more “on screen”, as I think Charlotte would be this quiet, mature type; Elizabeth is an impulsive and stubborn type (like their old men, I guess). So, like, Elizabeth could get Charlotte to open up more and Charlotte could teach Elizabeth some manners XD There’s a small sketch in the center of a (badly drawn) William for the scene when the Mangle prototype briefly comes to life due to the dog remnant. It’s a creepy scene in the story, even if the theory is universally hated now. It’s not something I believe, really, but I NEEDED it to happen so William could discover Remnant. There’s more angry William and a few more sketches of CEO!Sammy. I really have fun drawing him and I was refining the idea from the previous page. He’s one of many posessed by Glitchtrap, so I tried to show that... (Also, it bothers me that he looks like Rasputin from Devil Summoner: Raidou Kuzunoha 1, BUT its fine. I’ll deal with it.) Please ignore my Aerith sketches. Since my PS4 HDMI died and I can’t get it repaired and I can’t find/afford a PS5 and I haven’t experimented with remote play as a back up yet, I can’t replay FFVIIR, so I’m playing FFVII on my Switch again. Aerith is probably my favorite character of all time, so...

As you guys may have guessed I’m really revving up on inspiration to try and finish Truth Seeker... I think I will be posting more of it soon as the final two chapters of RS come out.

If you like my work, please reblog it, share it, or at least comment and let me know what you loved =:) I really wanna cater more to you guys, but I have no idea where to begin!

[gumnut-logic]

It was late.

It had been a very long day.

A very, very long day.

Scott had been held back at the danger zone by bureaucratic nonsense and a CEO throwing a fit over a couple of Thunderbirds parking in his carpark and the resultant damage to a nearby building.

The insensitivity and self-involvement had John reining Scott in over comms. It wasn’t like he was going to hit the guy, really, no matter how satisfying it might have been. But it had been a gruelling and messy rescue digging people out of a collapsed shopping mall.

He and his brothers had been digging for hours.

Eventually he had to call it and had sent Thunderbird Two back to base.

He had intended to follow shortly after, but…obstacles.

It was just past three in the morning when One streaked into a hover above Tracy Island. The shift to vertical flight was smooth and mostly subconscious. Scott felt his ‘bird in his bones.

As he lowered her through the gap left by the pool, a dim light from the lounge told him he wasn’t the only one awake.

He had his suspicions who it might be and that only had him working through post-flight faster.

It could be Grandma, but chances were it was Virgil waiting for him to come home.

He didn’t always do this. Only after the difficult ones.

And this one had been far from easy.

Scott hurried up to the locker room and, shucking his uniform, washed the sweat and grime from his skin. It felt good to be clean, an extra step further away from the tragedy they had left behind.

He didn’t bother getting dressed other than to throw on some pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. he would check on his brother, possibly grab a quick bite of food and a drink, and then hit the sack.

The house was quiet as he made his way to the lounge. No doubt Grandma and Virgil combined were a force that saw the younger Tracys safe in bed. Virgil likely then turned on his partner in crime and bundled her off as well.

He was determined like that.

Sure enough, a quiet step into the lounge and he found his brother in their father’s chair.

Asleep.

Dark curls let loose from their product by a long-ago shower were a hastily combed mess on his forehead as Dad’s chair held Scott’s brother as if it were its owner. The worn upholstery cradling worn out rescue operative ever so gently.

Scott’s bare feet made little sound as he stepped across the hardwood floor. It was a warm night. The open windows let in a soft breeze off the Pacific laced with the honey scent of flowering pōhutukawa trees.

Virgil muttered and shifted in his sleep.

The sound drew Scott’s attention back to his brother. The desk lamp was the only source of light in the room beyond the starlight far above. The moon had already set and outside was almost as dark as it got, the ocean murmuring in the distance.

There was paper on the desk.

Scott didn’t use much in the way of paper himself. Most of his work was digital, often holographic and as ecologically sound as he could get it.

Virgil, however, did keep a stash of different surfaces to art on in his studio. Paper was one of them. Obviously, some had made it out tonight.

Pencil sketches covered the white sheets. Eyes, half drawn faces. Gordon popped up in one corner, a familiar smile on his face. Thunderbird One had her grapple out and was lifting something half-drawn.

He found his own face staring out of the paper. His drawn self was obviously angry and glaring at a faceless head.

Scott arched an eyebrow at the obscenity scratched into the cartridge under the non-person creature.

Virgil had obviously not been happy that Scott had been held up.

There were other words on the page amongst the drawings. Virgil doodling and possibly venting in the process. Even Scott could see the emotion drawn in graphite.

He sighed.

As if agreeing, Virgil snorted and tried to turn over in the chair, a manoeuvre that wasn’t recommended.

Scott caught his brother under his arms as he tried to slide off the leather upholstery.

He earned a grunt for his efforts. Bleary brown eyes opened and stared up at him. “Sc-t?”

“Hey.” A soft smile. “You planning on camping out tonight?”

Another grunt and his brother tried to right himself in the chair. “You took too long. Why didn’t you sic John on ‘em?”

“I did. But not until tomorrow. John needs his sleep as much as you do.”

“Yes. Yes, he does. Tol’ him.” Virgil’s eyes drifted closed again and he began to sink back into the chair.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to bed, little brother.” Scott gripped Virgil a little tighter and pulled him up and out of the chair.

Various limbs pinwheeled a little and Scott ended up with his arms full of dopey brother, but he got the man on to his feet.

Virgil grumbled into his t-shirt and Scott let off a snort of a laugh. His biggest brother was hopeless when his sleep was disturbed. It was an ongoing source of prankdom – at the risk of the perpetrator’s life.

Hell, Gordon had managed to draw in a second pair of eyebrows on Virgil’s forehead once – while the man was supposedly awake and nursing his coffee.

The double-eyebrowed death monster that had resulted once enough coffee had been ingested was of legendary proportions. Grandma had literally roasted Gordon alive and a ban on markers on anyone’s faces had been instituted for all eternity.

Gordon was a multitalented artist, however, and simply switched mediums.

The honey had Scott blowing a circuit.

But dopey Virgil was a familiar and smile-inducing feature of the Tracy household.

Scott found himself grinning.

“Shuddup.”

Well, at least Virgil had managed a couple of neurons worth of thought.

Scott’s smile only got wider.

Virgil groaned and pushed his brother away and stumbled a little. “’M gonna bed.”

“You do that.” Scott had to stick out a hand and steady him as he wobbled into the side of the desk. “Need a hand?”

That triggered some incoherent grumbling that threatened bear territory. Scott couldn’t help himself and just grinned more as Virgil teetered away in the direction of the elevator.

The fact Scott had to save him from falling into the sunken lounge was probably a sign that the answer to his question was a definite ‘yes’.

A hand on his brother’s elbow prompted more grumbling, but the elbow wasn’t yanked away and by the time they made it into the elevator, Virgil had pretty much faceplanted himself into Scott’s shoulder.

The grin turned into a fond smile as he hit the button for the residential levels.

“You neeb togoto bed too.” It was muffled by the sleeve of Scott’s t-shirt.

“That’s the plan.”

“You bedda.”

Scott wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Or what?”

More incoherent grumbling.

Scott pulled him in a little tighter as the elevator doors opened.

It was like leading a zombie down the corridor, though Scott could easily empathise. He was looking forward to his own pillow as soon as he saw Virgil to his.

A yawn escaped.

His brother looked up as if the medic had bypassed his brain and booted in safe mode. “You need sleep. Go to bed.”

He gestured towards door to Virgil’s rooms. “After you.”

Virgil frowned. “You first.”

Scott rolled his eyes and, reaching around his brother, activated the door and, with a little manoeuvring, manhandled Virgil into his rooms.

“Hey!”

His hand returned to his brother’s elbow and he marched him into his bedroom, amid protests.

“You need to look after yourself.” Virgil finger was jabbed into Scott’s breastbone.

Was it possible for a human to have one half of his brain awake and the other asleep at the same time? Apparently, some birds could do that. Gordon had gone into great detail that year they spotted some migratory waders landing on their beaches mid-transit.

In any case, Virgil obviously wasn’t all there as Scott backed him up against the end of his bed and pulled back the covers. Virgil continued to nag Scott to bed with varying levels of coherence. Smiling, Scott gave his rambling brother a gentle nudge and their gentle giant went Gulliver, flat on his back.

“Scott?!”

The eldest yanked up the covers and muffled the outraged mutterings. “Yes, Virgil?”

But his protests began to fade away and, as Scott pulled down the covers a little and tucked them in, he realised Virgil’s eyes were already drooping again.

Dopey indeed.

He brushed curls off his brother’s forehead. “Sleep, Virg.”

“Mmm, Sco’, go bed.”

Softly. “I will.”

“Mmmhm.”

Scott couldn’t help but smile a little more as Virgil drifted off.

A final touch to his brother’s hair and Scott straightened, his body creaking enough to remind him, that yes, he needed his bed as well.

He slipped quietly out of Virgil’s room and secured the door. A glance down the corridor, a thought, and he walked quietly down to check on Gordon.

The last he had seen of his fish brother had involved sad eyes and concrete dust. A quiet step into his rooms and he found Gordon as he had suspected he would.

The aquanaut was tangled in his sheets and throttling his pillow.

There was a frown on his face.

Much practised manoeuvring and he managed to straighten the Fish out and untangle him from his bedclothes.

Half asleep protests were halted by a plushie squid that awake Gordon would claim to his death never left the mantle above his bed.

Scott knew better.

His little brother quietened, falling into a deeper sleep.

After that, Scott couldn’t help but check in on Alan. It was probably a fortunate thing, because opening the door found Alan asleep in front of it.

The littlest Tracy had a history of wandering in his sleep. Scott had it checked out and it was directly related to early childhood trauma. Which one was a game of pick one.

It was managed, but occasionally it flared up. One of the most common symptoms was climbing out of bed and sleeping on the floor. Sometimes, the piece of floor chosen was a little inconvenient.

Scott was just happy the piece chosen wasn’t a balcony. Five and now Eos had been tracking Alan while he slept for years and issued alerts if he should wander too far.

Scott slipped into the room sideways and, with cracking knees, lifted his little brother off the floor.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Alan shared his sleep type with Virgil and slept like the dead. So, it was easy to move him over to his specially plush rug and snuggle him up with a pillow and quilt from his bed.

Alan muttered something about Virgil pulling him up, possibly something to do with the day’s rescue.

Scott reached out and touched Alan’s cheek.

His little brother mumbled his name and leant into his hand.

Scott blinked. The emotion that suddenly gripped him was just a sign of how tired he was.

Letting go, he pushed to his feet and slipped from the room. In the corridor, he closed his eyes and leant back against the wall for a moment.

One to go.

He tugged at the collar of his t-shirt. “Eos? You there?”

“Where else would I be?” Despite the smart-ass remark, her voice was quiet. Something she had learnt the hard way.

He ignored the comment. “John’s status?”

“John is currently in REM sleep. No signs of nightmare. Pulse regular, respiration as to be expected, body temperature 36.7 degrees Celsius. John is well, Commander.”

Scott let out a breath. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You’re welcome. Kayo and Mrs Tracy are asleep in their rooms, as is Hiram. Which is a concern, if I may say so, because he left Max on the ceiling.”

A blink. “Again?”

“It would appear so.”

Scott groaned. “Keep him out of the hangars this time.”

“I will try. But you know how he is.”

A grunt and Scott pushed himself off the wall. “I’m going to bed.”

“Good. Virgil was adamant you do exactly that.”

A frown. “Or what?”

“He said ‘or I’ll knock his ass out and drag him there myself’. His tone seemed humorous, however, John said it was a half-truth.” A pause. “Which half, I’m not sure.”

Another grunt. “Both halves, most likely.” To stave off a round of questioning at that, Scott quickly followed up with, “Tracy Island out.”

The house fell quiet after that and he let his shoulders drop, rolling his neck as he made his way to his own quarters. In his rooms lay freedom. A moment where he could just be himself, relax and sleep.

Sleep.

The door clicked shut and exhaustion caught up with him. It was a matter of steps to his bedroom, a modicum of the last of his energy to shove the covers aside, and he let himself fall face first into his pillow.

His body melted into the mattress.

It had been a shitty rescue, but his family was all home, safe, uninjured and resting.

He could let go.

So he did.

-o-o-o-

[mellointheory]

inhaling smoke, i just awoke pt. 2

Red is curled up on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a rapidly cooling styrofoam cup of instant noodles clasped between his hands. He ate about half of it before he got distracted by the tv, and the rest served better as a heat source, honestly. It was criminal how cold his apartment was; he was wearing his earmuffs inside, for God’s sake.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up, setting the cup of cold, soggy noodles on the coffee table. He gets up, still swathed in his blanket, and shuffles across the floor to open the front door. Antfrost is standing there, wearing the same thick green coat from earlier that day, with a long shape that looks suspiciously like a firearm strapped to his back underneath it.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“I’m always ready.” Red pulls his blanket off and balls it up, chucking it back over at the couch. He picks up his baseball bat, giving it a quick once over to check the coat of red and white paint, then slots it into the straps on his back. His bag is sitting next to the door, the velvet pockets lining the inside carefully packed with the pots that he’d chosen. The sedatives Antfrost had requested, swirl pale yellow in their black cushioning. He’s brought some additional ones just in case; shimmering harsh pinks and purples and blues in the shadows of his bag. Antfrost peers inside his bag and nods in approval.

“How far away is it?” Red asks, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Antfrost leans against the door while Red locks it, his face peering out of the depths of his green hood. His eyes do glow a little, soft blue light that Red would probably have to get very, very close to have reach him. He adds that to the bucket list.

“It’s close enough to walk; we should have time. And I don’t want to get there until after the doors close.” Antfrost turns and starts walking. His tail is tucked away again, safe from the cold that bites at Red’s hands and face when he follows.

“Can I call you Ant?” He asks. “Antfrost is kinda long, you know.”

Ant shrugs. “I guess I don’t mind.”

“Fantastic. Okay, and what’s your plan then?” Red shoves his hands into his pockets as they reach the street. It’s snowing again. Flakes land in his hair and on his shoulders and melt when they touch his skin.

“They close the doors after everyone’s finished betting.” Red can tell from the bitterness and focus in Ant’s voice that this wasn’t a spontaneous thing; he’s been planning this for a long time. “It’s a warehouse that they took over and repurposed. There’s still catwalks on the ceiling and ways to get in from above. I can drop the gas you made and knock them all out and steal the chimeras.”

“That seems like a solid plan.” Red agrees. “What were you planning before you got me to make this for you, though?”

Ant taps his waist. “I was gonna try to get them with the tranq darts I have, but this will be a lot more effective.”

Red shudders at the thought. “You know tranq darts aren’t immediate, right? They take time to work into your bloodstream.”

Ant is silent. Red quickens his pace to catch up--he has longer legs than him, but the cat hybrid moves with more speed and lightness than he does--and looks the man in the eyes. Ant is only about half a head shorter than him, but the hybrid has his shoulders hunched and is looking down so Red has to lean over a bit.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” He repeats.

Antfrost squints up one eye gingerly. “Maybe….?”

“Jesus, you’re lucky you found me.” Red straightens up and continues walking.

“Well, I’m not sure about that yet,” Antfrost mumbles. Red chuckles.

He can tell when they’re getting close to the chimera fights, because he can hear the cheering. Antfrost pushes his hood back as they approach, his head craned up to scan the side of the warehouse. His ears twitch, little flakes of snow falling on the soft fur and standing out against the dark brown in the harsh lights of the warehouse.

“There’s a ladder over there.” Ant points up, bounding lightly over to the rungs. As he runs his tail untucks from wherever it was hidden away, furling out behind him. It swishes in Red’s face when he mounts the ladder after the hybrid, almost brushing his skin. He wrinkles his nose, eyes crossing when he tries to focus on it.

The snow on top of the warehouse is undisturbed except for Ant’s footprints in it. Red follows the hybrid across the roof to the mouth of a heating vent that arcs from the concrete. The metal tube channels sound and warm air up from the warehouse inside; one of them welcome and the other not. He can hear cheering, and snarling. Ant’s ears flatten back against his skull at the sound and his tail begins whipping around like an angry snake. There’s a quiet growl that Red half thinks is coming from the hybrid’s throat.

“What now?” Red asks, partially to distract Ant from whatever rage is welling up inside his little catboy heart.

“Inside.” Ant ducks over and clambers inside the mouth of the vent. Red glances down inside before he follows. It’s a short drop that Ant somehow managed to make silently, then the thing levels out. He adjusts the bag slung over his back and eases himself down inside as slowly as possible. Nevertheless there’s a quiet clang as his boots hit the metal, and Antfrost hisses a quick shush at him. Red drops to his hands and knees and starts crawling down the vent after the hybrid.

“There’ve been far nicer reasons for me to get on my knees for someone,” he whispers. His voice echoes a little against the metal walls. It’s dark in the vent, and he can only barely see the movement of Ant’s tail in front of him. It’s a pity, just a couple more degrees of visibility and he’d see something much more pleasant to look at.

“This is a little bit more important than sucking dick,” Antfrost’s voice wafts back at him.

“Agree to disagree.” Red says. The noise of the cheering below them is now too loud for him to hear what Ant says in reply.

Antfrost’s back drops down from Red’s view and he sees the vent has opened up. When he looks out he finds a catwalk spanning the ceiling of the warehouse, with Antfrost already crouched on top of it. Below them is a throng of the cheering, shouting audience surrounding a ring in the center of the floor made out of concrete barriers. Two chimeras are fighting in the ring, a blur of blood and fur and scales. Red has a strong stomach for gore, but that doesn’t mean he finds it at all pleasant to see what the things are doing to each other.

He lands on the catwalk next to Antfrost. The hybrid jumps, then shakes himself.

“Give me the sedative,” Ant whispers, holding out his hand. His eyes are focused on the ring below.

Red reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles; luminous pale yellow liquid swirling behind the glass. He reaches to put it in Ant’s palm, then pauses.

“What’s your tolerance level?” He asks.

“What?”

“Chemical tolerance. You’re a hybrid--it’s definitely been documented for you.” Hybrids are treated like second class citizens; shuffled around to keep more survivable areas of the city habitable for normal humans. Most hybrids have their chemical tolerance marked down somewhere so the government knows what areas they can dump them in without having them immediately die. Red has unusually high tolerance for a human, which is part of why he chose this line of work.

“I don’t know, seven?” Ant whispers back.

“It’s on a scale of one to a hundred, idiot.” Red reaches into his bag and fumbles around for a mask. There’s a screech from the creatures below.

“Red, they’re dying.” Ant says, trying to snatch the bottle out of Red’s hand. Red relents and shoves it into the hybrid’s palm. He pulls out the other two bottles he’s prepared, waiting as Ant arches back his arm to throw.

It’s a work of art, his aim. The first bottle lands directly in the thick of the audience and shatters, the liquid inside turning to gas the second air touches it. It balloons outward, clogging the air with thick yellow mist. Antfrost grabs the second bottle and hurls it so it breaks directly in front of the double doors that serve as the exit. The people down below are panicking; it’s like stepping on an anthill.

Red is good at his craft. A few seconds, and they’re already collapsing. Antfrost throws the last bottle; ensuring the entire warehouse floor is coated with heavy yellow fog. There are hybrids and cyborgs, here and there, who are only momentarily confused by the attack from above, whose systems are too resilient to the gas and are now gathering their bearings. One of them looks up and sees them.

Antfrost tackles Red to the catwalk. It shakes when they hit the metal and he’s momentarily stunned, to stunned to even protest. He still hasn’t gained his breath back when one of the cyborgs on the floor opens fire, bullets punching into the railing and barely missing them. Ant leaps off Red, whipping a crossbow out from under his coat. He aims down below, pulling the trigger. Red is still on his back trying to reinflate his lungs, and he can’t see if Ant managed to hit any of his targets.

A bullet strikes uncomfortably close to his head and he rolls upright, charging across the catwalk with one hand shoved into his bag. He fumbles for a bottle, then stumbles as something severs one of the wires from which the catwalk is hung. There’s the screech of metal and they plummet.

The good news: most of the onlookers collapsed near the edges of the room, not in the center where they fall, and the only casualties are two of the four hostiles still on their feet. The bad news: there are still two people trying to kill them.

Red Red struggles to his feet, yanking his baseball bat out from the straps on his back. Antfrost glances over at him, just for a moment, then leaps backwards as the cyborg swings a fist at him.

Red doesn’t have time to spare concern for Ant, because there’s a hybrid with claws and fangs and a nasty grin on her face charging at him. She has three arrows bristling from her shoulder, and she’s unsteady on her feet. He sidesteps, grips his bat firmly in both hands, and slams it into her shin. She collapses, lashing out at him with a clawed hand. He hops backwards on one foot to avoid her, stomps the tip of the bat to the ground to stabilize himself. She lurches forward, dragging herself with her good side, and sinks her claws into his calf. Red’s first reaction is, he must admit, a dumb one. He tears himself away and is rewarded with claws ripping through the muscle of his leg. Fucking Christ it hurts.

He falls just out of the reach of the hybrid. She has too much tranquilizer in her bloodstream to get up again and she’s already going under. Red tries to reach for his black bag only to realize he dropped it when the catwalk fell.

Catwalk.

Cat.

Antfrost.

He snaps his head up to see Ant dangling from the grip of the cyborg. The hybrid snarls, his hands wound around the arm at his throat. His claws are fully extended and scrabbling against the black metal.

Red screams the first thing he can think of as loud as possible.

“HEY, CUM SLUT.”

The cyborg whips his head towards Red, glowing yellow eyes narrowing. His grip loosens in his momentary distraction, and Ant thrashes forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder, where metal meets flesh. Red wonders what he has to do to get the catboy to bite him like that.

The cyborg hisses a swear and slams Antfrost to the concrete. Red panics and grabs the fallen baseball bat on the ground next to him. He hurls it towards the fallen hybrid.

A brown-furred hand snaps up and snatches the bat out of the air. Ant rolls backwards, dodging a punch from the cyborg, and leaps to his feet. He bends his knees, grips the bat, and swings.

Red painted that bat months ago in red-and-white stripes out of paint he mixed himself. It was combined with a little chemical mixture that turned acidic when it moved at a fast enough velocity. Red had never been able to swing it fast enough to get those decorative stripes to transform into something that could burn through whatever it hit in milliseconds

.Antfrost, on the other hand, can.

The bat sheers straight through both of the cyborgs legs, eating through the metal like it was butter. The cyborg hits the ground, his legs severed at the knee.

Ant gives an incredulous look at the bat in his hand, then lowers it and bounds over to Red.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Claws.” Red says brightly, trying to ignore the warmth seeping from his leg and the burn of the gashes through his muscle. He likes pain sometimes, in certain circumstances, but these are not the type of circumstances he tends to enjoy.

“Do you have a painkiller in your bag?” Antfrost drops to his knees next to Red.

He screws up his face. “Something like that.”

Ant turns and leaps over a few inert bodies, grabbing Red’s bag from the wreckage of the fallen catwalk and bring it over. He puts it down and latches his hands under Red’s arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

Red unzips the bag and pulls out a small vial that shimmers a tantalizing blue.

“You know, they say never get high off your own supply,” he says wryly as he uncaps it, “but this is an exception.”

It tastes like melon milk and fizzes a little as it goes down. Damn, he really is a good producer. The lady who ran the pharmacy he worked at couldn’t make one of these taste good for the life of her.

The pain in his leg fades and he relaxes. Antfrost has climbed into the ring and is picking up the two sedated chimeras, carrying them carefully to the empty cages next to the ring and laying them down inside. He takes the cages outside through a small door labeled Exit, and through a rising haze of uncanny calmness, Red wonders if he’s just leaving. He would be concerned about it, but even with his high tolerance the drink he took is getting to him. He doesn’t feel high or buzzed, just calm.

Ant runs back inside, empty handed this time, and comes over to Red. He bends down to look him in the eyes.

“Are you—were your eyes always that…shiny?” Ant asks.

“Yeah, it’s from exposure.” Red replies. He stares back into Antfrost’s eyes: large blue wells, with his pupils widened in the low light.

“All the chimeras are loaded into a truck out back. Can I carry you?”

“You can pick me up any day, Ant.” Red tells him.

The hybrid slides his arms under Res’s back and legs and heaves him up, walking carefully to the door. His arms are warm and his fur is soft where it brushes against Red’s skin.

Antfrost helps him climb into the passenger’s seat, then runs around the front of the truck to sit behind the wheel. He starts it with the keys still in the ignition and spins the wheel, pulling out from behind the warehouse.

Their section of the city is already near the outskirts, and the drive probably doesn’t take long. Probably. Red’s thoughts wander as Ant drives, thinking about animals and chimeras and acid paint. He snaps back to reality when they’ve officially left the city. It’s easy to tell, because outside is a wasteland of hills and trash.

Ant pulls over on the side of the road and stops the truck.

“Can you walk?”

Red glances down at his leg thoughtfully. The effect of his mixture is wearing off, and it stings slightly, but he nods anyway.

They unload the cages one at a time, driving a little way in between each one. The chimeras run as soon as Ant opens the cages, smart enough to head for the hills.

The last one they unload is the larger of the two that were in the ring when they broke in. It’s still sedated, so Ant leaves the door wide open and then sits on the ramp of the truck to wait for it to wake up.

Red climbs up beside him, shivering a little at the cold night air. “What about the other one?”

Antfrost casts a glance back into the truck. “It’s not doing so good. Too hurt to let out.”

Red looks at the cage with the aforementioned creature. It’s some kind of cat creature with horns and spikes on its back, its shoulder torn open in the fight. It sleeps fitfully.

“Are you sure they’ll survive out here?” He asks.

Ant rests his chin in his hands, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I did.”

“You lived out here?”

Ant nods. “I’m not actually from Hypixel City. I lived out here until some people came promising opportunities and riches. It was bullshit. I was barely any different from them.” He nods at the still sleeping chimeras in their cages.

“They made you fight?”Ant nods. “For a while. Then Bad came and got me out.”

Red stares at Ant’s ears and the velvet-soft fur on them, the pads on the palms of his hands, the twitch of his nose. He sneezes, rubbing at his whiskers with one hand. Red wonders about the kind of madman who looks at the catboy sitting next to him and forces him to fight in a pit for entertainment.

“I’m cold.” Antfrost says suddenly. Red deliberates for a second, then scoots over and wraps a hand around the hybrid’s shoulders.

“What about you?” Ant asks, staring at the open cage on the ground and the sleeping chimera inside.

“What about my past? Well, nowhere near as bad as you.” Red laughs at the thought of comparing their childhoods. “I have unusually high tolerance for a human, so i started working for a pharmacist. Maybe I accidentally mixed something wrong and blew up the area.”

Ant gives him a sideways look. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

The hybrid chuckles, letting his head rest on Red’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this, Red.”

“For you? Anything.” The words are bold, but he’s not in the mood to hold back his thoughts at the moment.

Ant doesn’t reply, but there’s an unmistakable rumble in his chest that Red immediately identifies as a purr. They sit there for a long time, under the moon in a wasteland, waiting for a creature to wake up and leave its cage.

They talk, about colors and toxins and friendships and names. They sit there until the chimera wakes up slowly, stretching its limbs, and scrambles out of its cage as fast as possible.

And in a toxic wasteland under a yellow moon, sitting on a stolen truck, Red kisses the love of his life for the first time.

Three years later and he wakes up to the chill of a winter morning.

Antfrost is lying next to him, curled around him to soak up as much heat as possible. Red moves to get up, but his boyfriend mumbles something in protest and somehow wiggles even closer to him. Red relents and lies back down, wrapping his arms around the hybrid.

And, finally, his hands aren’t cold.

[birlcholtz]

Bittydex??? (Also your bitty/holster and bittyrans hcs were works of art)

omg. the baking duo. i don’t think i’ve ever like seriously thought about them but NOW I AM AND I LOVE IT HERE GOES

dex is originally wary of bitty for a lot of reasons but a big one is that bitty is openly gay and cute and thus firmly jeopardizes dex’s ability to stay closeted/repress everything for his entire time in college. oh boy.

but of course, eventually he’s like y’know what fuck it whatever bitty’s cool i can do this

and as he gets to know bitty, it’s almost laughable how different they are, but dex eventually kind of internalizes the correlation between baking and being openly gay (for bitty) as a kind of... causation? like, maybe he can get more confident about himself if he embraces baking too. is this good logic? i actually have no idea dex is tired let him live

so anyway that’s what has him, only about a month into his first semester (listen everyone on the team is so goddamn supportive of bitty and dex sees how much he loves being here and!! he wants that too!!! so yes he gives up on the whole ‘repress’ thing very fast), poking his head into the kitchen when he hears bitty opening and closing the fridge in a pattern that means he’s getting out ingredients and asking if he wants help

bitty is all in favor of literally anything dex does that isn’t fighting with nursey and he’s also glad that dex is seeking him out, because come on bitty has heard from nursey about the adventure with the samwell republicans sticker and even though it’s gone now he can’t help being a little concerned?

so dex asking if he can help with the baking is good for both of them honestly

bitty immediately sets him to cutting up fruit and they talk a bit as they work but mostly it’s just kind of a comfortable quiet (not silence because bitty’s got some music playing, but quiet is different entirely)

bitty eventually finds out through some subtle comments on dex’s part that his family is absolutely rampant with toxic masculinity and homophobia and that for dex, literally baking in and of itself, not just slice and bake cookies but actually baking something from scratch and spending time in the kitchen willingly, is an act of rebellion

it’s a lot easier for dex to find out that bitty’s relationship with his parents is a tiny bit strained because he’s not out at home, because bitty talks about his mother so much that it’s easy to infer. sometimes he tells dex about something his father did that his mother told him about. he never seems to talk to his father though

so baking becomes a kind of... alliance, i guess? the two of them are united. bitty does have his suspicions about why, perhaps, dex is so keen on getting to know bitty in particular-- his comments about the homophobia in his family make bitty even more suspicious-- but he doesn’t say anything. that’s not for him to ask about.

(chowder and nursey know that dex bakes with bitty a lot. chowder is glad because it means the baked goods get produced faster and he’s also glad that dex is spending time with bitty because he always seems more relaxed afterwards and it really does help stop him and nursey from fighting. nursey is intrigued because he’d thought after taddy tour (and after the first couple weeks of their first year) that dex would avoid bitty like the plague. he’s curious enough to accept that maybe dex has hidden depths. that also helps with the fighting.)

when they go home for winter break, dex and bitty agree to contact each other if they need to vent or just talk to someone they can relax around. neither of them has any legit emergencies, but they do text a lot and call each other a few times. bitty sends a picture of a pie, dex responds with ‘god i wish it’s so weird not being in the kitchen all the time. my brother gives me weird looks’ and bitty immediately starts compiling recipes for them to make as soon as they’re back at samwell

dex fixes the oven for the first time of many and bitty is so thrilled that he just kind of throws his arms around dex, who freezes for a second before letting himself hug bitty too (honestly i don’t remember if this happens before or after winter break but either way. same thing applies)

and in spring semester dex becomes fully aware that he has a problem. which is that spending time in the kitchen has changed from a hope that it’ll help him feel able to be more open to just wanting to see bitty, and be around bitty, and hear bitty’s voice and the casual endearments he throws around like they’re nothing and the way he puts a tense hand on dex’s arm while they’re both watching the oven to see if it’s going to actually preheat, and his smile and compliments when dex does something right and the way he flicks water at dex right after he washes his hands to get him to laugh, and the way he slides on oven mitts with the same calm efficiency that he steps onto the ice for warmups and dex is fucked. okay?? he’s fucked. the whole reason he’d been wary of bitty in the beginning was because he was worried about falling for him and guess what??? he did

but at the same time, dex can’t make himself shove it down. he’s still not out at samwell, but he’s getting to a point where he feels like he might be comfortable with that. bitty is probably tied with chowder for being his closest friend. dex can’t find it in himself to push all of that away.

as for bitty, he’s gone from being pleasantly surprised that dex is a fairly quick learner in the kitchen to looking forward to baking with him. dex always relaxes when he’s there, and bitty is sure that dex doesn’t know this, but he’s beautiful when he’s not so goddamn stressed. but at the same time, bitty knows dex is Going Through It with regards to sexuality-- he’s gone from being suspicious that maybe dex isn’t straight to knowing it but still waiting for dex to say something himself. so he keeps those thoughts to himself but it’s nice to see dex smile. especially when bitty knows he caused that

also dex keeps fixing the oven over and over and bitty knows that dex bakes a lot too so like. he has selfish reasons to fix the oven? but dex will LEAP to fix the oven if something is wrong with it and when he figures it out he always gives bitty this relieved smile that bitty is finding makes him increasingly flustered.

in the midst of all of this, dex is consulting with the upperclassmen about the best kind of oven to get bitty for his birthday. it’s a little over a month away, but between jack, ransom, and dex, they’re probably going to be incredibly overprepared because it’s what they do

in early april, dex pushes a bowl of sliced cherries over to bitty and says, ‘i’m gay.’ and bitty leaves the cherries where they are and hugs dex as tightly as he can, because he knows how long it’s taken dex to be ready to say that and he knows that in not very long, they’re both going home to places where they don’t know if they can ever say that

they stand there like that for a while, and dex doesn’t cry, but he almost does, and that’s when he says, okay, let’s bake this pie. and bitty agrees. (when it’s cooled, they eat almost half of it themselves before telling anyone else there’s pie)

baking together feels just a tiny bit different after that. not bad-- not bad at all. just a bit different. dex coming out changes their dynamic a little, because it means bitty finally lets himself acknowledge that he’s kind of got a huge crush on him, and then bitty basically can’t stop the endearments from coming out of his mouth. he tries to keep it to things he also says to the rest of the team-- mostly ‘hon’ and such-- but dex catalogues every sweetheart that slips out, and he knows he blushes, and both of them can’t help but feel that they’re dancing around something

then bitty’s birthday arrives, and dex installs the oven as quickly as he can while still double- and triple-checking things, and he’s just standing up and packing his toolbox back up when bitty and nursey enter the kitchen, and dex can’t help but blush when bitty looks at him like he hung the moon

and then bitty hugs him and dex hugs him back so hard that bitty is lifted off of the ground, and the rest of the team looks at each other like are you seeing this too??? because literally none of them noticed anything except that dex likes baking almost as much as bitty does. nobody realized there might be another reason lol

and both of them, independently, think that this might be the moment. but then the moment passes, and then they’re taking finals and getting ready to go home for the summer, and dex and bitty make the same promise they did over winter break but there’s more of a sense of urgency about it.

at first, they call each other once a week, just to keep up. bitty learns dex has taken to hanging out with his high school sort of-girlfriend, who’s got super short hair now and introduces him to hayley kiyoko’s music, and his family probably thinks they’re dating again but mostly they just wander around when neither of them has work, or they hang out in each other’s rooms (with the doors open, because of household rules). in july, she whispers to dex about her girlfriend in new hampshire and dex, that night when both of them are at home, texts her about his... well, bitty. whatever he and bitty are to each other (he also shows her a picture of bitty and she’s like oh he’s cute and dex is like yeah he really is)

the first person dex sees when he gets back to campus that august is chowder, who’s on his way to the haus after walking with farmer to the volleyball house. they’d been on the same flight back and have spent the whole last week together, along with plenty of other visits and trips with each other over the whole summer, and dex’s whole chest aches with how much he wants that. and yeah, it’s different for chowder and farmer, who live an hour away from each other in california and can see each other basically whenever they want, but chowder talks about how much his sisters love farmer and how their families got together for the 4th of july and dex aches.

they get to the haus, and everyone who’s arrived has congregated in the kitchen, where bitty is making a strawberry rhubarb pie dex has made with him at least five times. it’s second nature to come into the kitchen and head straight for the counter. bitty passes him the filling ingredients without a word, but with a smile, and keeps going. (the rest of the team trade looks)

but dex feels daring. all that talking to chowder about farmer has made him envious. so later, when most of the team is in the living room chatting about their summers and bitty’s headed upstairs to plug his phone in, dex slips out of the living room, heads upstairs, and knocks on bitty’s door. and bitty opens it and puts a hand on dex’s arm almost automatically when he asks how his summer was, and maybe that’s why dex feels bold enough to say, ‘it was okay. but i missed you.’

and bitty smiles softly at him and says, ‘i missed you too.’

the next time they’re watching the oven to make sure it preheats-- the new oven is actually functional, so it’s more habit than anything-- dex feels bitty’s hand slip into his own, and he immediately looks at bitty, who’s determinedly looking at the oven, and squeezes his hand. and then bitty looks at him, and dex can’t help but smile

some headcanons:

dex is a master of identifying when someone is aiming to check bitty during a game and immediately just. getting in their way. he’s very obstinate

does dex enable bitty’s procrastibaking? more than he wants to. he’s fully aware when he gives in that he probably shouldn’t, but it’s very hard to keep bitty from doing something he wants to do

bitty always brings dex tea or hot chocolate or a snack if he’s studying or fighting with java in the computer lab. the other compsci majors are very jealous

bitty is also a great sounding board for dex when he’s trying to figure out how to solve problems. explaining the problem to someone who doesn’t know anything about coding is a time-honored tactic of programmers everywhere and bitty is always willing to listen

winter trips to murder stop ‘n shop inevitably result in bitty walking as close to dex as is physically possible. (’it’s COLD’ ‘sure it is’)

the kitchen becomes the place where people can automatically find both of them. they’re just there all the time

flannel stealing? flannel stealing. they always find their way back into dex’s possession soon enough, but not before bitty’s worn them enough that they smell like him

lardo gives her dibs to nursey because dex basically lives at the haus already anyway. he does still wind up converting the basement into another room though because he needs a place where he can get work done and any room that bitty’s in isn’t conducive to that. yes it still has a steam shower because dex is extra as fuck

with regard to fining the rest of the team, they absolutely have a good cop/bad cop routine worked out. who is which depends on the day

chowder: bitty’s officially gone mad with power. dex: yeah i kinda like it. chowder: keep it in your pants

[keyenuta]

Ramshackle Dorm Among us Headcanons

Overall headcanon: when ramshackle members play imposters it's one of the few time they are truly darn near evil

(Again i have to thank @shaine26 for this amazing art!)

Zoroaster:

As a crewmate: he'll do tasks like normal but he really gets into it during debates, like he becomes Batman almost. Laying traps in words, and grilling people as best he can. Basically he is a troll, but someone who is looking for any sign of someone sus. Basically the Sherlock of the group who often times winds up getting killed first or everyone thinks they're sus instead.

Someone: he's asking too many questions, seems Sus to me

As an imposter: he is annoying, mostly because He's that player that winds up flipping the suspicion on you, and then laughing maniacally as they pick people off. He is great at throwing a wrench into discussions, tripping people up and casting or leading people into blaming someone else. Puppet master imposter pretty much

Though if it's a game outside the ramshackle dorm, an achilles to him is Riddle. Those two often wind up exposing the other through teases or fights, and it's hilarious. Plus since they know the other's quirks so well they can take aim at the other without a doubt.

It wouldn't surprise me if Riddle makes a rule where Zoro can only speak for a few seconds. Mostly to mess with him, and partly to limit him.

Regis:

As Crew-mate: Regis is a task Blitzer, he wants to finish his tasks as fast as possible and herd back into the group. Safer that way, but this also leaves him exposed a lot. In discussions, he often gets mistaken for the imposter way too much, his stuttering and already skittish nature makes him seem really sus. Especially if they grill him hard. Even though he isn't the killer his stutter is too sus.

As Imposter: Weirdly enough, as an imposter, it's like he inverts. He becomes a straight lion, patiently waiting and preparing to pounce on a target, tries to memorize everyone's route and attacks the most vulnerable person. Since its a digital experience he really can break past his skittishness. Though for interrogations, he's not so good, when hes put of hunting, he'll still stutter like normal

Theodore:

As a Crew-mate: Theodore is that person who'll stick to someone like glue, despite their tasks the boy just sticks to the whole crew, which often leaves him on the chopping block for the imposter cause somehow they always stick to the imposter in some way. Though it's useful for finding out the first imposter, bad for Theo good for everyone else. If he manages to live he will yell and defend everyone the most. Spiking everyone's headphones.

As an imposter: freaking vent, ninja, he knows every vent, how to attack from them, and then probably self reports, putting on the water works like how could someone hurt their friend, meanwhile behind the mute, he is cackling so hard you'd think the wicked witch returned

Dorothy:

As a Crew-mate: he's the guard dog of the group, always watching somebody with a trigger finger for when report pops up. He'll do his tasks (like the dorm mom he is) but he is always looking for one sus slip up. Amd of he sees it, oh you know he's sprinting to emergency meeting. And speaking of a meeting, he's the crew mate who is always throwing out accusations or getting riled up.

As an imposter: he's not successful, if he does kill someone he's not that good at lying and if he's accused he's too easily rilled up making him seem even more sus. Though on other occasions he may challenge his victim to a duel, can they dodge him fast enough of will be get them. Which if he loses he just revealed himself to someone.

Fiyero:

As a Crew-mate: Fiyero is honestly pretty lazy with his tasks, he does them but it's pretty slow. He's just vibing no biggie, but for interrogations, that's also strange since he's so chill he'll often just listen in without saying much. Making himself sus. Cause

Group:why haven't we heard from Fiyero in so long. He's probably the imposter!

Fiyero: huh-wait, no I'm not don't wo- Fiyero was ejected

As an imposter: he's definitely the trapper kind, waiting in rooms where there's an emergency happening, and right before you finish fixing the problem he's there in the shadows, killing you before you knew what was happening. Though his favorite move is sabotaging oxygen, when everyone scrambles to get it, he's there with kills or sabotages ready to slow everyone down until the time runs out

Solon:

As a crew-mate: Solon as a crew-mate is one of the two people in the dorm that keeps everyone in order during the negotiations. He is one half of the order back bone for discussion, he's that player that hears everyone out and keeps the team focused on the objective. Though with him, hes also the most compassionate and understanding, which leaves him vulnerable to deception and manipulation by the imposters.

As an imposter: He usually doesn't get imposter, rng hates him that dang much, he's always the crew-mate. Often behind the mute he's so close to shouting about how come I'm never an imposter why does RNG hate me

Yuu:

Last but not least we come to Mickey mouse, the perfect of Ramshackle

As a crew-mate: as alluded to earlier Yuu is the most calming presence during an interrogation like Solon, they are also the most efficient in tasks, literally thinking of ways to do the most effective and useful path to do tasks to avoid being killed. Though much like their namesake, if they are cornered by the imposter Yuu is the best at giving them the slip, ducking and sprinting around every corner to avoid the imposter. But with being able to keep everyone together Yuu will often be double teamed by the imposters and killed off.

As an imposter: Yuu is straight evil as an imposter, they're freaking scary efficient at killing people and striking when they're at their safest, often using the vents or shadows to hide. They are also one of the best liars of the group, often using their trustworthiness and ability to keep everyone running efficiently against the group. And then swinging their support against someone else who isn't the killer

(What's next is a random scenario me and a friend discussed)

First few seconds of dorm leaders playing among us

Zoroaster: I vote we kick Azul out each round

Azul: e-excuse me?

Zoroaster: I mean given his track recprd and with how he can lie, it makes sense

Azul: oh, you wound me Zoroaster, i am simply here to play a game, although. You are not a saint yourself, you've lied before as well

Zoroaster: yeh, i did, but that was for personal reasons, not a game

After a minute of debate

Riddle: enough! Here's what I think may end this argument, at the start of each game...

Zoroaster: Riddle, you wouldn't

Riddle: we eliminate them both

You can just see riddle smirking through a screen while Zoroaster's just there like you bitch

Zoroaster: Riddle, you little

Leona: heh, not a bad idea for a herbivore, im up for it

Vil: fufu as am I

Kalim: can't they both just play, don't ya think that woukd be more fun?

Everyone ignores kalim

Idia: 👍

Zoroaster just trolls riddle while he's eliminated, like say he manages to distract him enough to get killed by the imposter

While riddle's escaping he just gets a ping on his phone, and all it says is shrimp

[inspirationdivine]

Shadows of the Heart || Morgan and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @mor-beck-more-problems, @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Morgan discuss Remmy and life, until their summer day walk is interrupted by something terrible Warnings: Gore,  reference to vomit

There was a delicate pleasure in these summer evenings, where the sun still hung in the sky even so late in the day. The last weeks had been tiring, but ultimately rewarding, with the vampire dealt with and Remmy now safe. Lydia saw in them all the scars of that week, but also a lightness to them that she hadn’t seen in a month, since that wretched collar had appeared on their neck. Lydia’s ankle bounced under her when she saw Morgan approach. Standing up from the weather-worn bench, she smiled at the zombie. So much had changed since the last time they’d met. “Lovely of you to meet me. How are you, my dear?”

Morgan hadn’t guessed that Lydia would ever look at her so warmly and neither would she have figured that she would reach to hug the fae as if she were a friend of her own. At least, not this soon. But there was comfort in the other woman's arms and Morgan was ready to take as much of that as she could. “Better, I guess,” she sighed. “I stopped by the bakery for snacks. I probably should’ve asked what you like, but then it would’ve spoiled the whole part where it was a surprise so, uh, anyway--” She held out the small paper bag. “I hope you like cream puffs. There’s also those um, tiny french sandwich things they pipe with meringue? Seemed kinda like a safe bet.” Starting to feel awkward at her own eagerness (What was she trying to prove anyway? Didn’t they understand each other better by now?) Morgan stuffed her hands in her skirt pockets. “It’s good to see you too, you know, after everything. It still doesn’t feel like it’s over, but at least we’re, I don’t know, still alive to keep at it? Is that an awful thing to say when you’ve caused the deaths of a few people?”

“Oh, you wonderful person,” Lydia grinned, taking a proffered cream puff from the brown bag. “I do love to indulge in human food from time to time.” Which, Of course, unable to taste it Morgan wouldn’t. “This is very kind of you, what a lovely treat.” She didn’t think much of it, but Morgan seemed to briefly look uncomfortable, as if Lydia might have snapped at her for it. Lydia took a small bite of the cream puff as Morgan talked, and swallowed it with a small frown. “No, I don’t think it’s an awful thing to be glad that you’re alive. Death is a tragedy, but so is what was happening to Remmy.”

Morgan began to relax, pleased with her success. “Lucky guess,” she said. “We can take them on our walk with us, if you want?” In spite of Lydia’s strange but serene presence, Morgan was restless. It was harder than usual to slow down and be still. The impulse to run still burned in her muscles even if there was no longer any curse to escape or spectres chasing her on the horizon. “And, you know, you do have a point. That place was...awful. I saw one of the fights, the way people cheered for the destruction, for their...pain. I don’t understand how anyone could work there willingly, behind the scenes, guarding their...I don’t even want to guess what they called them. But it doesn’t feel like it’s really been balanced, you know?”

“That would be lovely,” Lydia agreed, falling in step beside Morgan, who had much more energy than Lydia felt in herself. The zombie was distinctly restless, and while Lydia was hardly at peace with the events of the last weeks, her manner was to internalise such things so deep that they might never erupt from her chest. It was the only way to cope with the hearts of two to four other humans alongside her own. “It was nightmarish. There can be an art to the act of war and battle, but I did not see it in there.” She chuckled, but the sound was twisted with a deep sadness. “Somehow, that sounds like a very spellcaster thing to ask. Don’t go looking for balance, Morgan, there is none. “

Morgan sighed and gave Lydia an apologetic smile. “I guess I’m still struggling to let go of being a witch. But in my defense, it was everything I was, my whole being. In school I had science club and student government and magic lessons. I double majored in college for magic. I made all my life choices around my curse, I moved around on my own for research, including here, and I--stupidly human or not, I was raised to think that there was some kind of sense to everything if you could look wide enough. And when I tapped into the universe for my magic I actually believed it sometimes. I thought all the lopsidedness in my life was because of my curse, but here we are, and I just don’t see any-- sorry.” Morgan deflated, finally gaining sense of her rant. The days had been strenuous and when she wasn’t picking apart the things she’d done or trying her damnedest to forget them, she was seeing Coraline’s body in the alley. “I don’t mean to be all…” She gestured helplessly. “It’s already been a week, and I saw something...so awful the other day. Which is part of why I was so ready and relieved to meet up in the first place! But--” But that dead girl, dead nix. What if it had been Mina instead of Coraline? “I’m just making a mess. Still. Sorry. Um, tell me what’s been going on with you. It must be a relief to have Remmy back, right?”

Lydia couldn’t do much but listen, nodding as Morgan vented. Her head just tilted in more concern. “I think it’s… natural, to want to find a fairness or balance of sorts, especially for everyone who isn’t fae. I don’t think you need to apologise for that. To us, the world is chaos, and sometimes it is… easier to remember that, than wish for something to repay it.” There was something more, and Lydia almost asked what, when Morgan sharply changed conversational directional. “Oh, um, alright. It is such a relief to have them back. I’m keeping the fridge stocked, they look so… underfed, but they’ve been doing better than I’ve seen them in a while. Aside from that, things have been good. A vampire was giving me serious trouble but I’ve promise bound him into finding his true love, which is a delightful twist of irony considering he doesn’t have a soul.”

“That’s good. We’ve been talking too, and I think things are getting better, and we all just probably need more time but that’s just--stars, that’s so good to hear.” Morgan managed a small laugh of admiration at the rest of Lydia’s escapades. “You know what, that is some amazing folkloric justice,” she said. “It kind of sounds like order to me. Maybe not human order, but putting some asshole in check with part of their own assholery is kind of brilliant. And, you know, I’m trying to reconcile the overwhelming amount of caos with everything I’ve known before and all, but, yaknow, witch justice kinda goes that way sometimes too.” She then grimaced at her own comment. Witch justice was supposed to work that way, giving people their due, what they’d earned, for better or for worse. “Not that witches always play by the rules they should,” she added, grumbling. “Is that what fae do when someone does something horrible to them in the supernatural world? Trick them? Make them pay somehow?”

"I'm glad they have you, whatever the future looks like." Lydia said softly, pressing her lips together in a grim smile. "Is it not? I was ever so proud when I came up with it," Lydia replied with a small laugh. While she listened, Lydia had to admit that the intricacies of witch magic didn't much interest her. Morgan was not a Spellcaster anymore. "No one plays by all the rules they should." Lydia tilted her head, thinking over the question as they passed a crowing Raven. "Not necessarily. The trickery  is a bonus, and a protective measure in equal parts. If the vampire left me alone I would not actively seek justice or balance." Lydia replied. 

Morgan considered this. It sounded more than fair, even accommodating, but it wouldn’t help her in the face of this killer. Her brow furrowed with thought as they walked until finally, “Lydia, what would you to someone who had killed another fae? And I don’t mean like what Remmy did, but something cruel. Torture. Something with the worst of intentions?”

“What a strange question,” Lydia replied, stopping in her tracks and turning to the other woman, frowning, clicking her nails against her thumb. “Why would you ask that?” She looked around, to the trees in the deep park, heavy with birds chirping their summer melodies, and pixies most would never even notice unless they were looking for them. “I know what I would wish to do, but Morgan, that doesn’t mean I’m capable of it. I’m not a violent person, nor do I think I ever could be. Not to mention, attracting the attention of hunters and spellcasters is not something I can easily risk. I have set bounties in the past, but that is the most of it.”

“Fine, okay, but what if you didn’t have to be the one to do it?” Morgan persisted. “If it didn’t have to come back on you, which, for the record, is my preference too, what should happen to someone who would do that, who would just take—” In the middle of their talk, Morgan hadn’t noticed their path, veering away from people and closer towards the tight, shadowy clusters of trees and bushes. She had not noticed the faint hint of death in the air either, not until she stopped. Her first thought was that it couldn’t be. If going out with Deirdre had taught her anything, it was that there was always some dead bird or squirrel to be found if you only knew where to look. But as Morgan scanned their surroundings, the ample cover for a stashed body, she couldn’t help but wonder. She sniffed the air, searching for the direction it was coming from, and started walking. Please, please be some stupid felled bird. 

“If I were to have my way, every last hunter would be dead,” Lydia replied darkly. “Every single one of them.” It wasn’t what she’d expected to discuss today, which was perhaps why she spoke so venemously, with convictions she’d spent a lifetime developing. At first, she didn’t catch the distant look to Morgan’s expression. “Why do you ask?” She asked again. “Morgan, is everything alright with Deirdre?” But Morgan wasn’t paying attention to Lydia, she was off walking, sniffing the air, as Lydia’s own chest began to ring a little. 

“Trust me, if someone had hurt Deirdre, I wouldn’t be asking for help in hypotheticals,” Morgan muttered. And it wasn’t a hunter, a fact that still made her head spin. She followed the pull of hunger until it was unmistakable. It brought her all the way to a copse of young oaks and bushes in need of trimming. This far at the edge of the park, whoever tended them had probably thought no one would notice. Morgan stood and waited to know what to do. She had to know. She also, depending on what she found, needed to not snack on a random body. But it was just a bird. Or a fox. Maybe some very random very human arm. Or one of those weird hands with eyeballs in them. Fuck it. Morgan peeled back the leaves and-- “No. Oh no.” It wasn’t a trick of her mind. Not an overreaction. She didn’t know what it was, but the bashed skull and the bloody stumps where something had grown from the head were enough to know the answer was not human. Morgan didn’t stop moving. She continued to stagger forward, clutching her stomach, until she tripped on a root and fell to her knees. She curled her fingers deep into the dirt, grimacing as she fought herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“Morgan? Morgan, you need to get away from the body. Please, Morgan, get away from the body.” Lydia felt bile rising in her throat along with the pitch of her voice, quickly stepping away from Morgan and the body both, trembling with fear. She had heard of this part. The human body never could fully handle the magic that had made them into something else. The human mind could only be reinforced so much, but it was not made to cope with being supernatural. The final outcome? That horrifying loss of control that Morgan seemed to teeter on the edge of as she collapsed, clutching her belly. Lydia needed to be ready to run, to try to outrun something like a mindless zombie. Her voice went shrill. “Morgan! Please, pull yourself together!”

“I’m trying!” Morgan screeched. She crawled further away, dumping her bag on the ground once again and ripping open her safety snacks with her teeth before stuffing a paprika dusted heart into her mouth. “It’s...not...a hunter,” she said, still chewing. She stuffed another one, trying to think about how rabbit hearts prepped the right way reminded her of those fruit  gummies with syrupy juice in the middle. She popped another one in her mouth. Raw really was best. “If it’s the same...as what I saw the other day...it’s something else.” She choked on her food, trembling. “What do you see? How...how bad is it?”

Lydia kept backing away, her heart hammering in her chest. There were trees she could fly into, or if she ran and screamed she might find some hapless human male willing to protect her, especially if she spat in his face. She flinched as Morgan screeched at her, hopping even further back as Morgan tore into her back and pulled raw flesh from her bag. Lydia cautiously snuck around her, gagging as her stomach tried to bring up the cream puff she’d been eating earlier. She knelt, carefully, next to the wispy corpse, her nose pinched. Blood had soaked the grass, but it was long dried. It wasn’t Felix, and it wasn’t Morelia, but Lydia the more Lydia looked, the less sure she was of all of that. “How can you possibly know this isn’t a hunter? This is what they do! They cut off the antlers for trophies or money!” Lydia’s voice cracked, tears prickling at her eyes. “Oh, this poor soul.”

“I--I don’t! I’m just guessing! I can’t even look! But if it’s the same...if the iron is…” Morgan struggled to string the words together. “If it looks like it’s part of the skin…” She stuffed an eye into her mouth and chewed furiously. “It’s what I was trying to tell you. A nix...I found her a few days ago...but I brought her to someone...and it was alchemy.” The word still burned in her mouth. She wasn’t sure which outcome she hoped for, one monster or two. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference, either way, two people had been killed in awful, terrifying ways. And for what? “What do you see, Lydia?”

“What do you mean if the iron is part of the skin? Warden’s skins can become iron!” Lydia replied, her voice still shrill as she blinked away tears, looking over the battered, ruined corpse. The beautiful light that should once have shone in those eyes, forever extinguished. “A nix? Morgan, what do you mean, alchemy?” The more she looked, though, the more the wispy shadows gave way to glinting iron, to burns so deep they were bloody. Lydia was going to throw up. “Morgan, I need- I need a moment. Just… stay away.” There was no way knowing whether this lampade was part of any Aos Sí, what dialect they spoke, but in America, English was the safest bet. If their soul was listening, they needed to understand. 

“May you rest quiet in the Whispering Grounds.” Lydia murmured, holding the lampade’s cold, stiff hand. She spoke in a strange lilt, words practiced over centuries to guide fae spirits past the ghostly form and into their thereafter. She moved her hand to the lampade’s lips. “You have kept all your words and promises to life alike. I relinquish you from what binds you to this world. Move forward, safely, knowing that you will lie with your brethren and your family will always have a home to turn to.” Her hand moved to his chest. “May your body fill with magic threads and the mushrooms dissolve the order of your body into chaos anew. They will create life from it, and the autumn equinox will be used to celebrate you. May your soul rest where you most wish it. You are relinquished from everything. Rest easy.” Lydia leant over the body, and pressed to their forehead a small kiss. “Taisteal sábháilte isteach san oíche.” Travel safe into the night.

Morgan groaned with frustration. “I mean someone tortured a fae with alchemy! And she died! And if it’s the same asshole---urrgh!” She couldn’t do anything like this, and she’d barely been able to talk about it with Lydia before they’d found the body. She staggered further away, where the park ended and the ground became rocky and dry. She heard, faintly, the murmurs of funeral rites for the body. She dragged herself a little further, feeling that it wasn’t something the was meant to be a part of, and did not stop until the smell of death grew fainter and her stomach began to relax. Morgan folded herself up tight and buried her head against her knees while she waited for Lydia to come find her. 

Lydia knelt by the body a moment longer, before slowly pushing herself upright, and walking nervously back to the zombie waiting at a distance. She did not try to hide the multitude of tear streaks on her cheeks, wearing them as proud as a crown. Morgan was curled up in a small ball, and with a deep breath Lydia knelt beside her, putting her arm over the younger woman’s shoulders. “Thank you,” she murmured, and hoped Morgan knew she didn’t say those words lightly. “I want… I want to get them to a real resting place. Can you help me carry them?” Lydia pressed her wobbling lips together, looking back at the wispy body. There was more of that body that was worth it for scavengers to harvest. Whoever that person was, they needed to rest where no spellcaster was welcome. The light would be right in an hour or two. They just needed a mirror. Lydia’s eyes glistened with angry tears. Even if it wasn’t a hunter, it was still a filthy human that had done this. “Then, after, Morgan, please tell me everything.”

[gaiatheorist]

“50% Feminine.”

I’m going mad again, I’m listing probable reasons, but going mad isn’t reasonable, it’s something that just happens to me from time to time. This is one of the slow, creepy-uppy episodes, not one of the sudden, explosive ones, possibly less dangerous, but incredibly draining. It’ll pass, it always does, it had better do, it’s bloody horrible.

Standard disclaimer, I am at increased risk of harm, but I have no intent or ideation of deliberately harming myself, apart from drinking too much cheap-and-nasty wine, which is my standard maladaptive coping mechanism.

I woke up at 1.30am, and, after a brief discussion with my wonky brain, acknowledged that I was Awake-awake, and there was no chance of going back to sleep. This will have a knock-on effect for a few days, there’s a fair chance I’ll fall asleep in my dinner, but it’s mostly containable. (The madness, as well as the dinner.) Scrolling through Twitter, to see if I’d ‘missed anything’, I found a link to ‘My Gender Coordinates’, and decided to take the quiz, no better or worse use of my time than a Fakebook quiz to tell me what sort of sandwich, or shoe I am.

There are 35 questions, I can’t remember exactly how they’re worded, but it’s along the lines of “I am...” or “I consider myself...” about various character traits, or behaviours, you ‘answer’ on a sliding scale from double-thumbs-up to double-thumbs-down. There’s a ‘middle’ option, which, when I’m going mad, is always a bit tempting, I’m indifferent, I don’t care much about much when I’m in this state.(Until I do, and get all emotionally peaky, HATING an empty shampoo bottle on the bathroom floor, but refusing to move it, because it’s not mine, or finding myself close to tears because I think I’ve offended someone, and not quite knowing how to check.) 

The ‘results’ come out on a quadrant-graph thingy, Masculine/Androgynous/Undifferentiated/Feminine, I deliberately didn’t look at that first, because I would have skewed my answers, aiming for ‘undifferentiated’, I’m awkward like that. My results were that I ‘fall between quadrants’, no big surprise there, my dot was bang on the line between ‘masculine’ and ‘androgynous’, all in the top half of the square, ‘68.3% Masculine, 50% Feminine’, I don’t know how that works, it’s numbers, and maths and stuff, and my brain doesn’t work like that. (Haha, because I’m a girl, and girls are better at biology than physics. Bullshit.) 

What does it mean? In all likelihood, nothing, it does look kind-of scientific, which is why I answered all of the questions, instead of giving up at the first hint of a cartoon dinosaur, or a ‘pick which colour-scheme appeals to you’. (Cartoon dinosaurs are my new pet hate, I’ve recently had to wade back through the clip-art infested worksheets from the last mental health course, and I’m fairly certain I’ve imagined a cartoon dinosaur, but that’s a tangent I’ll try to avoid.) I have strong opinions on the concept of gender, for however-many years I’ve been writing on here, I’ve identified as ‘meat no-one eats’, my biological sex is female, and my uterus is certainly reminding me of that fact this week. My gender? Human. Probably. 

“Identified as”, how very modern, it’s not ‘really’ a new thing, to me, or the world, what I’m trying to do here is type out a safe-release, to vent, I suppose it all boils down to my resentment of being ‘told’. There are vague childhood memories of being told “Ladies do/don’t do...”, and I have a ridiculous rage-bubble of “Yes, and sloths poo once a week, what’s your point?”, too late one thinks of what one might have said. I’m no more a lady than I am a sloth, I’m probably leaning more towards sloth at the moment, I’m overdue a bath.

Working through the statement-ratings, I noticed I was pulling a face at some of them. All of them, to be honest, which surprised me, because, with a diagnosis of autism, there’s the preconception that my response would be binary-linear, black-or-white, always/never. It wasn’t, my response was invariably “That’s a stupid question.”, and they weren’t questions, for every single statement, I decided “Unable to answer without context.”, and had to imagine a scenario to contextualise “I am generous” or “I am decisive”, or whatever. ( I *am* decisive, given sufficient context.) I need to watch that I don’t fall into a psychopath/sociopath rabbit-hole here, my sometimes-linear approach could be viewed as psychopathic, and my bending/masking could fit a sociopathic profile. Too many personality quizzes in my teen-girl magazines, and an on-going desire to name and categorize things.

I was pulling a face at the statements that are usually associated with the concept of femininity, there really isn’t a male-brain/female-brain. (All brains smell horrible, I have smelled my own brain, wasn’t pleasant.) There are some biological differences, most notably the reproductive bits, but not really a great deal else, the ex used to say that humans were evolving to be more androgynous, but I see now that he was trying to justify the societally-imposed feelings of inadequacy that I was as tall as him, with more body-hair. He ascribed to the concept of androgyny when it suited him, lauding Bowie in public, and insisting I was ‘better’ at housework in private. A product of his upbringing, but deeply coercive-toxic. He enjoyed my androgynous-atypical nature up to a point, I was a trophy in more ways than just my long legs and pretty mouth, I confused the hell out of his ‘traditional’ family, though. 

The statements that made me screw up my face could have been coloured pink, they were the ones that ‘ladies do’, some, I consciously, deliberately-don’t, and some are just a natural hard-no, nature vs nurture in evidence. I have learned behaviours, and innate, natural tendencies, there was a bit of a domestic issue the other day when I noted my son being manipulative, and destroyed-devastated myself wondering if he’d learned-observed that from me.  I don’t think so, my avoidance-behaviours are quite different. I was pulling faces at the stereotypical ‘female’ traits, initially an “Ew, no, I don’t do that!” response, but, as I realised I was doing it, I wondered WHY I was repulsed. There’s nothing ‘wrong’ with being kind/sensitive/compassionate, they’re human responses, not ‘masculine’ or ‘feminine’, but even the quiz itself refers to them as  “Traits commonly found in people of the ... gender.” (Androgynous is referred to as high in male- and female-typical traits, undifferentiated as low in both.) Commonly, not exclusively.

Part of the issue is that I associate femininity with vulnerability and weakness. I choose not to ‘present as’ female most of the time, my sex usually isn’t obvious until people get close, and I don’t let many people get that close. (Even before the virus-distancing.) There are ‘historical and complicating factors’ behind some of that, but there’s also the gender-conditioning I grew up with, girls-should, and boys-should, I didn’t have particularly positive experiences or role-models, but, even aside from that, the general concensus was that male was stronger, better, more important, female was secondary and subservient. To do something ‘like a girl’ was an insult, but, by the same token, I was often criticised for not being ‘girly’, ever the outlier. I’m wondering how much of the non-femininity is reactive-protective, how much could be part of the autism, and how much is just ‘how I am’? 

Girly-females irritate me, vacuous conversations, hair-and-make-up, dependence on others, incessant diets and fads, I don’t ‘get’ any of it, and I don’t buy into it, I don’t see why I should, just because my genitals are in the more difficult-to-kick arrangement. (True to form, my son has more make-up and hair-stuff than I do, I can’t remember how he referred to my presentation a few weeks ago, but it might have involved goblins, and a bin.) Occasionally, people tell me I could be attractive if I made an effort, my go-to response is “What for?”, I do generally look as if I live in a tree, it doesn’t bother me. That’s not wholly a girl-thing or a boy-thing, I do know some very well-presented people of both flavours, but I’ve genuinely never overheard a group of men discussing razor-blades or underpants the way I’ve heard gaggles of women banging on about make-up and such. 

Women who talk in baby-voices, women who giggle and simper around men, women who don’t even try to pick things up themselves, I think what I’m saying is that I don’t like women who ‘act as’ women, and it is an act, my mother’s phone-laugh used to make me want to scream. 

Before I became annoyed at myself for placing more value on the traits more commonly associated with masculinity than femininity, I’d had a mini-argument with myself that it was impossible to rate any of the statements objectively. Am I kind? It depends on the situation, last week I helped a little old lady sort out a mis-delivered parcel, but the week before that, I’d sped up my walking pace, so I could get into the corner shop before the person behind me, it might have been the same little old lady, I wasn’t paying attention. I’d viewed the thumbs-rating as a never-always continuum, so, technically, all of the responses ‘should’ have been middle-option, for ‘sometimes’. (There might have been an explanation in the site somewhere, it was daft o’clock in the morning.) For each behaviour, I was thinking of a situation, which was wrong, I think I should have been rating least-likely to most-likely. The situation has an influence on the behaviour, if I had friends, I’d behave differently with them to the way I’d behave with a doctor, or a manager, or my son, and even that behaviour would depend on multiple external factors, it wouldn’t be static-consistent, it would be dynamic. We all do it, we’re socially conditioned to behave according to audience and environment.

I didn’t go to finishing school, I didn’t even go to university, there were no elocution or deportment classes at my rough-as-arseholes comprehensive school, and most of my childhood meals at home were eaten from a plate on my knee, on the sofa, in front of the TV. There were still expectations, though. Standing up if a teacher came into the classroom, not interrupting an adult speaking, letting elderly or otherwise infirm people on the bus first. I don’t remember my brother being given as many instructions as I was, though, and I think that was more to do with me being a girl than being two and a half years older, he did pretty much as he pleased, and was a ‘rascal’, or a ‘scamp’, whereas I was told to sit down (nicely), be quiet, smile, be helpful etc long before the wear a bra, brush your hair, show a bit of leg nonsense started. 

I’m fairly certain that the gender-specific conditioning is part of the reason my autism wasn’t diagnosed until I was 42. I’d had expectations drummed, and sometimes beaten into me all my life, everything was already an act, a performance, so I just assumed everyone else was ‘faking it’ all the time, over-riding gut-instinct on everything, and acting according to these confusing social scripts. The “What for?” streak in me is problematic for other people, I’m viewed as difficult, challenging, sometimes plain rude, and overly bold ‘for a woman’. I don’t speak much, but, when I do, I make it count, I’m tenacious and determined, and, most of the time, completely exhausted trying to remember and correctly apply rules and boundaries, scripts I don’t understand the reasoning behind, and constantly-consistently assess environments and audiences, to avoid ‘getting it wrong’. 

I am blunt at times. I can be articulate and eloquent, but sometimes a situation demands just-enough information to convey the salient point. I don’t tend to ‘waste words’, and am frustrated when people fanny about with “Does that make sense?” and “This might sound silly, but...” Anecdotally, I hear that from women more than men, we’re discouraged from being too much to-the-point, to go the long way around things, instead of straight at them, and to check for reassurance. I speak ‘like a man’, it’s more efficient. (”Does everyone understand what they are to do?” was my preferred meeting-closing-statement, I’m brutal.) 

I sometimes see the reverse-of-me in my son, he isn’t the least bit blunt or brutal most of the time. (He did shout “Stop it!” at me quite forcefully one day last week when I was having a meltdown after getting bin-juice on my face. He saves his command-voice for emergencies.) He ties himself in knots about communicating with people, and avoids most conversation, although he’ll babble incessantly to himself to process thoughts and ideas. (I have sores inside my ears that won’t heal, because I keep putting my earphones in to drown out his waffling about D&D plots and such.) He’s nervous-anxious where I’m bold, he’s scared of a million things that I’m not in the least bit concerned by, but then, I am an idiot. Biological sex is not gender, but neither of us are really binary-gendered. (I’m not going to suggest he does the quiz, he’s so incredibly indecisive it would melt his brain.) I never conditioned him ‘male’, he’s always just been another human to me, but he has had conflicting messages from his Dad’s side of the family, boys-don’t-cry, come-and-kick-this-ball, look-at-the-tits-on-that, and the girly-girl aunts and cousins. Confusing times, but he has referred to himself as a pan-sexual trans-humanist, and I don’t really know what that is. (He hasn’t asked me to use different pronouns, or a different name, so he’s still ‘him’.) 

I’m rambling. I’ve been pecking away at this for hours, but I do feel a little more settled for doing it. I didn’t go off on as many ranty tangents as I thought I might, which is reassuring, this episode of going mad has been mostly-irritable, and I don’t like it. Catch-22, there, as a female, I’m ‘supposed to’ be all pink and fluffy, and nice, but the lazy stereotype of a woman can also be a nagging old harridan, I’m straddling that line as well as the line between quadrants on the quiz. I bet you 10p that if I did the quiz again, I’d be able to skew the answers to place the dot dead-centre in the grid, but I might blow up the internet if I did that, and imagine the mess that would make.          

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyng x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.6k words 

Chapter 12 - Friday Night Approaches 

           “Hyung?”

            “And he just asks her out, practically in front of the whole class! That was so inappropriate, don’t you think, Jungkook?”      

            “Uh-huh…” The poor boy had been sitting on Taehyung’s couch for about an hour. He arrived as soon as Taehyung got off of work that day, excited for his first meeting with his new mentor. He wasn’t sure what he was going to expect, but he did not expect it to be this. Jungkook held a manila folder in his grasp, lips pursed together as he watched the black-haired teacher storm back and forth before him.

            “I knew it. God, maybe I should call his boss about how inappropriate he was, maybe that’ll teach them.”

            “Didn’t she say not to get involved in her business? You think that will solve it?”

            “How will she know it was me who called? I won’t give them my name.” Taehyung seemed a little too proud of his logic, putting his hands on his hips. Jungkook blinked, staring up at his Hyung, confusion etched all over his features. “…What?”

            “Hyung…you’re the only one who seems bothered about this. Why would Mr. Kim call his boss on himself, and why wouldn’t she do it if she’s upset that it happened? Why would she have even said yes if she didn’t want to go? Her friend, Hoseok-Hyung doesn’t seem to be this passionate about it.” Taehyung crossed his arms, brows furrowed together in annoyance.

            “Yes, he is. I saw it in his eyes, he’s just too nice to say anything.”

            “Uh…uh-huh.” Jungkook leaned back on the couch. “Wasn’t she mean to you just a few weeks ago? Why do you suddenly care?”

            “Well yeah, but…well, we’re not fighting anymore. At least I don’t think…” Taehyung ran a hand through his hair, and Jungkook felt his shoulders slump when Taehyung continued his frantic pacing back and forth in front of the couch. “Besides, whether she hated me or not, Namjoon is creepy. I’m just trying to protect her.”

            “…Mr. Kim is my boss.” Jungkook hummed. Taehyung groaned.

            “So, you’re biased.”

            “I think you’re overreacting,” Jungkook said. “Mr. Kim is really nice and probably too awkward for his good. He has a good son and is a good father. He has a good job and is well respected. I think you should just let her go on the dates and figure it out for herself.” Jungkook watched Taehyung cross his arms and hum. “…Unless you-.”

            “What? Unless I what, Jungkook?” Taehyung asked, eyes darting in the younger boy’s direction. When he saw the boy jump just slightly, he blinked. “…Sorry.” A playful smirk formed across the younger boy’s face, and that made Taehyung feel a world of uneasy. Why was he smirking?

            “Nothing. Now-.” Taehyung saw Jungkook push a manila envelope in his direction. “Will you finally look at my work?” Taehyung sighed, nodding as he took the folder from him. Taehyung plopped on the couch beside him, and Jungkook shimmed over just slightly to offer him some room.

            “Alright, alright. I’m sorry, you’re right. I appreciate you letting me vent about your boss for an hour.” He hummed, and Jungkook only chuckled a bit. “Let’s see what we got here…” When Taehyung flipped open the manila envelope, he was expecting some decent, yet still pretty amateur works. He was expecting colors to be mixed adequately, maybe some smudging or poor color choices. Something he could work on. Just ….

            …something…

            When Taehyung opened the folder and looked at the first picture inside, it felt as if Taehyung had been transported to a beautiful serene lake in the middle of spring, somewhere secluded, like the countryside or a foreign land. The colors were muted, but still noticeable. The peaks of the mountains in the distance were beautifully pointy, not a drop of paint was out of place. The lake was so crystal clear, Taehyung had to double-take that he didn’t see his reflection. This painting was…stunning.

            Taehyung lifted his head, expression still of shock and confusion, as he stared at the kid before him. Jungkook blinked, seemingly nervous – why the fuck was he nervous – about what Taehyung had to say. Taehyung sighed, flipping to the second picture in his portfolio. This one looked as if it has been drawn with only colored pens, but it was once again a vision. A shadowy man stared back at him, only a few features heavily decorated with color to bring out his eyes, nose contour, or the scar the dragged red pen eerily down his left eye. Taehyung had to keep his jaw from hitting the floor.

            “What do you think?” he heard Jungkook asked. Taehyung looked in his direction.

            “What do I think? I think you’re fucking with me.” Taehyung handed Jungkook back the folder. Almost immediately, he took it, the younger-looking confused, more so than he had all evening. “You think I’m a joke or something?”

            “What? N-no, of course not!” He gasped.

            “Your art is leagues better than mine and you want me to mentor you? I don’t buy it.” Jungkook flipped open the folder once again, and Taehyung heard a frantic whimper emit from the boy’s mouth. Finally, he held up the mountain painting again.

            “Like I said at the art festival, Hyung. I just paint it. You paint.”

            “I still have no fucking idea what that means.” Taehyung huffed.

            “Everything I’ve ever seen you do, from your big canvases to your tiny sketches, you do with passion. I don’t…I don’t have that. I just paint, I just put things together. It looks nice, I guess, but if someone looked at this, what would they think? ‘It’s pretty?’, ‘He’s talented?’ I got into your artwork because it tells a story, that’s what inspired me to do my paintings. But when I did….” Taehyung watched Jungkook plopped the picture down onto the folder again. “I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel pride or passion, and that’ll convey in my work. You say so yourself all over social media that your emotions tell a story.”

            “…I do, don’t I?” Taehyung leaned back in his seat and groaned. “So, you…want me to teach you how to be passionate?”

            “Mhm.” Jungkook nodded, as eager as ever. Taehyung had to admit, Jungkook was too hard to resist with that little doe-eyed stare. He couldn’t believe this was happening, he had no idea how to teach someone how to find their passion, he just had no idea!

            “Okay, I guess I don’t have much else to lose.” He huffed. He could see Jungkook beam a little smile in excitement. “I have no idea when I’m going to be free, though. Maybe weekends?”

            “Sure. I usually know far in advance when Mr. Kim needs me to babysit Kai, so I can work around that.” Taehyung nodded. “I look forward to working with you.” He said happily. Taehyung couldn’t help but smile a bit at his little friend.

            “Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jungkook watched Taehyung get off the couch and make his way towards the kitchen. “Let me grab us something to drink.” He hummed, before disappearing behind the entranceway. Jungkook scanned the room, the sound of distant water running on the sink the only real noise he could hear. Jungkook stood up, walking towards the walls that were decorated with all of Taehyung’s finished canvases. They added so much clutter to the room, yet so much color and personality. Jungkook couldn’t help but admire each one that his eyes fell upon.

            “He is something, isn’t he?” Jungkook mumbled to himself. As his eyes continued to scan, they landed on his desk, as dirty as ever. Multiple paintbrushes poked out from a white mug, which held down a stack of scattered papers. “Wow…” Jungkook walked over, sticking his hands in his pockets as he leaned in to get a closer look. When he did, he noticed a smaller piece of paper resting on the top of his most current stack of progress. When he got a closer look, he noticed a familiar face doodled on one of the pictures. He noticed two space buns, wrapped in uncolored ribbon. He noticed a smile spreading ear to ear and eyes dotted with excitement and wonder.

            He noticed you, and quite frankly, he didn’t expect to.

            “Aw…” He pursed his lips. Just as he lifted his hand to pick up the paper, he heard a voice.

            “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?” When Jungkook looked up, he saw Taehyung walking in his direction, two cups of water in his hands. Jungkook could see he wasn’t pleased with how he caught Jungkook.

            “Sorry, I just got distracted looking around,” Jungkook muttered sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. Taehyung sighed, simply passing Jungkook the cup, which he took quickly. “…I saw your drawing of-.”

            “Why are you snooping?” Taehyung asked again.

            Jungkook avoided the question with a smile. “It looks nice. Just like her too. Is it a present for her?”

            “What? No way.” An annoyed Taehyung lifted the cup of water to his mouth, sipping the contents down eagerly. Jungkook pursed his lips. “It’s just something I made.”

            “I think she would like it.”

            “No, she wouldn’t. She would probably think I was weird.”

            “Why would she?” Jungkook paused after his initial question. Then, a grin formed on his face, one Taehyung was starting to realize he wasn’t too big of a fan of the more he saw it.

            “You’re making that face again.” Taehyung hissed, eyes narrowing.

            “I knew it. You like her, don’t you?” He asked. Taehyung, at that moment, wanted to die. He wanted to curl up in a ball and hide away from the rest of the world. He never wanted to come back out into the world. Just as Jungkook said that another deep voice hit the back of his mind like a vicious drum.

            Do you have a crush on her or something?

            “Like her? Jungkook, come on? I know I didn’t know you a few months ago, but she wasn’t the nicest to me for the longest time.”

            “And you return the favor of constant verbal abuse through drawing a stunning picture that identifies all of her best features?” Jungkook snorted. “You don’t hold a grudge long, do you?”

            As Jungkook finally took a sip of his drink, Taehyung felt his eyebrow twitch. “You damn brat.”

            “I’m just saying. If you like her, it’s very obvious.”

            “I don’t like her. Not in the way you think, anyway. Stop minding other people’s business, and that’s the last time I’m going to tell you.” Jungkook’s devilish smile diminished into a pout, and he nodded.

            “Right…sorry, Hyung.” He said. Taehyung sighed, trying to hide his blush behind the glass cup he pressed between his lips. It didn’t work.

            “It’s fine, just forget it.” He huffed. “So, do you plan to stay for dinner? Because I’m ordering pizza.”

            “Oh no. My mom wants me home tonight. I’m behind on my homework and she doesn’t want me out of the house until it’s done.”

            Taehyung blinked, raising an eyebrow. “So…how did you end up here?” Once again, that devilish grin formed on the younger boy’s face.

            “I snuck out.” He said. Taehyung stood up, slapping the boy on the shoulder as he began to laugh. “I know, I know. I don’t do it often, but I wanted to come and see you as soon as I could to make sure you’d take me on.”

            “I’m not taking you on anything until you catch up on your studies, you little punk!” Taehyung snapped, nudging Jungkook once again as he grinned. “Get home and catch up on your studies, they’re important, you know.”

            “I know, I know. Okay, I’m going.” Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh as he was shoved towards the door by Taehyung. “Bye, Hyung.” He grinned.

            “Yeah, get home safe,” Taehyung said, waving the boy off as he headed down the hallway. Taehyung closed the door, locking it before walking towards his kitchen and tossing himself into one of the chairs. Slowly, he lowered his head onto the table and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m turning into my mother…” he mumbled silently to himself, dread washing over him at the thought. As that thought came and went into his mind, yet another was sure to follow right behind it.

            Jungkook was probably right, and that thought was beginning to piss him off.

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            “What are you going to wear?” Hoseok asked, poking his head up from the yellow table in the room that he was currently scrubbing violently with soap and water. You glanced over at him, tugging your hair back so it did not cover your eyes.

            “Wear? I have no idea.” You said simply.

            “Well, where is he taking you?”

            “He said to dinner. He made reservations at a nice place.”

            “Oooh? Where?” You could hear that Hoseok sounded like he was forcing the conversation just slightly. It annoyed you whenever he would do this.

            “He said it’s a surprise.” He had told you over the phone last night, but with Hoseok being this pushy, you had no intention of sharing that information with him. A childish whine emanated from his lips, but he knew you stood your ground, and thus, stopped pestering. “Why do you care anyway? You have your own life, Hobi.”

            “I know, I just like being in the know about things, I guess.”

            “I know. You always have.” You huffed, earning a giggle from your friend. “If you are so curious, then I’ll tell you Monday morning.”

            “What?! Not even Friday night? I have to wait for the entire weekend?” The disbelief in his voice made you have to cover your mouth for a laugh, especially when he whined your name. “Oh come on, now, I don’t have to deal with children in this room for another 20 minutes, so don’t go all actor Hoseok on me.” Hoseok huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

            “Okay, fine, you win.” He said. You watched as he walked towards the cabinet in the far-left corner of the room, storing away the cleaning supplies for later.

            “Can you do me a favor? Maybe it’ll speed time up for you.” You hummed. Hoseok turned to you as you collected a stack of hastily put together works, handing it to him. “Can you hang up these crafts? Taehyung made them earlier this week and the kids wanted them up on the bulletin board outside. I thought we could surprise them with it.”

            “Sure. But only for a price.” Hoseok said. Your eyebrow cocked in confusion as to what he meant by price. “I get to take you on a date too~.” He grinned.

            “A date? Hmmm…how about we do dinner, wine, and movies on Friday night soon? Like old times?” You asked. Hoseok’s lips tugged together in a tight line as he thought about it, before finally nodding.

            “Deal.” You passed him the crafts, and Hoseok spun on his heel, heading out the door towards the bulletin board outside of the room. He quickly got to work making room to hang up their glued together rainbows and cotton-ball clouds, which they made in anticipation of the middle of the week thunderstorms. Hoseok began stapling projects up, humming a little tune as he worked.

            He was so in his world, that he began thinking about Friday. He did have a plan, he normally did if they were not with you, but that wasn’t the point. You never knew how much your date nights killed him on the inside, how much more alone he felt, knowing you were with another guy, laughing and smiling arm and arm. It killed him just to think about, which is why he busied his schedules those nights as much as he could. Your nights with him were fun, and meant the world to him, but were few and far between due to your heavy workloads. Anytime you spent together outside of the building was usually to plan lessons, create manipulatives and handouts, or plan exciting events. Anytime with you with good for him, though, he had no room to complain when you were by his side.

            Hoseok was so in his world, that he didn’t hear the sound of a deep voice approaching until the word “HYUNG?!” right in his ear made him jump six feet in the air. When he looked over his shoulder, Taehyung was standing there, a concerned look on his face. “You okay? You were spacing out.”

            “Oh yeah, just in my world.” Hoseok chuckled a bit. “Did you need something?”

            “What are you doing Friday night?” Taehyung asked curiously. Hoseok blinked.

            Is this kid reading my mind?

            “Oh uh, well I have dinner plans with my older sister,” Hoseok said. He saw Taehyung’s shoulders slump. “Sorry, why? Something up?”

            “No. I just wanted to make plans with someone.”

            “Aww, I’m sorry. Next time, okay?” Hoseok grinned, turning to pat Taehyung on the shoulder. Taehyung nodded. “Good, I’ll clear my schedule.” Hoseok immediately turned back to the bulletin board. “They look cute hung up, don’t you think?”

            “Oh yeah.” Taehyung scanned the entire bulletin board as it began to get filled up with colorful rainbows and puffy clouds. “It looks really cute. I’m glad she agreed to hang them up over here.” Hoseok nodded in agreement. Then, he watched Taehyung squeeze by him, making his way into your classroom.

            You were busy cleaning up the final parts of the room when Taehyung walked in. You smiled, tucking hair behind your ear. “Morning.” You said happily.

            “Hey.” Taehyung hummed, smiling a bit. “I uh…just wanted to apologize about getting in your business yesterday. Not sure what’s come over me, heh…” You chuckled.

            “It’s whatever. I appreciate the apology though, and I’m sure your intentions are only good.” Taehyung nodded, and you chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Just…mind your business, okay?” You teased, and Taehyung had to chuckle. There was a moment of silence that fell over you two until you clapped your hands against your dress. “Okay! Well, I need to finish setting up, so-.”

            “Oh, okay. Sorry. I’ll go.” Taehyung nodded, waving his hand before leaving you alone in the room. When he stepped out, he waved to Hoseok before heading into his room and closing the door behind him. When he was alone in his room, he let out a soft sigh.

            He wasn’t sorry about getting into her business, but he would be damned if he let their relationship sour once again because of his idiocy.

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Taehyung sat lazily on his couch, his limbs sprawled out as far as they would allow, one draped over the back of the couch while the other rested down the side and onto the floor. His feet were propped up on the other end, swaying back and forth as if they had a mind of their own. Taehyung knew tonight was the night Namjoon had finally succeeded in landed a date with you, and ever since he knew about it, he was dreading the day. The day finally arrived, and all he felt was an immense sense of jealousy and annoyance. He didn’t care about Namjoon, no matter what Jimin said about him or how kind and well-raised his son seemed to be. He was pushy and clingy and it wasn’t cute, at least not to him. But you didn’t seem to want to hear it, brushing off Taehyung’s concerns as nothing but a fit of ridiculous jealousy. That’s what all his friends said it was, but it still hurt! The lonely single held a beer tightly in his hand that rested on the floor, only raising it to bring the opening of the can to his lips and take a sip. Everyone was busy tonight, everyone except for Taehyung. He didn’t even have the inspiration to throw himself into his work, his works in progress remaining in progress, and most likely will for the rest of the night.

I should probably do something to get my mind off of it. He thought to himself. Groaning, Taehyung ripped himself off of the couch, running his hand through his hair as he walked to his desk. He plopped himself down on the chair and scanned the piles of various doodles. His hand landed on top of them gently, spreading them out so that he could get a better view. As he scanned his work, the multiple doodles he had done of you over the past few weeks had felt as if he was staring back. They were nothing amazing, nothing groundbreaking, but every time he saw them, he felt a bit happier. As he rested back in his seat, he heard a faint vibrating noise coming from his coffee table. Spinning around, he saw his phone, glowing and shaking as it desperately called for Taehyung to come to pick it up. He was quick to oblige, leaning forward and grabbing ahold of his phone. As he did, a familiar face showed up on the caller ID. Hoseok-Hyung, squished between two sun emojis, flashed on top of a picture of Hoseok and Taehyung that Jimin had taken at the art show. Hoseok and Taehyung had found some paper mâché masks at one of the vendor spots and had put them on with childlike excitement. Taehyung quickly answered the call.

“Hello?” He hummed.

“Want to go get dinner?” Hoseok’s voice hummed on the other end.

“Dinner? I thought you had plans tonight with your sister.”

“I did. She had to reschedule last minute. She was called into work to fix something with her fashion line.” Hoseok explained. “She already made the reservation for two at a restaurant near me, so she said I could still use it. So, I thought I would invite you. I don’t want to eat alone, hehe.”

“Uhm….” Taehyung looked over at the clock on the wall. It was already close to 9 p.m. It was just now that Taehyung realized he was starving. Alcohol didn’t seem to count as dinner for him, did it? “Can you give me fifteen minutes?”

“Yeah! I’ll send the address and wait outside for you. See you soon~.”

“Bye, Hyung,” Taehyung said before he heard his friend hang up. Taehyung spun back around to his sea of pictures and pencil stacks just staring at him in the face. He wasn’t sure how long he had done that, but he felt his stomach grumble again, and he finally got up and went into his room to make himself look somewhat presentable.

Hopefully, this would be enough to take his mind off of everything else.

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

“Taehyung! Over here!” Hoseok shouted, his high-pitched voice piercing through the crowd of people lingering in and around the restaurant’s entrance. Taehyung fixed his jacket just slightly as he approached his friend.

“Hope I’m not late.” He said. “The train was a few minutes behind schedule.” Hoseok shrugged.

“Not a problem. Hope you’re hungry.” With a friendly, yet firm pat on the shoulder, Taehyung was led into the restaurant with his Hyung. The restaurant was stunning, brightly lit by tons of massive chandeliers that covered the entirety of the tall ceilings. Archways led guests into different areas of the establishment, each one even more than the last. As Taehyung looked around, he saw beautiful women adorning stunning dresses and jewels, while the men wore freshly pressed suits and shoes. Taehyung felt as if he was back at Mr. Oh’s art show, just by looking at the people there. This was most likely where people like that got together, and honestly, it was extremely intimidating. He watched as Hoseok followed the hostess, both of them chatting. Taehyung kept his hands in his pockets as he followed silently, his teeth chewing on the inside of his bottom lip a bit.

“Here you are.” The hostess said, motioning to their elegant booth. Taehyung and Hoseok thanked the man before they slid into the booth. Taehyung continued to look around, and Hoseok smiled.

“You look overwhelmed.” He said.

“I didn’t think we’d be going somewhere this elaborate. How can you afford this on your teacher’s salary?”

“My sister made the reservation, I said. She’s made a pretty big name for herself on Instagram with her fashion line.”

“Oh wow,” Taehyung said. “I never knew that.”

“She doesn’t like me talking about it too much,” Hoseok admitted.

“I feel like you’re trying to ask me out with this.” Taehyung joked, and Hoseok laughed.

“Noooooo.” Hoseok hummed. “I didn’t offer to pay for your half after all.” When he saw Taehyung’s eyes go extremely wide, he began to laugh. “I’m kidding.”

“Thank God. I doubt I could’ve ever afforded anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much money in my life.” Hoseok chuckled as the waiter approached once again, filling both of their glasses with some sparkling water before offering them menus. He greeted himself, shared off the specials, and then left them alone to make their decisions for a few moments. Taehyung skimmed the page of options with wide eyes, unsure what he should pick. There weren’t many options, but everyone left his mouth-watering from the description below. By the time he finally made a decision and set his menu down, Hoseok had already leaned back in his seat, fiddling with his glass of water.

“Know what you want?” He asked curiously. Taehyung nodded. “Awesome.” He grinned. The waiter approached their table a few moments later, a smile on his face as Hoseok and Taehyung prepared to share their orders. As Hoseok was sharing him, Taehyung looked around, still wanting to take in the breathtaking scenery before him. It felt as if he had stepped into a painting, and he couldn’t stop staring. He wasn’t staring at anything specific, just staring. However, as his eyes scanned the massive archway leading into their section of the restaurant, he caught a familiar sight. Behind the same hostess that had seated them, the six-foot-tall Kim Namjoon was strolling in. His hair was slicked back, and he was wearing yet another pressed suit, much like all of the other men in the room, however, he was all black. The undershirt, the tuxedo jacket, even the tie. It was all black. Taehyung had to admit, even if it was only to himself, he looked pretty dashing. Kim Taehyung felt his ears boil a stinging red at the sight of the smug bastard, wanting to peel his eyes away the moment he laid his eyes on him.

However, as soon as he saw the lady on Kim Namjoon’s arm, his eyes refused to pull away even for a mere second to blink.

You were strolling beside Kim Namjoon, wearing a stunning white party dress. It fell to your knees, where it flared out into beautifully laid creases and folds. The top of the dress exposed the lovely necklace adorning your neck, as the dress’s sleeves were off the shoulder, wrapping around your arms. Your hair was out of its usual school bun or ponytail. It was the first time he had to seem your full head of hair, how lovely it flowed down your back, and framed your face. He could see traces of light makeup on your face, which was pretty good since he was looking from a distance. As he took one final look over you, he saw your feet adorning white heels. That final look was enough to catch his entire breath in his throat.

You were an absolute vision, and he would be lying if he knew he wanted so badly to be the man on your arm.

Return to Masterlist

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[sinister-bob]

Truthfully, each time there is some sort of outbreak (namely from foreign countries because the racism really jumps out), I get irritated.  If there’s nothing you can do, have hope, keep clean, and monitor yourself/surroundings.  That’s it.  That’s all you can do.

I have a chronic illness, and with that comes a compromised immune system, which means that even flu shots are out for me.  But for the most part I live like this, since a common cold can lay me low for a month or longer.  So it’s more so a drudge, and seeing people panicking like this feels like an overreaction, though if I care to be empathetic enough, I know why.  You’re not used to the thought of all this, or the great finality of it all.

It’s going to get better, guys.  Just like it always has before.  Yes, there are risks, but that’s for the people with the compromised immune systems, IE., people like me, pregnant folk and the elderly.  You are going to survive.  Remember that.

But, people are scared.  Just like they always are.  Which makes sense, so okay, you want to be healthy along with your friends, family, and other people.  But, in doing so, people are buying out stores, using not really necessary things that are bad for the environment, and buying hand sanitizer, which was found years ago to be BAD on a whole other level because it makes super-bugs that can’t be killed by antibiotics.

There are things, though, that you can get, that you can make, that will work in place of them.  All it takes is a little effort, so in the long run, these things will probably be cheaper too.

Wet wipes 2

Disinfectant 2 3

Thieves oil 2 mix it with oil based hand lotion, or a carrier oil, like coconut oil, which is antibacterial in itself.*

Four thieves vinegar 2 3 4 (white vinegar is fine, don’t believe their lies.  You can also eat this, unlike the thieves oil.)

Then there are the things you can buy, which are a little off the beaten path, but are still good.

Carbolic soap:  It’s antibacterial, kills acne, and is good for open sores.

Coconut oil: As stated above, it has antibacterial properties, and as well is good for open sore.  Don’t over do it, though, because it can clog pores. (It’s also good for healing tattoos.)

Honey: it’s antibacterial and antifungal.  I once made a mix of this and coconut oil of equal measures, and it’s wonderful for cuts and the like.  Honey is also good for getting rid of acne.

Edible plants 2 3 4: Because, oh shit, there’s a lot of them!  The ones linked are actually lists that give their properties, but they are all either antibacterial/antiviral.  Check to make sure you aren’t actually allergic to anything.  You can’t be healthy if you’re dead.

Capsicum: Eat spicy foods.  The spice helps your immune system, and helps keep you healthier longer.  At least one meal every day.  Even if you don’t like spice, start small.  Start with paper-thin garlic, and work your way up the peppers, starting at something like an anaheim.  It looks like a giant jalapeno, but it is pretty much a green pepper.

*Essential oils: This one is tricky.  You have to make sure that you are getting the right ones, and you will have to do some research.  They can be harmful to pets, especially small ones like rodent, birds, lizards, ETC.  But you have to make sure the ones you’re getting are the antibacterial, antifungal, antiviral ones, like tea tree, eucalyptus, rosemary, cinnamon . . .

Lemon concentrate:  Lemon helps boost your immune system, and if you catch anything, it can help you get better quicker.  It also helps loosen phlegm stuck to the walls of your lungs.  So, if you have asthma or bronchitis besides, this would be a good thing to keep in your fridge.

Ginger: Ginger is like lemon only a 100 times better.  It does so much more, like help with blood flow and is an anti inflammatory.  Tastes great with lemon and pretty much everything else.  Fresh or dried, it doesn’t matter for the most part, but fresh always tastes best.

Turmeric:  It’s again anti everything, including anti-inflammatory.  Good for both the inside and outside of you.

Then there’s prep.

Soap

Take the carbolic soap, melt it in a double boiler with some water.  Once it’s dissolved, you have a choice: either you can make liquid soap, or you can make some small hard ones so you can take it wherever you’re going.  If you are making it liquid, you add some more water, and once that is done, you add it to the bottle.  If you’re making hard ones, use an ice cube tray or the like.  I don’t suggest using a plastic one, because it can melt it as well as the soap scent will linger.

Either way, you can add things to it to either make it pull double duty or to make it stronger.  Things you can add?

Baking soda:  About a teaspoon per bar.  Warning:  It foams a lot when you introduce it, so make sure the walls of your pot are high enough to keep it contained.  Mine went about twice the volume.  It makes it a better cleaner.

coconut oil: About a tablespoon.  It retains it’s antibacterial properties.

Honey: About a tablespoon and a half.  It makes it lather well.  It keeps it’s properties as well.

Essential oil: For the most part, I don’t suggest adding more than 30 drops (a tablespoon).   You can do more, I just think you’d be wasting it at that point.  This would be a good use for the thieves oil, too.

*Note*  Always vent, especially if you have pets or small children.

Antibacterial ETC ETC ETC Hand Lotion

All you need is coconut oil, wax, and your choice of essential oil.

Depending on how hard you want the lotion, I would say about 1/3 wax to 2/3 oil.  Use a sliding scale to see where you want it, but remember, you cannot tell when it is in a liquid state.  If you are unsure, you have to let it completely cool before checking.  To add your essential oil, add it by the drop and stir.  You have to experiment, rather than just dumping stuff in.  Always add your scent last, otherwise you’ll kill it while smoking yourself out.

As for wax, believe it or not, you can use most anything.  I recently made hand lotion with the wax that comes off baby bells.  Certain candles work too.  You can even use crayons.  You dilute them so much, that they don’t really leave a colour on you, but that said, you might want to stick to colours that are complimentary to your skin tone.

You can steep a couple teaspoons of turmeric in the oil while keeping it over a low heat, and you’ll get the added benefit of it.  Steep it for about 4-5 minutes.  You can later throw the bundle in your bath for your health.  *Turmeric can dye things including you, so be careful.  I would more so suggest this step for people who have naturally occurring yellow or gold tones in their skin, unless you don’t mind looking like a Simpson.

Honey Lemon Ginger Drink

1/4 c. lemon concentrate

2/3 tsp. powdered ginger

2 tsp. honey

3/4 c. water

Optional: 1/4 c. gin (Decrease water to 1/2 cup)

Add all of the ingredients (except gin) to the pot.  Bring to under a boil.  Pour into cup and drink when cool enough to handle.  Tastes great cold, so you can make it a few days ahead.  Strain if you don’t want to contend with the sludge in the bottom.

Sage and Thyme Tea

1/2 tsp. powdered sage

1/8 tsp. powdered thyme

1/8 tsp. cinnamon

1 c. water

prep like regular tea.  Let steep for 6-8 minutes.  Strain before drinking to get rid of the sludge.  Sweeten to taste.

Fermented Milk

Yes, it sounds weird and gross, but it is good for you and boosts your immune system.  It doesn’t taste bad.   Kind of creamy and nutty.

1 c. warm milk

1/4 tsp. bakers’ yeast

1 tsp. honey or sugar

Combine all ingredients in a jar, shaking until the honey is dissolved.  Put the lid on loosely, not even barely closed, so that if you were to tip the jar, the contents would spill out.

Let sit for four hours, checking on it occasionally.  Sometimes you need to agitate it a little.  Once the time is up, you can drink it.  Leave it any longer, and it will turn to alcohol.  Don’t drink the dregs.

Wash your hands.  It’s a little terrifying that that has to be a reminder, since I got that drilled into my head as a child first from my mother and then by countless kid shows and ASPs.  Didn’t that happen with you guys?

20 seconds right?

Have a soliloquy:

Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind, a false creation, Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? I see thee yet, in form as palpable As this which now I draw.

Have a poem:

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, In the forests of the night; What immortal hand or eye, Could frame thy fearful symmetry?In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?

Make Big Bird proud.

[theincompetentgenius]

hi! can I get a matchup for mlqc, ikerev and dfel? Virgo, intp, 9, and very evenly divided between all four houses for Hogwarts. i’m 5’1.75" with curly hair just past chin length dyed in a gradient from my natural ginger to Ruby to amethyst to sapphire hair and eyes that change colors under different lighting. Very petite and pale, freckled.

i’m a performing introvert, so while I can come off as an extravert in reality I’m deeply introverted. I make friends easily, especially with animals (which I love dearly!). I’m very stubborn and persistent when it comes to those I care about, but otherwise am very open and free flowing, following the wind and my intuition. Love to learn, seeks understanding, empathetic, and analytical.

I’m a creative writing and Eastern Asian studies double major with minors in literature and music performance. I love stories, reading and writing them, and creating all kinds of art whether it be on the 12+ instruments I play, singing, or visual arts. I’m a varsity fencer, my main weapon of choice being foil. I’m incredibly hard to offend or bother. I love adventures and exploring new things – especially when it comes to food and art and stories. I love soft things and pillows.

Often described as passionate, enthusiastic, talkative, and dramatic, I actually am very anxious and can be incredibly reserved in private, often closing off lots of personal information and only disclosing it to those closest to me when absolutely necessary. Due to suffering from chronic nightmares, anxiety, depression, and PTSD I often underneath the energetic exterior exhausted and dealing with extreme difficulty keeping it up. Gifted kid burnout, and heavy imposter syndrome. Comes from a successful family with 6 older siblings and as such has developed a strong desire for independence while constantly fearing hurting others or being forgotten or left behind.

Thank you so much and I hope I didn’t add too much!!!

—————————————————————————

No problem! In fact, more information helps me pick a match for you. Anywho, I hope you enjoy the matchup!

MLQC 

I’d pair you with……….. Victor!

Honestly, Victor seems like the strongest match for you and it’s pretty clear in your description why the two of you would work. However, I feel like Kiro would also be a great option for you since he’s literally a ball of sunshine who’d be able to cheer you up within minutes. If it’s the rare occasion that he can’t, you can at least expect Kiro to be right by your side when trouble occurs. He’d be able to slow down for you without putting too much pressure.

However, Victor is the clear winner here. Although you’re an introvert, you are able to put yourself out of your comfort zone– which helps you interact with Victor at his colder states. It’s even better that you make friends quickly, helping you get closer to the CEO. While he finds the small talk useless, Victor appreciates that you’re trying to get close to him (because no one else wants to take the time to get to know him).

He also finds your passion for art and music very interesting. Although he’s not a music nerd, Victor understands the difficulty in playing 12+ instruments and commends you for your talent. From time to time, he’ll ask you to play certain instruments for him– even classical songs that you’ve memorized and he enjoys listening to.

Victor also likes to push you to your full potential. He notices that you often feel like a waste of talent, but that’s not what he sees. Although he’s not verbal about his support, Victor is willing to help you do your very best in all your goals and assignments.

He also appreciates the fact that you’re empathetic towards his feelings while being analytical about other things. The duality is important and impressive to him because he needs someone who knows how to control their feelings (especially because he’s not in tune with his own emotions).

The only bump in this relationship would be the independence issue, but that’s ok because it would help the two of you strengthen the relationship in the long run. Although Victor is hesitant about leaving you on your own a lot, you prove to him that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself. As time goes by, he trusts your abilities more and finds your independence helpful in certain situations,

Another Possibility: Kiro

Ikemen Revolution

I’d pair you with……… Blanc Lapin!

Again, it seemed pretty clear to me that Blanc would be the winner, but Sirius wasn’t far off. The Queen of Spades is motherly, so he’d be able to attend to your emotional needs (especially if you’re feeling really bad). Also, it would be super cute to see you constantly trying to care for Sirius (because the poor man needs a break) as he tries to assure that he’s fine. But you’re too stubborn to listen and he’s secretly glad that you like to look after him.

However, I couldn’t pass the opportunity to match you with my favorite bunny man! You don’t have to worry too much about getting close because Blanc naturally does that for you. As he shows you around the Cradle, you don’t feel worried or uncomfortable. The two of you chat during your entire tour. You gobble all of Blanc’s fun facts and basics of the Cradle within minutes. He’s impressed with your memory and finds it endearing that you actually pay attention to his ramblings.

As a history person, you’d probably make connections between the Cradle and our world (especially East Asia). Although Blanc knows a few things about our world, he doesn't have extensive knowledge like you, so he’s always intrigued by whatever connections you make. He begins to ask you for more in-depth questions about East Asian history, and the two of you talk for hours. Blanc feels like he’s finally found someone who appreciates his interests with the constant discussions about the histories of the two worlds.

Blanc loves taking you for sight-seeing! Whenever he’s going somewhere that isn’t dangerous, he’ll always ask you whether you want to join him. If you’re down, then the two of you go around and make new memories. Every trip is an adventure and Blanc always gets you a plushie or something cute as a souvenir. It’s both bonding and exploring time!

While some consider Blanc’s smooth-talking as a bad thing, it also means that he knows how to comfort you when you’re feeling down or insecure. Although he doesn’t always have time to help you, the record-keeper knows exactly how to calm your nerves in a short amount of time. Even if he’s on a really tight schedule, Blanc always spares a few minutes to make sure that you’re alright.

Another Possibility: Sirius Oswald

Dangerous Fellows

I’d pair you with……….. Harry!

Not going to lie, my first choice for you is Lawrence (but no one likes his psycho, murdering ass). I could’ve written headcanons for you and pretend like he wasn’t insane, but that would ruin his character. Also, it’s not fun being paired with a killer, so I went with Harry instead! However, I do feel like you and Lawrence would do a great job at leading the team and ultimately form a deeper bond.

But enough of Lawrence, let’s get to Harry. Now Harry is definitely going to approach you first (mainly out of courtesy). He understands that it is difficult to adjust to their group, so he’ll be checking up on you quite often. Besides, he’s the only nice one so you feel more inclined to talk to him out of everyone else in the group. 

Although simple talk can be hard (since there’s not much to talk about during a zombie apocalypse), the two of you manage. You talk about your passion for writing, which Harry finds really cool. He inspires you to write a story about the gang, where everyone manages to escape without any casualties. It’s hard to combat your writer’s block, but Harry’s enthusiasm inspires you to get a strong start. Soon, this writing becomes your way of coping.

You’re able to use your fencing skills for a foundation for zombie combat. Harry is surprised and amazed that you have a strong athletic background, so he starts taking combat lessons from you. At first they’re strictly combat, but the lessons ultimately give you two more time alone for bonding. When the two of you become official, there’s more kissing than combat.

Both of you have crying sessions together. Since Harry bottles up all his troubles, he doesn’t have any other opportunity to vent his frustrations. While it may seem sad as the two of you cry and hold each other, it’s also comforting to know that neither of you is alone. If either one of you is having an episode, the other is always ready for emotional and physical support.

Another Possibility: Lawrence

[softlywithhissong]

I’m calling bullshit on your hate.

STOP STEREOTYPING SANGWOO FANS!

I am a Sangwoo fan. I am also a Bum fan. A strange dichotomy, I know.

Both of these characters exhibit problematic behavior, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a fan of them, either individually or simultaneously. Does being a fan of either of these characters mean that you support these damaging behaviors in real life? NO. Calling out people who support REAL LIFE crimes is fine, but calling out people who are trying to enjoy being a fan of a FICTIONAL character IS NOT OKAY. You are clearly not helping real life people by doing so. You are being judgemental and self-righteous, shaming people to feel superior and patting yourself on the back for it. You not only contradict yourself several times, but you also act entitled to hate real people for liking something you personally don’t, have the arrogance to proclaim what the author “better not” do, and wish ill on real people. The hypocrisy is appalling. Do you not see the irony? You are not protecting people from real life abuse BY HATING ON REAL LIFE FANS of a fictional character. You are in fact engaging in verbally abusing real life people. It doesn’t matter what the character does; it’s fiction. Are there real people existing out in the big wide world who do crimes or support criminals? Yes, but to generalize, stereotype, and basically accuse FANS of being as bad as the people who do this or to conflate us and lump us together is disgusting, illogical, and highly offensive.

How can we “still stan his ass / this ship”? We can because the beauty of fandom is that you get to pick and choose what you like. You get to twist it up, turn it inside out, and make it into an AU parody of itself. ART IS SUBJECTIVE. It’s about what individual thing each and every one of us found gut wrenching or what pulled at our heartstrings. Don’t invalidate what other people found or resonated with just because it’s not the same thing you did. People fear different things. People emphasize, magnify, and conversely minimize different things based on what concerns each of us individually. That’s okay and people shouldn’t be shamed for having a different opinion. After all, being a fan is a form of opinion. And opinions are not facts. Don’t confuse the two; you holding an opinion does not make your opinion a fact.

Fiction is about emotional catharsis. It doesn’t matter that stealing a car or killing a dog are not crimes worthy of the death penalty in real life - I wanted to see John Wick kill all those fuckers for killing that little puppy.

And NOT ALL MEDIA should have a healthy or happy ending. Was Romeo and Juliet’s double suicide a healthy ending? NO. It was a tragedy! Tragedies have an important place in media. They often serve as cautionary tales. If you want another cliched boring “bad guy dies/goes to jail” ending, WHY ARE YOU SHAMING FANS WHO WANT SOMETHING DIFFERENT? You have an endless supply of your preferred ending. Go watch one of the thousand CSI/detective/cop procedural shows. They are everywhere. While I enjoy psychological thrillers (AS RARE AS THEY ARE), I am also a fan of some great detective shows and murder mysteries. I could recommend so many fantastic ones. But some of us want a unique ending for Killing Stalking, even if that means something “unhealthy” by real life moral standards. It was labeled a psychological thriller, after all. Not a mystery. Not a detective story. It was also labeled BL, and even if it gets a twisted/unhealthy ending because of the psychological thriller genre, it still qualifies because twisted BL is still BL.

I do not excuse Sangwoo’s abusive treatment of Bum. I’m often disappointed and angry on Bum’s behalf. And while I find it difficult to believe canon Bum would be in a healthy relationship with anyone (and I would love to make a post about how I see his fondness for frogs as symbolism for his relationships), I still have the ability to enjoy the possibilities of a healthy fanon-based relationship or even appreciate the grim take of a tragic and/or twisted unhealthy ending. This is how I still ship Sangbum in certain contexts, but not always, because context matters and it depends. I know that sentence sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it works! Because it’s OKAY TO SHIP FICTIONAL UNHEALTHY SHIPS. Because it’s fiction. And if people can vent their issues through the written word in order to not do so in real life, good. Many people find reading/writing therapeutic. Some authors write a lot of problematic behavior as angst. Do they deserve hate? NO. There are plenty of instances when I have shipped a healthy ship but not shipped it (and in fact wanted them not to end up together) in certain fics because I felt the fic had portrayed an unhealthy relationship. But did I send hate to the author of that fic when that ship ended up together anyway? NO. Just because it ended in a way I didn’t like didn’t give me or anyone else the right to spread hate or shame over a fictional story.

Also, as a Bum fan, I do not appreciate seeing any victim blaming of Bum. There’s some out there (including your despicable “Bum better not” comment), but at least this hate is not anywhere near the amount of Sangwoo hate. As a fan of both characters, I can see that there is clearly so much more Sangwoo hate out there. And it’s fine to criticize, dislike, or even hate Sangwoo as a character, but it’s NOT OKAY to hate on his fans. He is a fictional character, but his fans are real people.

I am a fan of Sangwoo because he is an intriguing, complex, and well-written character. He’s got flaws. All characters do. And I understand his flaws are pretty damn big. But I understand that he’s a fictional character. I would never support a real person committing such crimes or abuse. So, frankly, while you may find my being a fan “annoying” - I will not be shamed or hated upon.

To quote my sister, “In the safety of fiction, we can deconstruct the complexities of what’s morally gray.”

In other words, exploration through FICTION, discussion, and debate are welcome. Hateful posts are not.

This is a long post, so I’ll put my further calling bullshit on arguments made by haters behind a “Keep Reading” link:

Also, the criticisms for being a fan because of “fetishizing gay men” are bullshit. Firstly, anything anyone finds hot could be labeled “fetishizing” which is ridiculous. Secondly, some fans are gay men who are not “fetishizing” - they are simply enjoying the story even if it is twisted. (It’s okay to be a fan of a story that portrays an unhealthy relationship; not every story is meant to be a moral standard.) But also, this bullshit argument is just reducing people down to a ridiculous stereotype used to stifle women in fandom. This has been used through the ages and it is wrong. Are there possibly straight women out there objectifying gay men the way straight men would objectify gay women? Yeah, there’s probably some. But I’ve been in fandom a LONG time and this is not representative of fans in general, let alone all female fans. How about you let women consume all forms of media they find identifiable, cathartic, containing unique storyline with complex flawed characters, or even (gasp) entertaining? Stop shaming people. And maybe especially - don’t resort to misogynistic tropes to do so. I think it’s safe to say that fans (including female fans) generally tend to be a fan for more than just a character’s appearance and body parts. There’s usually character traits, personality quirks, things that draw you to go beyond casual reading/watching into becoming a fan.

Personally, I identify with stories portraying gay relationships equally as much if not more than with stories portraying heterosexual relationships. Maybe that’s because I’m bisexual, but I don’t think so. I believe that straight people can also find themselves identifying with the story and the struggles portrayed - no matter what the sexual orientation of the pairing portrayed.

You think I only like portrayals of gay men rather than women? No, I like both. Killing Eve is a fantastic example of a fandom that I would love to see grow! I despair at how small the fandom is compared to my usual fandoms, but it’s new! It can grow and I can’t wait for season 2. The harsh reality, though, is that f/f ships tend to be smaller fandoms. This may be due to so few well-written female characters in general throughout media - though, this is improving and having more female writers in media helps. Killing Eve has great characters and really great writing, so hopefully they can buck this trend and grow a decently large fandom featuring f/f ships. Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe from Legends of Tomorrow are a pretty big ship, which is heartening, and Xena/Gabrielle from Xena Warrior Princess were an absolute juggernaut back in the day (kudos to anyone who recognized Xena from my main tumblr’s icon).

You think I only like hot men? Or that I excuse the actions of killers who are hot men? NO. I watched The Fall with Gillian Anderson and Jamie Dornan, where Jamie Dornan played the serial killer and NO - I was not a fan of his character, let alone attempted to excuse any actions by his character whatsoever, even after they explained his tragic backstory. And You on Netflix is just too obnoxious in my personal opinion for me to even watch. But I’d never take time out of my day to hate on any fan who enjoys it.

Calling out problematic stuff in media is fine, but don’t use it as an excuse to spit vitriol and hate at fans who you disagree with.

P.S. Seriously, ask me for recs of good detective shows/murder mysteries. I’ve got so many I could recommend that are way better written than most. Want a female detective? I’ve got plenty. Want a gay male detective? Got it. Want a murder mystery twist where the murderer wins? Got that.

[maxfieldparrishes]

shake the bones

Part III. Having a new roommate requires some adjusting.

(nota bene: this is definitely set before pt. II)

(read on AO3)

Kallen hates mornings, and always has.

When her alarm beeps, she slams the snooze button and tries to curl herself into a ball, but the sunlight filtering in through her blinds naturally falls right into her eyes no matter how she squirms, so she grumbles and growls to herself and slides clumsily out of bed.

She’s tired. She hasn’t slept well, she has the oddest feeling that something important happened the previous day, but doesn’t remember what it is...

... until she spots the physical reminder making himself at home in her kitchen.

“Oh, Jesus!” she exclaims, and staggers against the wall in complete and utter shock, hand over her heart like a character from one of Milly’s soap operas.

“Not quite,” Lelouch answers. “We both came back from the dead, but I think that’s about where the similarities end.”

“Right. You’re alive now.” She sits down heavily at the table and starts to rub the sleep out of her eyes. “I haven’t compartmentalized yet. Or woken up. Sorry.”

“Still not a morning person, I see,” he says. “Here, I made some coffee.” He sets a steaming mug down before her drooping eyes, and takes a long, hard look at her. “How do you take it?”

“Black,” she says. Testing the white ceramic with the pad of her pointer finger, she rotates the cup in her hands, waiting for it to cool.

“Funny. So do I.” Lelouch sits down across from her at her little table with his own mug, and they sit in awkward, uneasy silence, not meeting each others’ eyes, until a hiss from the stove calls him away.

“Is that bacon?” She’d had some in her freezer for months, but hadn’t had the time (or the inclination) to make it. It smells amazing.

“Yes. I’d ask if you want cheese on your omelet but there isn’t any in your fridge.”

“No. I don’t really like cheese that well. I never ate it much growing up.”

Lelouch chuckles, turning the bacon over with a pair of tongs Kallen didn’t even know she had. “Strange to think how different our childhoods were. When I was... in Britannia, we had cheese in some form at every meal, every day.”

“Ugh.” It slips out before she can help herself, and she winces. “Sorry. You probably thought some of our food was gross too when you first got here.”

“I’m still not very fond of sazae, but you have managed to change my mind about most shellfish.”

Lelouch takes the bacon out of the pan and chops it up, before he sets it aside and starts chopping up the half an onion she left in a plastic bag, from the last time she attempted to cook something. He sets that aside too and then starts chopping up two large shiitake mushrooms, then dumps everything in a bowl and tosses it together with a spatula.

Kallen is amazed. She didn’t even know she owned a spatula.

In a second bowl, he cracks six eggs and adds a dash of water--in place of milk, he tells her, which is what makes the eggs fluffy. He adds a bit of vegetable oil to the pan used for the bacon--in place of butter, he tells her again, because the lipids provide a protective layer between the eggs and the heat, so they can cook without burning, and pours in half of the eggs too.

After the eggs have hardened, he delicately pours half of the bacon-onion-mushroom mix into the pan, flips half of the egg-patty over, and slides it out onto a plate, which he sets at her seat with a flourish.

“You like to cook, don’t you?” she asks as she digs around in a drawer for forks, and then in her tiniest, most awkward cabinet for the salt, pepper, and hot sauce.

“I didn’t really have a choice,” he replies. “I had my sister to take care of, and eventually Suzaku too, so I had to figure it out or we all would have starved.” Lelouch slides out the second omelet onto his own plate, and takes a glance at the cabinet she’s rummaging around in. “That’s where you keep your salt and pepper?”

“This cabinet isn’t good for much else,” she responds, groping around at the back of a shelf for a specific bottle, stiffening when she feels Lelouch appear close behind her.

“You have exactly three vegetables in your entire fridge, but two whole sacks of white rice and five different kinds of hot sauce,” he complains, peering over her head into the cabinet. “What are you looking for?”

“The sriracha.”

“Here,” he says, sliding his arm around her to push a bottle of curry powder out of the way, and grabs the sriracha before he hands it down. She takes it primly and sits down at the table with a thud, before sprinkling salt, pepper, and a torrential amount of sriracha over her omelet. Lelouch adds a much more moderate amount to his own before before they start eating, but not before asking Kallen what her weekly schedule is like.  

“I have classes starting at nine in the morning, until nine at night, Mondays and Wednesdays. Tuesdays are Black Knights stuff or Guren and Rakhshata stuff, and so on. Fridays I have two labs, then I usually spend the evening with Mom. Alternate Saturdays are also Black Knights, Guren, Rakhshata...”

“No wonder you don’t cook,” he grumbles. But then he smiles, and Kallen would be lying if she doesn’t notice the melancholy which sneaks, like a flash of lightning, across his face. “I’m glad you’re still in contact with your mother.”

“Well, of course,” she says, a little confused. “Why wouldn’t I be? Hey, that reminds me: how did you know I lived by myself?”

“I didn’t,” Lelouch answers, wincing a little as he wipes a bit of hot sauce off of what Kallen suddenly notices is a cracked lip, “but I figured you wouldn’t have agreed to come get me so quickly if you weren’t alone,” and she has to concede he has a fair point.

“Yeah, after a... year and a half or so, Mom said I’d sacrificed enough for her sake, that I had so much ahead of me, blah blah blah. She wanted me to live my own life and not worry so much about her, so she--very gently--told me that I should find my own place, and that I was welcome to visit her whenever I wanted.”

“So she evicted you.”

Kallen nods. “She kicked me out. In the absolute, nicest way possible, but still. She kicked me out.”

Lelouch laughs at that, and worries his lip with his tongue and teeth when his smile causes the crack to widen. Kallen looks to the side and begins to chuckle too, but starts in alarm when she notices that she should have been out the door about fifteen minutes ago. Pushing out of her chair, she races into her room, shimmies out of her pajamas and tosses them on the bed, pulls on her clothes, and races back out without washing her face or brushing her teeth.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Lelouch begins as she careens into the living room, grabs her backpack and throws on a sweatshirt, before he trails off, regarding her with a curious look, which puzzles her. Does she have hot sauce on her face or something?

Suddenly Kallen realizes that Lelouch is looking at her clothes, not her face, and remembers that he’s been dead for three fucking years and has no idea that she’s a medical student, as she pats down the pockets of her scrubs to double-check she has her keys even as she’s bolting towards the door.

“Okay, okay,” she says breathlessly, trying to organize her thoughts, as she’s fumbling at the doorknob. “Uh, I’ll be back, don’t go outside, help yourself to food, we can talk about my life choices later, I’ll see you and... goodbye?”

“We need to talk about the... situation...” he reminds her, stepping neatly to the side as she slips through the door and pulls it shut, shouting “Later!” and he isn’t sure if she means it as a farewell or a promise as the echo of her footsteps in the hall fade away. The sudden quiet that follows in her absence is deafening.

Kallen had been a tornado on the battlefield. She is, evidently, not so different off of it.

Lelouch shrugs, suddenly wishing he could turn on a radio or the television to break the silence, and starts to clean up the dishes.

He spends the day being nosy. Lelouch methodically goes through the entire kitchen, the bathroom, leaving Kallen’s room alone to respect her privacy (for the most part--he pokes his head in to note the location of the window and the vents), and makes mental notes of all the windows, doors, and vents. He hopes she doesn’t mind that he rearranges the furniture in the living room ever so slightly, just to make sure that a body lying down on the sofa won't immediately be seen from the front door.

He makes notes of what else he finds in her apartment: the unusual blend of artwork on her walls, the titles on her bookshelves, her textbooks. A keyboard in her (exceedingly crowded) coat closet. A record player on her bookshelves, the small contingent of records underneath serving as a bookend for a diverse collection, ranging from nonfiction to manga. He’s surprised, despite himself, and he takes a moment to self-chastise--why shouldn’t Kallen have an intellectual life, her own interests? Suddenly, the weight of his lost time is unbearable. Why should it hurt him, to think--to know--that Kallen had a life outside of and beyond him?

She’s her own person. But all of these things--her choices, her music, her art, her books, all her possessions--reveal somebody he isn’t sure he knows. However, that doesn’t mean he can’t start: Lelouch selects a thick volume (high fantasy, he judges from the cover) and sits down on the couch to read.

He’s still reading when the door to the apartment slams shut, well after dark. He looks down the hallway to see a pair of bloody scrubs stampeding towards him, and does a double take.

“Dissection,” Kallen says, kicking off her shoes in the hallway, “and I wouldn’t ask which part if I were you.”

“Nice to see you too,” he responds. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving. Did you actually have anything to work with?” Kallen looks around. “I thought the kitchen was pretty much empty. I haven’t been grocery shopping in ages.”

“I’m a master at making food stretch. You have the staples, even if you don’t know it, and I can deal with the rest.” Lelouch stands and makes his way to the kitchen, and Kallen follows him. “Time to eat.”

“You mean you haven’t eaten?” she remarks, looking absolutely scandalized. “It’s almost eleven!”

“Not waiting is rude,” Lelouch responds. “And we can talk over dinner. It’s chicken and rice pilaf.”

He microwaves both the plates, sets them on the table, and Kallen wastes no time in digging in. Lelouch is surprised by his own appetite, as he attacks the food with a vehemence similar to Kallen’s own. 

She swallows a bite down. “So. You said we needed to talk, right? About... this?” 

“Mm,” he agrees. “I think both of us would like to know just what the hell is going on.” 

“And you think I can help find out?” 

“I think you’re well-placed to make some discreet inquiries. I can guide you with that. What we really need is C.C., but as she’s currently... in the wind, I think the best thing to do would be to have you try to find her, then go from there.” 

“There’s a break in two weeks or so,” Kallen says. “I’m not sure how much I can help when I have my exams coming up, but after that I can spend more time digging around.” 

“That’s fair. I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” Lelouch says, bringing another bite of food to his mouth, “which brings me to my next point--”

“You need a wig,” Kallen interrupts, on the tail end of a swallow. “And contacts. So you can go outside. I was thinking about that too, because you can’t be stuck in here all day. It’s not healthy. Or useful.”

“Yes.” He swallows a bite of chicken. “Seeing as I’m still legally dead, you’ll have to get them. I’m not fussy about the wig, but you’ll need to get the contacts made custom, because they have to block my Geass. I’ll give you the name of the company. They respond quickly and you can do the whole thing online. And once I have them I can be more useful. I may not be able to access the same spaces as you, but I can at least make myself useful in the domestic sphere.”

“The wig will be easy,” Kallen says. “I’ll just raid the drama department, no one will miss a wig. The contacts... would using a public library computer to order them be wise? They don’t save any information. Also, I don’t believe you when you say you won’t be fussy. You’ll absolutely be fussy. You are the definition of fussy.” 

“That’s a good idea. And I know what I like--that isn’t being fussy, it’s being precise.” He sets his fork down, having somehow beat Kallen at finishing a meal.

Kallen mutters “fussy” underneath her breath as she scrapes the last bit of rice from her plate. “You cooked. I’ll do the dishes.” She takes them to the sink, scrapes the food into a bin, and wrenches on the faucet, which gives a grating squeak. She removes her scrub top, revealing a tank top underneath, and tosses it on to her chair. 

“You didn’t have to do that. You could at least let me earn my keep.”

“You’re a guest,” she says brusquely. “The least we could do is trade off on it.” For some reason, a prickly feeling starts to move through his chest at her words. What could there possibly be in those sentences that hurts his feelings? 

“I suppose you’re right,” he says after a beat, “but we will be trading off. Mark my words.” 

“Sure.” Kallen dries the last plate and puts it in the cabinet with the others. “Hey, I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, so I’m going to turn in. Goodnight, okay?”

He watches her as she gathers her discarded shirt and heads into her bedroom without a backwards glance. The sound of her door closing reminds him of when she’d left earlier in the day, but while she’s only a room away, suddenly Kallen feels far more distant than she was during her actual absence. 

Lelouch finds himself irrationally bothered by it. He isn’t quite sure why. He grabs Kallen’s book from the table, not that she had noticed, and heads to the sofa to steel himself for a late night. 

[pepprs]

[DONT RB] ok so there’s no way for me to talk abt this that isn’t gonna make me look like an absolute dumbass but im in the middle of a creative existential crisis and i rly need help figuring it out :•( this is gonna get SUPER LONG so im putting it under a readmore. thank u to anyone who reads this!!! and double thank u to anyone who can give some input / advice, i rly rly appreciate it. im sorry abt the length!

aight so for some background.... ive been drawing n writing poetry for abt 5 yrs now and both of those things r rly important to me. in school im an english major w a creative writing minor (for the poetry) and i work as a graphic designer (for the art) so ive been growing a lot as an artist and writer esp in the past 2 yrs and im kinda workin towards one or the other (or ideally both somehow!) as a career. one of the biggest dreams ive had since i started seriously pursuing both of these hobbies 5 yrs ago is to publish a book of poetry that i design / illustrate myself, and also to have a portfolio online where ppl can read all of my poetry and see all of my artwork (both professional / work stuff but also archives of all of my sketchbooks since those r rly important to me!!!) and maybe even make some sort of online shop where ppl can buy my art (stickers, keychains, etc!) and my poetry books!

that sounds pretty simple right? WRONG!!!!!! why? bc im a fucking idiot! and there are several dumb things i do that make this dream completely impossible for me to achieve! love that for me!

so for starters... ive been posting (almost) all of my art and ALL of my poetry online for all 5 yrs ive been creating it. that’s bad because:

ive hardly ever used my real name (which i would want to use for the book / shop / portfolio), it’s been under my usernames / aliases that go along w them (p*pe, pep, pea, etc and related usernames that shall not be mentioned) and i started going by my real first name only abt a yr ago, but still maintain those usernames for the most part in conjunction w my real name

my work has been primarily been posted to d*viantart and tumblr which aren’t exactly the most uh... professional places to do that. not that there rly are many i guess lmao but still

my online persona on these platforms is rly like. lax and loose which is Cool And Quirky when brought into a professional setting if it’s done right i guess.... but im just immature and unprofessional. i swear all the time, i shitpost constantly, im incessantly tmi? and that’s not even it like it’s just a whole mess!

SO there’s that whole set of problems and like im just concerned because... i stopped posting art online last yr for the most part and a lot of the old stuff that’s on dA (since that was rly where i did it most) is bad and not worth sharing like that anyways, so im not as worried abt that. but my poetry.... i still actively post that online in all my messiness and candidness here and like. it’s rly not that hard to find me? like if u copy a poem of mine and put it in google it’ll pull up my dA right away! and that’s like.... GOD i just am embarrassed for anyone irl to see that or for that to be connected with my irl / professional self in the future, but i don’t want to stop posting my work there (or here!!!!!) bc the community is so supportive and ive made some rly good connections / built a lot of traction over the 5 yrs ive been doing it. (PLUS for the online portfolio i wanna do specifically... i kinda want to post all of my art and poetry there, like everything ive ever done (specifically poetry, ive written almost 500 poems over the 5 yrs ive been doing it!), but i feel like that’s not rly the most professional thing to do and idk how to even gauge whether it is or not :-/)

but that’s not all!!!! because there’s another part to this and that is: the very nature of the content i produce is Not Good! for my art it’s not as much of a problem bc since I work as an artist rn a lot of what i make is professional, but for my personal art... a lot of that is either self portraits or my characters and a lot of my characters are like. animals. like specifically pepe (who is basically Me As A Cat).... i draw her constantly and so much of my best work is of her but it’s just like? embarrassing i guess for my ocs to take up so much of my portfolio and sketchbooks and stuff and share that. like i know everyone has characters and it’s not bad to do that and share that but i feel like ppl will judge me :-( so it’s made me rly hesitant to post stuff to my art ig for example bc i just don’t fucking know how to act, like it’s bad enough that i can’t type the way i want to and i have to type in proper caps n whatever instead bc irls i don’t know / trust as well follow me (including some ppl from work? Yikes?)....... but i feel like i can’t share my sketchbook stuff for example bc it’s all cats and my characters and visual shitposts and im uncomfy to share that bc like... im almost 20 and i don’t want ppl to think im immature or whatever? i kno i should feel like it’s my account and i can post wot i want but like. i fucking can’t bro i just can’t!!

and THEN.... my poetry. that’s the biggie bc like for my art? even tho im uncomfortable i don’t mind sharing that w ppl i know irl but for my POETRY.... it’s very easy to find like where i share that i guess? (the google thing i mentioned earlier but also its linked to my art on here and dA too... f) but i literally never actively share my writing w irl ppl unless im performing @ an open mic or workshopping in class bc im fucking terrified of the possibility of irl ppl finding my poetry. it’s almost ironic how public ive been w it online but how private i am abt it irl... it’s like im living a double life and it’s fucking terrible but it’s the only way i feel safe. bc like art is what i do for other ppl and also to destress and vent when i need a quick fix on my own time. but poetry.... that’s personal, it’s where i feel most like myself, it’s how i talk abt my life and ppl in it and make meaning of things and talk abt things authentically and Get Deep. and my literal worst nightmare is for ppl (who have the explicit ability to by virtue of Knowing Me) to read into it and Understand what im talking abt and have that power over me and see me differently for feeling the way i do or doing what i do. ive actually already been burned by this before after my mom read some work of mine that had been published irl (i don’t want to get too into it but basically i retroactively outed myself thru her reading that poem for what it was and it was Very Very Bad) and as paranoid abt it as i was before, it’s even worse now that it’s actually happened to me and could happen again at any time, esp if i decide to take my work further.

that manifests in a few ways too, like my writing is so cryptic and vague and very heavy on metaphors / symbolism and shit partially out of that deep fear and need to shield myself and my work. sometimes in spaces where i do feel comfy sharing, ppl have a hard time understanding my poetry unless i give context. online and on stage and in workshop ppl don’t rly know me outside of a context where the only thing we have in common is self expression thru poetry, so i don’t rly mind sharing more when it’s appropriate. but if i were to share my work as a book or w/e, ppl im close to (who maybe don’t always think like a poet / artist does bc they aren’t that) would want to buy it and read it and might ask abt what it means and i don’t even know what i would do in that situation. and if ppl were to read my work and see themselves / others in it, whether it is abt them or not, im scared it could genuinely damage relationships like it did with my mom.

SO UH.... idk where im going w this rly, i kno it’s long and rambly and melodramatic and im probably overthinking it and making a mountain out of a molehill and nobody even knows / cares abt me AND my work @ the same time enough to read That Deep into it. but it just fucking sucks that im so uncomfortable and insecure that i can’t comfortably fulfill literally the one single long term goal / life dream that i have. andthe thing that sucks is i can’t talk to Anybody abt this except like... my sister and brother bc they’re the only ppl i genuinely tell everything to, but they don’t have the knowledge and expertise abt art / poetry that like... my poetry prof does, for example. and my poetry prof is one of the best ppl ive ever met and the Only person ive ever met irl who respects and understands my poetry in the exact way i need someone to. she and i have been talking and she rly wants to help me publish my poetry bc she sees merit in my work and knows how bad i want to / how successful it’s been already, but i don’t know how to talk abt this to her bc im embarrassed to tell her abt posting online and being ashamed abt my muses and all that and it just!!! sucks so much bc i kinda want to publish my work @ least once before i graduate and do it semi regularly for the rest of my life? but there’s so much in my way and it’s just! FGGFHDGJGGGG