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rainofthestorm · 1 year

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From the Shards

I've read maybe a handful of other trans people's beautifully written stories of their pain, their slow steps towards realising what was going on. Who they are.

They all resonate with me, I hear the pain and the panic and the confusion etch itself into my soul as I read. It's all very familiar.

But it's also not even close to what my life has been like.

For the sake of clarity, I put names and numbers to the chronology here, but in truth most is a best-guess. I couldn't truthfully tell you exactly when something happened to me. I simply don't know.

I infer from context and what other things I think were happening around the same time in my life. Stray points of light that have clear dates or numbers attached to them in an ocean of fog.

A lot of this is from the "inner" perspective, as well. Perhaps more metaphor than literal, but true to how it felt.

When I was eleven I forgot who I was. That's all I can really remember. I don't recall the exact reasons that led me to try to do that, or why I even thought it was something I could manage. But I very deliberately chose to forget who I was.

It was too much, I think. I wasn't ready to figure anything out. In what little memory I have of that time I recall picturing my mind and my self like a glass etching. Details and patterns on a smooth glass surface, stretched out over some dim expanse below.

And I broke it. I made the choice and I broke it. I watched the shards fall around me as I fell into whatever was below that plane of glass. In a few brief moments I wondered if I'd done something unwise. Reached out towards the nearest shards, and felt the sting as I grabbed the razor-sharp edge of a tumbling few I belatedly thought I might need. My name. J---. Scant details about what was going on.

Just enough to keep doing… whatever it was I'd been doing. Enough to avoid attention.

It's weird to think of doing this now. I'm not really sure why I expected it to work. Why would it? It's not like my brain has ever really responded to me trying to forcibly get it to do something. This time was different, in ways I can't really make sense of.

I don't remember much after that, grey fog rolls in, obscuring much of my mind for a long while. A year or two later I entered high school in grade 8 (in Australia, high school started at grade 7). I'd been homeschooled up till that point, starting in grade 4. Kept up easily enough, things weren't hard. I wasn't behind. Clever, to some, but largely unremarkable.

A nuisance to some teachers, definitely. Decent marks, occasional conversations with friends or teachers rattle around my brain. Somewhere around here the little detail I still recall unravels. The spiderweb cracks from breaking the glass some years ago have spread. Details get lost in the fog.

But I never really wonder why. I'm just surviving.

For a few years now, my mum has been... concerned about me. Something's clearly wrong, but she doesn't know what. She asks me about it at some point; what's wrong, can I help. I tell her I don't know. It's the truth. Between the broken glass and the ever-encroaching fog I can't see a thing.

Across the intervening years I gradually find myself growing more and more miserable. I can't understand why, but even more than that I don't try. I don't want to look too close. I don't even know why I don't want to. Everything is fog.

When I'm 16 I idly consider what it would be like to self harm or end my life. A pair of scissors seems insufficient, and I'm a little too afraid of the larger kitchen knives my mum keeps in the kitchen.

The thought drifts away after a few hours, and is mostly forgotten, reclaimed by the fog. I don't remember it for a few years after that. I don't understand where the thought came from for another decade and change.

My teens are generally indistinct and unremarkable, the fog covers everything. A few points of light stick out. A close friend or two, keeping me afloat. There's a handful of other people who I'm sure would be fine calling me a friend but don't feel too strongly about it.

There's so much I don't remember here. Every time I go looking, I mostly come back with the same few pieces of what happened. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. Everything else is just fog. Digging around in here tends to give me headaches and a vague dull pain I have little to no context for.

Life was like that for a while. Vague, indistinct. School happened, I don't remember many details. A handful of notable assignments. Skipping out on studying in senior year to teach myself piano. Didn't matter, still did fine in the final exams. Nothing too impressive, but pretty good marks.

Dated one or two of my closest friends at some point. All my closest friends were girls. Never thought much of it. Just tended to like talking to them more than most of the guys, related to them more, felt more understood. Much more recently I have grown to realise this is a little unusual. Perhaps a useful early sign for anyone paying attention. At the time, it didn't occur to me at all.

The group of guys I was loosely friends with tended to get drunk quite often. I didn't trust myself with alcohol, so I stayed on the fringes. I went to a single party with alcohol involved, had a single drink, left early and never wanted to go back. Tasted horrible, didn't enjoy the weird slightly drunk feeling. Avoided it like the plague after, like I was afraid of the lowered inhibitions. Didn't trust myself. Didn't understand why.

All of this is very loose chronologically. I couldn't say for sure exactly what happened when. I'm pretty sure that party was around when I was fifteen or sixteen. Grade 10 or something, maybe. Learning piano was a few years later, in grade 12, senior year.

It all jumbles together. Kind of like how I imagine watching someone else's life probably is. You get things mixed up a bit, lots of details aren't important. Doesn't really matter much if something happened earlier or later, it's all about the same.

Delving around these memories tends to result in a lot of aimless threads of thought. Like trying to swim through a rough ocean, shrouded in fog. You don't get very far, and if you're lucky enough to get anywhere, it's probably more because the current took you there than because of how well you swam.

Most of my life is like that. After high school, university. It all felt the same. I was more alone and disconnected, but I barely registered a difference. I was aimless all the same.

I'd always tended to grow my hair long. Never really thought too much about why. Chalked it up to laziness, couldn't be bothered dealing with the effort it'd take to get a haircut on a regular basis. I let my facial hair grow out often as well. Couldn't see much reason to bother doing anything with my appearance.

I never really liked it anyway. What would be the point? Just a different flavour of boring, uninteresting, and dull. I didn't think much of it at the time. Looking back, this is another small detail that only makes sense now.

I did eventually cut my hair here and there but it always ended up being ignored and growing longer again. I tended to unconsciously avoid letting it grow any longer than down to my shoulders. Never could say why. Something about that made me uneasy at the time. Something else I wasn't ready to face.

When I was 18 or 19 I happened to meet my wife, Serena. We met on Tumblr. A chance meeting, one among thousands. She was… not doing so great at the time. I wanted to help. Looking back, I wonder if it was in part a way to distract from looking too closely at myself. Truthfully, I still don't know.

We talked endlessly, and it became a long distance relationship. We were on a voice call over Skype or Facebook more often than not. Sometimes just being there together, and not even saying all that much. My world outside of that was still very much a blur.

I found it more and more difficult to focus on anything and everything else. Serena grew worried that I was neglecting my university course. She was right, as she often is. After the first two semesters I noticed I couldn't focus enough to get any assignments done. I dropped out.

After a while I found a new place to live and picked up a different university course that was a bit more comfortable. Programming, computer science. It too lasted a year or so. This time I mostly got bored of it. It too was dropped.

Through all of this I slowly realised I was probably very depressed. It took a lot of nudging from Serena to get me to even consider that a possibility. Life was… fine, right? Nothing was seriously wrong. It was a hazy, foggy blur, but not bad. I guess there was that one time I'd considered hurting myself when I was 16 or something…

I did eventually get to see a psychologist, after a lot of increasingly frustrated prodding from Serena. Medication. Some talk therapy. CBT. It seemed to help some, but there wasn't much difference. I eventually dropped that too. Serena worried about that as well. I did my best to convince her I was fine. I still don't know if that was convincing. It probably wasn't.

In 2015, our relationship grew a little strained. Serena wanted to know if I was serious about the relationship, and while I assured her I was, months of vague promises that led nowhere weren't very convincing. I was there for her as much as I could be, but I was still lost in the fog.

We decided that I should make the trek to the US and we should see if we can make this relationship work. With some strong nudging from Serena I manage to muddle through some job applications to get the money for flights. A few months of work was all it took. A call centre for the post office. It paid well enough for me to save the necessary money for the trip fairly quickly.

We decided that we'd do whatever we could to make things work. And to us it seemed like the easiest way to get me to the US was a fiance visa. So we planned to get married. Yes, before we ever met in person. Turns out the US government doesn't much like that. We didn't get their response denying us until after I left Australia though.

I tell my manager I'm leaving for "at least 3 months". That's when my return ticket is booked; just in case things don't work, I can leave then. She tells me that they can't really promise anything, but if I came back she can probably give me my job back if I need it.

So then, I make it to the US. We meet. And we are pretty much inseparable after that. I get there in March. We got married on May 1st. We lived in her family's home for a while. After about 9 months we start arguing. Really arguing.

I was... aggressive. I would get angry, I felt sometimes like I wasn't being heard or listened to. None of it was her fault, really. I... didn't really understand why I was so angry. I never chose violence thankfully, but I could see that she was scared of me. And I hated every moment of that. Sometimes I would get to the middle of a heated argument with her and just... forget what we were arguing about.

As I worked through all of that, step by frustratingly slow step, Serena mainly felt like I was promising things that didn't pan out. That I would mess up and get angry again, apologise, and then repeat that without much changing. Over and over and over again. It was frustrating for us both.

I can't stand causing people pain, least of all her. I struggle for a while, not really sure why I'm like this or what's really happening. It seemed like this may not work after all.

If nothing else, we're both very stubborn. Neither of us wanted to give up. So we talked. Through tears, sometimes. We talked. Talking was the only thing we knew how to do. It was all we could do for the first couple years of our relationship.

In the end, I start to figure out how to actually work on some things. And so does she. We slowly build a bit of peace.

As things grow calmer, I… gradually lose the ability to focus again. In stressful situations I can figure things out, but in the calm… it becomes obvious that something's still wrong. Not really sure what though. We're happy. Pretty stable.

I start to worry that I might have ADHD or something. We spend a couple thousand dollars on a therapist to get me evaluated. She decides that there's definitely something wrong… but it's not ADHD or anything similar.

She chalks it up to trauma. CPTSD. Lots of words. This feels like a waste of money at this point. I start seeing a regular therapist anyway, to try to see if there's something I can do about it.

There's a lot of time spent on therapy that mostly seems to go nowhere. I get a little better, I get much worse without much warning or apparent reason.

Over the course of our relationship, Serena has periodically been poking me. Prompting me to try on old clothes of hers, for some reason I don't really understand. Assuring me it'll look cute. Sometimes I acquiesce, reluctantly, others I refuse. I don't think too much about it, I chalk it up to just a bit of fun and teasing.

The odd question here and there. "Do you ever wish you were a girl?" In many, many different variations. Every few months or so.

I never think much of it. She has a tendency to pick a question and then ask it repeatedly for months on end. for years it's been some variant of "do you still love me" despite both of us agreeing that it's a little weird to ask this regularly. Sometimes it's little math questions.

The odd question alluding to if I'm trans or not every other month or so doesn't register as especially unusual. I don't even really register that that's what it would allude to. The word trans doesn't even really register in my vocabulary for years.

After a while of this, she gets a little more direct.

"Do you ever think you might be trans?"

Neither of us are really sure what ever prompted her to start asking these questions. But then, she's always been very perceptive. Sees a lot more than most people do, notices little things that they overlook or dismiss as unimportant.

It was never pushed, just an innocuous off-handed question. I'd always respond either "No," or "I don't know."

I never let myself actually consider it, though. The response was almost always pretty automatic. The question quickly dismissed. That wouldn't make any sense for me, of course not.

On the rare occasion I take a moment to consider it, the only response I can muster is "I'm not sure I care enough about my gender to label it." It doesn't register to me that that in itself is already a fairly not-cisgender thought to assert. As with so many other things in my life, introspection is met by apathy. Walls of fog.

I'd gotten a new job by this point, my third since I'd gotten into the US. It was a much safer job than the others, working from home doing some programming.

I started out with PowerShell initially, ended up learning C# pretty proficiently. I dabbled in things like F#, Ruby, Python and JavaScript. I can do enough in any of them to do whatever I need to do.

Eventually I picked up Rust. I stumbled through The Rust Book, I found the ideas and structure of the language quite interesting. I had nothing to use it for, though, so I let it be after that for a while.

At some point I stumbled into the Rust community spaces, and found them significantly more open and accepting of everyone than most spaces I'd been in before. It was… nice to see. Didn't affect me, really, I thought. But I enjoyed seeing people able to be themselves, accepting their differences, building things together.

I stumbled across Learn Rust With Entirely Too Many Linked Lists. It's written by Aria, something of a legend or perhaps a cryptid in Rust circles. One of the earlier contributors in the Rust language, who worked on Rust in the times before they really had usable documentation on the unsafe areas of Rust.

She wrote the book. The Rustonomicon. The Rust Book for the myriad of unsafe things that you could do with Rust. And she wrote a heck of a lot of documentation for things that most people didn't really bother to document.

Anyway, I read through and follow along this foray into some of the more cursed data structures you can design. Turns out many forms of linked lists, while loved by many programmers, are some of the most cursed things you can approach in a memory-safe language like Rust.

It's here I realise Aria is a trans girl. There's a lot of humour colouring this guide, and a decent chunk of it is about being trans. It's here I learn that there's a kind of ongoing joke in the Rust community that just about everyone who uses it either is trans or hasn't realised it yet.

I laugh. Doesn't affect me, of course. It is pretty funny though.

I find Aria's personal blog, a documenting of various things she's dug up and wants to talk or rant about. I read a handful of articles. Her article on how she came to write the Rustonomicon and develop her mode of learning and teaching, Faultlore: Learning Through Errors, lodges itself in my brain permanently.

Take joy in your failures and weave them into celebrations and traditions. Paint their portraits, sing their songs, and dance their beats.

Turn your faults into faultlore and share them with the world.

This quote will echo in my brain perhaps forever. It's starkly familiar to my own experience, my life. I haven't quite understood why, just yet.

I start to realise Aria's probably someone I could be good friends with. You ever read someone's writing and just think you'd probably get along really well with, if there's ever a chance to sit down and chat?

First time for me. That thought surprises me a little bit, I think. Of all the people whose books I've read, whose blog posts I've read, whose podcasts I've listened to or anything else… she's the only one I've just immediately thought "we think alike, I think we'd get along well." And she's trans; why do I feel like her story is so relatable?

I think that was probably where I started to realise, but it took a lot longer.

Despite Serena's periodic questions I'm not really sure if it's something I should bring up. So I don't. I decide I'll let my hair grow out a bit. See if I like it or not. Get some hair clips and ribbons. Just try a few things, see if I like them.

Doesn't have to mean much. Serena gives me encouragement and says they look good. I don't think too much of it, even still.

She doesn't ask me any really direct questions about it again for a little while. I don't think too hard about it.

My mind is still full of fog. I'm still very distractible, and I have trouble thinking too hard about anything. My therapist is gradually getting frustrated at how little I respond to basically anything she can think to get me to try.

Eventually, Serena asks me again. "Do you think you're trans?" I don't respond for a while. I think I said something like "I'm not sure… maybe?"

She plays it cool and laughs a bit. Asks if I have a name I want to go by. I haven't really thought about it.

I spend a few days going through lists of names, trying to find names that feel like they fit. Mostly it seems like gender-neutral names fit the best on the whole. My wife's younger sibling calls it "the classic list of enby names". They're not wrong.

Rowan, River, Lyric, Umbra, Umber, Rain, Storm, Wren, Yael, Echo, Kamari, Bryn(n), Arya, Lumi, Roan, Winter, Caitanya, Ivory, Tasina, Sakura

I eventually settle on Rain. Don't know if I want to do a middle name or not. Much more recently I've pulled a few other favourites from this list for my middle names.

Serena is… supportive, but also visibly uncertain. She's always assumed she was straight. Ace-spec but straight. She's not sure what to do.

For the next week or so, she periodically asks if I'm sure. I am. I can't really say exactly why, but it fits. More than anything else ever has.

I spend a while reading other trans people's stories, chatting to trans people on Discord, or Reddit, or wherever else I happen to find them.

I find out an old friend from Australia is also trans. I'm not entirely surprised. It fits.

Serena spends a week or two in a mix of confusion and panic. What if our relationship doesn't work out? I tell her I'm not planning on leaving her. She's not sure she'll still be attracted to me, she's worried it won't work out.

I try not to let her panic hurt me too much. I'm not sure why, but I'm pretty sure it would work out in one way or another. That's how we've always been. We make it work, because we don't want anything else. We like each other a lot. We don't want to lose each other.

Serena gradually finds her way to fully accepting it. I joke that it's a little bit her fault I ever realised what was going on in the first place. She laughs. She tells me she suspected, but didn't think I would actually do anything about it. Oops! Much later we'll revisit this conversation, and I'll learn she's been suspecting and testing the waters for a lot longer than I can remember.

Gradually the mind-fog clears up, little by little. I still don't think I'll ever have all my memories, especially since I apparently went to great lengths to forget them. But maybe I'll find a few more. Maybe a lot more, I don't know.

I discuss it with my therapist. She's relieved that finally we've figured something out. She offers a few pointers but doesn't push overly hard.

I already know that at some point I need to start HRT. There's another hurdle there that we've yet to fully figure out. Or two. She wants the option to have kids at some point in the future. HRT has a tendency to make people infertile. It's not guaranteed, but… yeah. It's likely.

The mind fog is still there some days, but a lot of the time I can feel it properly now. It's not fog, not exactly. It's something like my instinctive response to dysphoria. I catch myself in the mirror on a bad day, and I can't stand what I look like. If I can do something about it — shave, maybe, brush my hair, wash my face, put on a little makeup, find some cute clothes — then the feeling might fade before it gets worse.

If I can't, it fades into fog instead. Everything fades into fog for a while.

I think I didn't know for the longest time simply because I was so accustomed to burying everything in fog. I've done it for so long that I don't even remember how I do it, or why I started. Everything is just fog. Things still slip into the fog from time to time.

I don't know if the initial breaking of myself and my memories was due to being trans and not being ready to face that and what it would mean, but it is a strong suspicion. The few fragments I find from time to time seem to reinforce that more and more as I recall more things.

Sometimes you happen across an island in the ocean amidst the fog. It's tiny. Barely even a beach. No life, just rock and sand. But there's a sturdy rock there in the middle. Something solid enough to withstand the waves at high tide. A few frustrated punches. Something to build on.

An old half-remembered song that I used to listen to a lot. A piece of a memory. Stumbling across someone else's experience that recalls an old, forgotten feeling. Gradually collecting what I can and putting the pieces back. Not into their original places, into new ones. Building something new.

And as you build, it gradually comes back to life. The fog gradually recedes, slowly enough to be painful in its gradual progress. Maybe someday the ocean will clear. Someday the collected shards of glass will be reformed into something new, a brilliant piece of stained glass. (Doc Impossible's Stained Glass Woman blog certainly resonates with how I've always conceptualised the broken pieces of my mind.)

But perhaps one day the foggy darkness will recede enough for the sunlight to reach it.

And though I've barely started rebuilding, I pause. I step back. I look at what I have. And I notice something. This is not... one thing... it's a weird amalgamation of several different things. So I tease out the disparate parts and, for the first time, new voices echo in the barren inner world, one by one. Their names, I already knew. I've known ever since I picked my own name.

Lyric; poet, dancer, songstress and fatewatcher. Her voice is musical and lilting, it brings light and life, it corrals the endless fog into a cacophony of song around her. Still not easy to navigate, but something that can be, with much effort, danced through, the jumbled steps carefully followed. If she finds herself in the outside world, she is often measured, even, and careful, but she'll always love to dance, and good humour ever colours the edges of her words.

Roan; quiet, protective, reserved, keeper of something not yet found. Worried. Gloomy, even. It speaks little and briefly, with a voice that sounds not dissimilar to vast bell, echoing in the barren spaces of the inner world. Quietly collecting shards in the barren sands, sifting new shards from the shallows as it can find them.

There are yet other shards that do not fit me, nor Lyric, nor Roan, still all around. I already know the name that they seem to want, but... as yet, Caitanya is not willing or able to speak and make themselves known and claim their shards. We will be waiting.

One night, Roan spends a brief few moments at the forefront, directing our search for an hour or two. We find... an oddly-shaped shard. It looks... familiar. We hold it close, and we remember. The aftermath of the breaking.

We came to in the shallows of an ocean, one that is now all too familiar. The glass shards raining all down around us. The only set of hands we have, scrabbling to pick up any more shards we could find before they disappeared. The edges of the freshly-broken glass cut into our hands as we clung desperately to them. We are sobbing, not fully understanding what we've done, but knowing it was bad. That we may never be able to repay that price.

The memory fades, I don't know what comes next.

At some point we start to recall another bleak place. A solitary hill, a rounded mountain, in the midst of a bleak wasteland. Solid and cracked earth in a vast expanse all around. The sky is pitch-dark, there are only the tiniest suggestions of stars high overhead, the moon never shows its face here.

There's a small path up the hill, spiraling around the edge to the blunt top. At seemingly random intervals along the path there are large archways, some right along the path, some just off the side, leading either off the edge or into the bare rock of the hill. They seem to be made of a black obsidian-glass, not dissimilar to what our memory-shards often seem to be made of, with engravings in some odd runic script that we can't decipher. They don't lead anywhere, but we get the sense they could. They're dark and foreboding, a warning. We think we count thirteen in all, the last standing alone at the very top and center of the hill.

We don't know why this is here, or where it really is in relation to the other places we tend to find ourselves in, in our mind. The ominous Gates dotting the hillside seem to be waiting for something, but we're not sure what.

Over the course of months we start to try to know ourselves. We get to know Caitanya better, she seems to be very good at making changes to our internal world(s). With some suggestions from a friend, we ask her to help us build a place to rest and heal. She makes a hot spring in her forests. It is... helpful for us to return to, many times.

Caitanya, healer, watcher, builder. She is quiet and prefers to calmly offer the help she can, when we're willing to take it. Doesn't speak much, but she seems to care a lot about all of us. Her voice is seldom heard, but it is soft and gentle, calling to mind soft-spoken words around a fire late at night. In greeting, when we first met her, she took us for a walk through her forest, vibrant and full of life. Stark contrast to our usually bleak inner world, the grey iron-sand island in the middle of the glass ocean.

After a short while, we find ourselves with another friend, showing up almost out of the blue. A late night, Rain is tired, and Winter awakens.

Winter is young, playful, positive. She feels like she's barely fourteen, somehow. She's cheery but nervous. We have a friend we're working through things with, roleplaying what our lives might have been like if we'd known we were trans much sooner, and we'd known each other back then. Winter... very much enjoys doing this, and has more or less taken on that role. She's been out and about a few times since, she seems to enjoy the experience more than Roan or Cait do.

We start to notice patterns. Rain is almost never able to stop fronting. Friend calls this "front-stuck", it... fits. Any time Lyric or Roan or Winter or.... really anyone is out and about, Rain is still there. Watching. For a while we aren't too bothered by it, it seems to be helpful in keeping our memories shared and mostly intact.

One night, late, we are talking to one of our friends, and we start feeling like someone else again. We have a vivid image in our mind of falling, from the skies high above the ocean of glass. We have wings, made from the same glass that our memories seem to be made of. Our body in this image is a skeleton of iron and glass, a half-formed thing that doesn't have a stable form.

We aren't sure who we are, and so we talk. We talk to our friend and eventually we start to understand who we are.

Wren, a lost and tired little bird-thing. A voice soft and measured, feathers of glass and iron. Playful, and highly visual. Of all of us, Wren seems to find it easiest to put our internal worlds to words and understand the places they visit.

We stay in front for a little while, talking to our friend as Rain grows tired. Eventually we sleep.

Wren is quiet for a while after. We get the impression they're being tended to by Cait. We're not sure what the injury is, but they seem to be hurt. After a week or two, they start showing up somewhat on their own. A small bird peeks in, staying just on the edge of our vision. Can't quite see them, but we know they're there. They pass messages occasionally from the others to Rain, when Rain is too tired or preoccupied to direct her attention inward.

After a while, though, we notice that Rain is increasingly exhausted, almost never able to rest, sometimes not even while we're all sleeping. Gradually she gets more and more overwhelmed.

One night, we stop being able to speak. Rain still can't let go of the front, but someone else is there too. We don't know who. It quietly and slowly gets us through the evening, trying to look after us as best it can. It's very lonely and empty-feeling. We call it void for a little while, until we can help it find its name, void doesn't quite fit it.

With some direction from a friend, it asks Cait to build something, a place for Rain to retreat to. In the depths of the fog, a small region clears, and we find a lake, surrounded by a summer forest, stretching away from the lake as it fades back into the fog. As the fog clears, one of the Gates on the hill far away seems to open. It leads back here.

On the shore of the lake, Cait builds a log cabin. It's bare, simple, raised off the ground on stilts, some simple steps leading up to the door. Inside, a round bed, some favourite plushies, blankets. A candle, some rugs on the wooden floor. Everything but the wood of the cabin is a shade of purple.

Rain manages to find her way here and let go and rest, properly, maybe for the first time since she woke up. Void, as we're calling it for now, makes sure to keep Rain away from the front for a bit, confined to her cabin, with Cait and Wren helping. Eventually, it picks its name.

Valo is its name. Rarely speaking, its voice is breathy and hoarse. It keeps to itself for the most part, but comes forward to displace Rain when she cannot simply let go and rest, to let all of us rest.

It returns a few times to the front, giving Rain a chance to rest properly. For a little while, Rain tries to practice letting go of the front, letting others come forward when they want and stepping out to her cabin. It... helps a little, sometimes. A little less stressful, a little more restful.

As the end of year holiday season of 2023 starts making things busy, we find ourselves repeatedly wandering through lonely memories, even as we're surrounded by friends.

When we moved away from home to go to university, and struggled to make friends. Living alone in a tiny basement apartment, all of our previous friends a great distance away, and almost none actually bothering to try to keep in contact with us. Long, lonely hours, unbroken only by conversations with Serena.

The memories come unbidden, the feelings keep us ensnared for a solid week, we are lost in memories even while trying to do other things. We start to feel worried about driving, because we can't pay proper attention to the road.

Shortly after, we are hit with the same kind of thing again, this time memories of being lonely and isolated amidst all the people attending our high school. We eventually did find friends to be with, but the memories and the loneliness remain. We hadn't remembered these times in a very long while.

After a while of feeling hopelessly lonely, we eventually seem to process the memories enough to be able to recall them without feeling trapped in the feelings that came with them the first few times.

The holidays this year were... very nice, actually. We had a good time, probably the best Christmas we've ever had, at least... that we can remember. We still don't remember any from our childhood, really.

As 2024 begins, we notice that the holidays, positive as they have been, have taken a toll nonetheless. We find our mind once again full of fog, more often than not.

We find ourselves losing some recent memories to the fog, just from the day before. It's recent enough that we seem to be able to find them again, but they disappear through another of the Gates on the hill. We follow them, but it seems... too early for us to be here. The Gate is open, now, but the fog presses all around. Even so, we recognise this place. It's somewhere we haven't been since we were a lot younger. Before the shattering, before we can really remember.

It's too early, it's not time for us to know this place yet. We retrieve the fading memories from the fog, and leave it be for now. We can come back to explore another day, but for today... we're tired. We'll leave it be.

#trans #memory #shards #wrote this like a year or so ago now #figured it may as well have a home here #dunno if anyone'll find it helpful #but hey #tw: dissociative identities #cw: sad shit I guess #cw: deadname mention

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superhero--imagines · 4 years

Text

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here!/ Part 20 Here! His POV Part 1! Here / His POV Part 2 Here! / Part 21 Here! < This is Part 22!>

Donate to Move to Higher Ground HERE!

Commission Info For Love Letters Here!

A/N: This has some NSFW themes, so if you’re under 18 don’t interact.

Also the Tag list is closed, I think this is about how many people can add for this. An alternative is to follow and turn on post notifications.

Um.. I guess this will be going on hiatus for a few weeks. I’m just busy at work, and I’m kind of out of ideas, also low engagement in the last few parts has made me feel a little discouraged.

That being said- if you order a letter with a twilight character, I’ll probably end up giving a hint for some things that will happen in the series. So if you are on the fence about getting a letter- or you just really can’t stand to wait, there’s always that option haha.

Anyway hope you like it ~

* “(Y/N).... what are you doing?”

* Muffled noise escapes you as you dig yourself deeper , drowning in his scent

* “(Y/N)”

* Your name leaves in a whisper and a smile curls onto his mouth

* “I mean how can you even see the television from that angle” he mumbles

* You sigh, your breath fanning across the lilac shirt he wore, you’re head firmly nestled in his back

* You’re in his room, lying beside him on his bed, essentially spooning him. The movie flickers on in front of you, you’re only half way through the first Harry Potter movie right now

* Honestly you’ve wanted to snuggle into Edward’s back for a while now, ever since you did it right before you both kissed for the first time

* It just feels so warm and safe here

* “I can hear it just fine” you mumble back. You feel the muscles in his back ripple as he shifts, your arm slinging over his chest.

* His hand covers your own. His hands so big it almost entirely envelops your own. And you can’t help but imagine what that hand would feel like in other places

* Tangled in your hair, trailing up and down your sides, under your shirt, dipping beneath the waist band of your shorts-

* Nope nope nope

* Gotta keep it PG 13

* He wants to go slow after all. Or at least you think he does. But well, you thought he might want to be with Bella

* And that was wrong

* Ugh, you want to pull out your own hair. how easy would it be if he could just read your mind and let you know-

* No it doesn’t work like that

* You sigh

* You have to put the work in if you want to make this work

* You have to communicate

* You stir besides him, wiggling you hand out of his and tapping the hard muscle of his abs

* Ugh, of course he’s chiseled like a statue

* Wait you’re a vampire, you tap your own stomach. It feels like a hard slab

* Well damn

* “Hm?”

* “We need to talk”

* “About what?” He asks absentmindedly, eyes never straying from the television.

* He must really like Harry Potter.

* “About sex.”

* He shoots right up. The remote falling to the ground with a clatter

* “Ah sorry, let me get that” he mumbles, climbing out of the bed to pick up the remote and put the movie on pause

* He clears his throat, sitting on the edge of the bed, a whole 5 feet away from you

* “So what did you want to talk about, again?”

* He seems so awkward, maybe you were right, maybe he does want to go slow

* But then what was with that “I’m not waiting for marriage” crap?”

* “I want to be physically intimate with you” you say bluntly

* Why did you say it like that? Like you’re some kind of scientist or something?

* *internal cringe*

* Not that he seems to care

* Edward’s grinning

* “Are you seducing me right now?”

* You’re not sure why but that smile annoys you

* You scoff

* “I’m trying to find out where you’re at, sexually speaking”

* He looks at the ground for several long seconds before finally meeting your eyes

* “So I um-“

* Okay you’re finally getting somewhere

* “I guess I have this kink where I like being called-“

* “No Edward not that!”

* You’re a little annoyed,

* But also a little turned on

* You’ll have to put a pin in that,

* oh boy, Edward with a kink.

* It’s probably something super vanilla like a praise kink

* or something cheesy like a daddy kink

* Like what are you, sixteen-

* Well, he technically is but-

* You’re getting off track

* “Do you-“

* how do you say this?

* “Do you want to have sex with me?”

* And it would sound like your propositioning him if you hadn’t emphasized the ‘want’

* You know he’s on the asexuality spectrum, maybe he just doesn’t feel like that for you

* You know he loves you a lot

* And wether or not he wants to have sex won’t change the way you feel about him,

* But knowing will help you manage your expectations

* “Why...why would you think that I don’t?”

* He looks almost hurt as he says it

* “We’ve been dating for two months and you haven’t made a move”

* Not after he said that thing about ‘Not waiting for Marriage’™

* You feel his hand cover your own, he’s still a heathy distance away from you

* But even just the touch of his hand on yours sends a shiver down your spine

* “How could you ever think I don’t-“ he cuts himself off

* His free hand moves to cradle your face, brushing hair away in that way he’s always done

* You sigh leaning into his touch

* “You’re so beautiful...so lovely.. of course I want to be closer to you in whatever way I can” his words leave breathlessly, and you can see he wants you just as bad as you want him

* “Then why-“

* “You live in my house,” he stresses. “You’re surrounded by my family, who haven’t been very subtle with how pleased they would be for you to join the family. We are literally never away from each other”

* “Do you want me to move back to Denali?” You joke and he laughs, amber eyes warm as he looks into yours.

* “I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable... or suffocated.” He squeezes your hand

* “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do anything you don’t want to, for me.. or anyone else.”

* So he’s been trying to be considerate of you

* And of the living situation

* Isn’t that just so like him?

* You feel a small smile stretch across your lips, your hand threading into his hair

* “I don’t ever feel uncomfortable, not around you.”

* And it’s true, you trust him completely.

* You know he’ll never hurt you, never

* You foreheads are pressed together, and it’s only a small shift to catch his lips in your own

* Your hand escapes from his and trails to his face, your hands tipping his head back to get a better angle

* He feels so good like this

* He would feel so good underneath you, begging you to go just a little further

* “Now I’m propositioning you” you feel a small breathless chuckle escape him

* “There’s ... another reason I haven’t brought it up” he mumbles

* You hold your breath- he doesn’t have that bubbling desire does he?

* You were right, he-

* “If we did it in the house everyone would know”

* Huh?

* Noticing your confused expression he clarifies

* “Everyone would hear it happen, and everyone would know”

* Oh

* So all this times you’ve kissed-

* And that time in the car -

* Everyone knew?

* You groan covering your face in your hands, how will you ever be able to face Carlisle again?

* “Emmett would have bought us a cookie cake-“

* You raise an eyebrow and he falters

* “He would have bought me a cookie cake...it would say ‘bye bye virginity’ in pink icing” he whispers

* And you laugh

* “That’s so wasteful”

* No doubt Edward would be too embarrassed to let their humans friends eat it - which you don’t blame him for

* “Alright I’ll try to keep my dirty fantasies to a minimum” you laugh when he tugs you into his lap

* “Oh what kind of fantasies?” There’s that teasing boyish grin again

* “Please enlighten me”

* Well, it’s only right to tease him a little after all those hours you’ve spent mulling over what ‘I’m not waiting for marriage’ could mean

* “Well they all start off with a kiss, a good kiss, the kind that makes you feel like you’re just going to melt-“

* You rest your head against his shoulder, whispering into his ear

* “And then when it’s over, one of your hands is under my shirt,”

* you gently trace up his back and he shivers

* “and both of mine are under yours”

* “And then?” His voice is low, but he doesn’t dare to look at you

* You really shouldn’t tease him this much...

* but it’s so fun

* “We kiss again, my hands tracing over every inch of you, and when we stop I unbutton your shirt, trailing kisses down your neck”

* You trail a cold finger down the side of his neck

* He lets out a low sound, akin to a whine

* “And then I’ll suck here” your finger presses lightly into the hollow of his neck before repeating the process on his collarbone “and here”

* “You look so pretty with your neck marked up with hickeys, like poppy’s blooming in snow”

* You can tell he likes it by the shiver and whine

* So he likes that sensual shit huh

* You wonder what else he likes

* “And you look so pretty Edward, breathless, with that hungry needy look in your eyes just for me”

* Your hand trails down to his chest, and he trembles as your hand moves across his stomach. Resting on his lower abdomen

* His breath hitches, teeth digging into hi plush pink lip. He’s so needy, your finger trails in absentminded circles, and you swear he whimpers

* Aw so cute

* “And that’s about it” you say bluntly patting his stomach twice before moving to get off of him

* His eyes shoot open, a frown arching onto his mouth

* You hold back a laugh

* before you can fully get off of his lap he tugs you back to him

* “I see what you’re doing” he tried to pretend to be stern but you a smile twitching at the end of his lips

* “I don’t know what you mean. That’s just where the fantasy ends” you say as innocently as possible which only makes him grin

* “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been teasing you too much”

* “Hmm have you been?” You mock confusion and he laughs again, kissing the spot where your neck and shoulder meet

* “I’m sorry I got your hopes up”

* You scoff

* “My hopes weren’t up-“ Edward tilts your head towards him and you avert your eyes

* Okay they were a little high

* He pulls you into another kiss, soft and gentle

* “I promise I’ll make all your fantasies come true soon.”

* He already has, how many dreams that you never thought you would be able to have has he made come true?

* God, you adore this boy

* “But until then you’re going to have to leave”

* Scratch that

* “W-what?!”

* What did you do something to turn him off in the last .05 seconds?

* “It’s nothing personal-“

* You’re taking this very personally

* “I just need some time alone, and maybe a cold shower”

* Oh

* O H

* “R-right, well I’ll leave you to that” you mumble, clearing your throat as you move away from him, only briefly stopping on your way out

* “I’m going to take a few of these okay?” You say grabbing the other two Harry Potter movies

* You don’t wait for him to respond, leaving the room and heading to your own

* You run into Emmett who sends you a mischievous grin

* “Hey (Y/N), what were you-“

* “Nothing you would need to a buy a cookie cake for” you say, sliding into your room

* You look down at the DVD’s

* Why did you take these? You don’t even have a TV in your room

* Meanwhile Emmett’s still in the hallway

* “How did they know I was going to get him a cookie cake?”

* .

* ..

* ...

* You’re not sure where you are at first

* It’s foggy burst of green and brown

* And then you see him

* It’s Edward

* You breathe a sigh of relief moving towards him, as long as he’s here you’re okay

* “I’m sorry-“ you stop in your tracks

* there’s someone else there, clinging to his side

* “You were right- I do love her” He says and you’re confused

* The most faded and its Bella her wide brown eyes narrowed into a glare

* “Did you think you could just steal my future away from me?” She spats at you like her words are venom

* No- of course you never meant to take her place

* But you always hoped to- didn’t you?

* The intrusive voice causes a shiver to erupt down your spine

* You walk back, feet tangling into one another

* No that’s not right, Edward loves you- this isn’t right

* That’s when you bump into something hard- immovable

* You turn to see someone else entirely

* They’re wearing a black and red cloak

* Someone from the Volturi

* You gulp hard.

* So they’ve come for you have they

* The figure moves to remove the hood of their cloak, and you feel a gasp escape you.

* It’s you

* Only your face seems...sharper somehow, even more beautiful. But in an unnatural way, devoid of humanity

* Your eyes are as red as rubies

* You fall back, your foot getting caught in a tree root

* The Volturi-you sighs, crouching down so their impassive eyes can meet yours

* “You’ve really got to get over that whole timeline” their voice is different too, an air of disappointment ringing in every word. They sound bored

* You can’t manage to string together a single thought, let alone any words

* “Well don’t look so scared. I’m here to help you know” but their smile is cruel

* “Unless you can snap out of that lovesick dream of yours and finish what you started, this is the future that’s waiting for you”

* “That’s not true”

* Carlisle saved you, Eleazer took you in, Edward gave you a new future.

* You’re never going back to the Volturi

* But the you clad in the black and red robe’s smile only grows wider

* “It’s not true for now, but how many more years do you think you can handle until you get bored?”

* “Another 20? Let’s say 50 for good measure- then what?”

* You feel like a cold finger runs down your spine, your hair standing on end

* “I think you know exactly what” the cloaked you says, their eyes are serious now as they look at you

* “You need to finish what you started-“

* Finish what? What are they talking about? What did you start?

* Noticing your confusion they sigh

* “You need to stop focusing so much on what happened in the story, and start thinking about what happened after the story”

* After the story?

* Like after Edward and Bella had Their baby?

* “Now wake up”

* The words echo in your head until you fly upright, breathing hard as you take in the space around you

* For a second you’re not sure where you are

* This is your room, at the Cullen’s house in Forks

* You’re fine

* You’re safe

* You try to regulate your breathing, attempting to calm your mind with it

* It was just a nightmare. Not that you ever remember falling asleep to begin with

* “I didn’t think I could fall asleep anymore” you whisper

* You pretend to sleep, because it feels good. But you’ve never lost yourself like that before

* It felt so real

* “Finish what I started? And then after the story-“ You feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end

* There was something- something you had tried a long, long time ago-

* Back when you still lived in Denali

* An idea you had come across once- after Edward told you how painful it was for him to turn

* But how would you even go about proving something like that?

* And what’s what might have happened after the book series got to do with any of this?

* You sigh, your head in your arms. It was just a dream wasn’t it? A nightmare from your insecurities?

* If you just whispered his name, Edward would be beside you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, erasing all your worries

* “ Unless you can snap out of that lovesick dream of yours and finish what you started, this is the future that’s waiting for you”

* You gulp

* You don’t need Edward to coddle you through every little nightmare, you decide

* Turning in your bed, closing you eyes and hoping to dream a more pleasant dream this time But you don’t dream at all, tossing and turning until light filters in through the blinds

Tags: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @ xxxmuxxx @ideas-for-you-to-adopt @poisoinedhope @maryleigh8796 @moose-squirrel-asstiel @hotmessgoodness @jaimewho @corabmarie @what-am-i-doing10 @alluring-venus @imdoingathingmom @anotheryooniverse @im-tired-not-sleepy @emmettcullenisahimbo @my-super-musical-life @smolvampiregirl @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @mihikaahujaaa @werewolflover3252 @teenagezombiekryptonite @shynz @reclusive-chicken-nugget @monkeyluver4546 @wonhomarshmallow @bwbatta @bubblyabs @thatwaspossesion @helzerat @parascape @ xxxmuxxx @katrodriguez99 @leilanixx

#twilight #twilight imagines #twilight headcanon #twilight saga #twilight reader insert #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen imagine #Edward Cullen x you #midnight sun #superhero--imagines

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codenamed-queenie · 4 years

Text

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched.

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire.

So. Quarantine it is.

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick -

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days.

Then he started to get twitchy.

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.”

“Dick, no.”

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t.

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass.

Desperate for news of the outside.

He thrives off of it like a starving man.

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after.

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason -

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist.

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking.

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results.

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it.

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up.

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done.

Barbara -

Self-quarantined with her dad.

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive.

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs.

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together.

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles.

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony.

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window.

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background.

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute.

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen.

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe.

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned.

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim.

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being.

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out.

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it.

Cass -

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate.

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed.

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far.

But no one knows for sure.

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel.

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later.

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic.

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day.

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’ mostly.

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost.

Steph -

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first.

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down.

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable.

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving.

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks.

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s.

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic.

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place.

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian -

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house.

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine.

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds.

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion.

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time.

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are.

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time.

Only that he is Out There.

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had.

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies.

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat.

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts.

Duke -

Did not leave the attic for two weeks.

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement.

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement.

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement.

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa.

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally.

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others.

Duke has seen these people under pressure.

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with.

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

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whitehotharlots · 3 years

Text

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris. Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City. I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago. In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her. The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class. "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later. "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend. Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two. Cops came in and pulled him out of class. Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody. From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris. No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing. This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search. The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy. He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment.

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab. Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie.

It was his first offense. He was 16.

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad. He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework. She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he? They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his.

What really fucked with him was rehab. It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time: he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions. Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie. Yes, he said, he was an addict. Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic." His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday? Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of? Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right? No? Well you see right there that's a part of the problem. Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own. No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out.

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend. All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4. It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays. The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it. 'When would you go to church?' he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems. One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful. Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work. But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed. Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy.

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough. If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake. During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back. Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence.

"It's not the drugs: it's the high," the man said. He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius. He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense. And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him. The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room. His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked. Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer. Chris kept looking down. His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness. Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat. If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad. But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up. Now."

He did. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face. Soak it up. Take it all in. Done? Give you another second. Okay, now you're done. This, people, is what failure looks like. Some of you will see it again, right here. This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face. It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes. By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him. Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows. Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet. And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines. His mom was making time with the addicts. This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence. He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view. He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back. All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car. All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made. Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him. Really, wow. Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen, it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met. "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him. Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high. What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times. Vicodin, right. Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire. That's right. Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot. Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day. Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth. His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?" Stepfather laughed. Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth. Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd. People clapped a little bit. Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red. A stack of certificates sat on the table up front. The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance. He looked all business. There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again. Arrested in front of his parents.

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it. That's all it was. Nothing to get too upset about. Still—gotta stay calm. If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high.

"Well," the overseer began. Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat. He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut. When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful. Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either. Talked about his wife and kids all the time. This was an act. He had measured out this persona for himself. This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself. Pot fucks up the way you think about things. How long had it been since they sat down? How long since he'd been scared by the cops? When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking. Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces. Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends. The selfishness might end here. The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here. But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long. Wanted people to clap for him. They did. Then they finished. He continued. His tone was different. He had sounded like he was reading off a card. Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon. Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh. Okay. That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day. He wasn't even here. Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah.

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative. He didn't come. But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come… but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned. He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings. The air shifted around Chris. It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance. The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it. Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him. In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear. He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process.

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized. He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage. When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her. He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen: because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it. What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison. That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time. And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction. That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course. You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together. On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else. They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all. No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise. That had two positives: one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him. Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching. That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction. Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block. He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something. His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings. Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit. He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid. He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody. He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair. This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things. More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive. Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try. At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it. That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me. I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed. This made him a blast to hang out with. This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family. My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach. Most of her friends soon followed suit. He was left behind. As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around. Not by much. He still drinks far too much. But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student.

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maliciouslycreative · 3 years

Text

How I played damage control to an anti in a small anime fandom and may have led to her ultimate downfall

I know I had a really nice write up of this at one point but oh well. I’ll spill more of the tea in this one because honestly the tea was so hot.

There are a few things that I have to give context to first. Gaia online was like THE mega forum of the 2000s, you made a little avatar and through posting and doing other activities on the forum you made money to buy clothes for your avatar. There were forums for everything but the fannish portions were really what drew in most of the people. The anime I was into was Beyblade. It was a shonen anime about fighting with tops that were possessed by the spirits of magical creatures. The story was honestly pretty average but the characters were fantastic and the fandom is to this day still one of my favourites. The series had a primarily male cast and didn’t even have a female lead until the second season. This led to the fanfic for the English fandom being about 70% canon/OC, 10 % canon m/f, and 20% slash. The most popular character in the English fandom was by far Kai Hiwatari, the loner badboy of the team.

Also before we get started I would like to add that one of my best friends was neck deep in this and the two of us were more or less fandom married. This is the same friend that I fake dated, had feelings for, and she nearly got me into kpop in 2011 so like if you haven’t read that story please read it too because it will give you a good idea of how stupid I am and how much of a fanfic I have truly lived.

To set the stage I was 16, soon to be 17 when I joined the fandom and it was 2004. In September of that year I wrote a humour longfic that became an absolute smash hit and I found myself somehow fandom famous. It was around this time that I joined Gaia online. I made my little avatar and immediately went looking for the beyblade thread so that I could make new friends. I found the main thread, made my little introduction and at the end of it mentioned that I was a slash writer but I supported all ships. This is where I met C. She had declared herself the authority on Beyblade in these parts and I had just committed the crime of mentioning slash which was very obviously not canon and we did not discuss in this thread because we only discussed canon things. I was like well that’s a bit severe but like sure whatever I just want to hang out and have fun.

Oh boy did I have no idea what I was in for.

C was a year older than me and unfortunately that made her older than the majority of the fans at the time. Her favourite character was Kai, and she was not shy about talking about this fact. She stanned Kai above all other characters, and often at their expense. She was also a fanfic writer of a popular canon/OC series. Actually, she was so full of herself that she didn’t even call herself a fanfic writer, no her stories were in fact novels and were apparently very good. I never read them. But more on that later.

Eventually the slash fans got tired of her being rude to us in the general thread so we made a Beyblade slash thread. There was a core of like 8 or so of us and we honestly had sooo much fun. When C would be too unbearable in the main thread the people from there used to come over to our thread and we’d chat with them about non slash stuff because we were honestly all multishippers and just wanted to have fun. We’d get comments like “wow, I’ve had more pleasant canon het ship discussions in the slash thread than the regular thread”. We never worried about C coming over and getting upset about comments like this because she refused to be associated with anything related with slash lmao.

I tried my best to keep the peace between C, myself, and the rest of the fandom because ultimately I hate being in fandom drama. I just want everyone to have a good time. I’m a people pleaser. Unfortunately my newfound fame put me in the awkward position of being the most fandom popular person in our small community aside from C. Virtually every fan that read fanfics that came into our thread knew one of us or the other by reputation and C HATED this. Especially because people would come in to the thread, recognise me and go “oh my goodness I love your fanfics!” and I’d be super sweet with them and it’d lead into “I can’t believe how nice you are, I love you” which would lead to us crying at each other. This was not the kind of fan interaction that C got, no her fans were more kind that were there to praise her and worship her like a deity that had blessed them with some gift. Rarely did they tell her how kind she was.

Back in the mid 2000s there were really commonly those commercials (usually by Christian organisations) asking people to sponsor say children in Africa or to help build schools or provide drinking water. You all probably know the ones; know the language that they used in those commercials. My fandom wife, who I suppose I shall call wifey because yes we were THAT couple back then, once said that C described her fics like those people described donating money to save the lives of Children in Africa. So we used to joke that her fics were so good they’d save lives in Africa. Looking back at it all, she almost had a very fundamentalist Christian approach to bringing people into her fanfics. She of course tried to get all the slash people into reading it. None of us read canon/oc fic mostly due to our poor treatment at the hands of their fans and creators. Getting fed up I one day told her that if she would read any one of my fanfics that I would read the entirety of her novels. Yes, I was willing to commit to read a couple 100k of canon/oc fanfic that I’d never touch normally if she would even read one of my 1k 1 shots. Heck, I had a fic even that shipped 2 minor characters so she didn’t even have to sully herself reading about one of the main characters. It was honestly a good deal in her favour. I kept this up until the day we all left the fandom. Sometimes I do wonder if her fics were even ¼ as good as she claimed, but I will never know because she refused to read my fics.

She wasn’t all bad and a tyrant all the time. As long as people kept the conversations on track and didn’t come in to the thread saying things like “KAI IS SO HOT ND T3H BEST N I AM GUN 2 MARRY HIM” she stayed mostly civil. It was always hilarious watching InuYahsa or Naruto fans try to come in and bad mouth Beyblade because they’d unleash the dragon and C was great at chasing off undesirables in the thread.

The real apex of goings on though on Gaia was the guild drama. So guilds were like exclusive themed mini forums within Gaia. Anyone could buy one and run it however they want, as long as it still adhered to Gaia’s ToS. C of course was the owner of the only Beyblade guild. The fandom wasn’t really big enough to support 2 guilds so we just kind of let it go. Technically she allowed people to post slash fanfics but like everything had to be explicitly tagged and there was absolutely no slash RP. Wifey and I controlled a handful of minor characters together in the forum RP and definitely used to try to push the boundaries a little bit. Some ambiguous flirting here, a stray comment there. It was such a fragile balance though because C was heavy on the ban button. The active portion of the guild was just people that were in the cult of C and worshipped her writing.

Understandably the other slash fans and myself were getting disheartened by this. So we pooled our funds together and decided that we’d open a second guild that though it was run by slash fans we would welcome anyone into our ranks. We just wanted to have a fun place for everyone to hang out, and to hopefully run a few events out of. In hindsight, we should have seen what would happen. When we opened the guild, with me as the guild leader, it was like somebody blew up the whole dam protecting the delicate ecosystem we had cultivated. Every single person in the Gaia fandom that was not a zealous follower of C applied to be in our guild and left her guild. We of course figured that we’d attract some of the gen population but we did not expect to accidentally poach all of it. All of the moderators were getting messages from people thanking us for giving them a place where they could say whatever they wanted without fear of getting their faces ripped off or banned.

C lost her shit. She was so mad that we went behind her back to ruin her guild. We literally had to show her posts in the very public slash thread that we had been planning this in public and that it was not to ruin her life. We just wanted a place where we could freely post slash. The two of us had some spicy comments back and forth and then she dropped an absolute bombshell on me. Since Gaia’s mail system is terrible I unfortunately no longer have exactly what she said but it was something along the lines of “Ok, you win. I’m going to close my guild.”. Us slash fans had never been doing this to win anything. We had never been competing. We just wanted a safe space to be ourselves.

C never joined our guild. The fandom slowly faded out within the next year anyway. We weren’t getting new content so naturally people just drifted into other fandoms. C kept up with the main Beyblade thread for a lot longer than most of us but eventually that eventually faded into obscurity too.

I learned a lot about fandom bullies from those days. But honestly the thing that stuck with me the most out of everything was that if you provide a positive safe space for people they will flock to it. It may seem like there are so many hostile people out there, but there really aren't. They're the minority but they just make sure that their voice is the loudest. The best way is to ignore them and just do your own thing. The bullies just want attention and if you don’t give it to them and prove to them that their opinion doesn’t matter to you then they’ll move in and find something else to yell at.

#malicious musings #stacey's adventures in fandom drama #lol #honestly it was such a fucking wild time #if i think of any other specific instances of drama i'll add them #god i wish i had screenshots of some of what went on #but sadly going through archived gaia posts is easier said than done

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capsironunderoos · 4 years

Text

Cold

DINCEMBER - December 14 - Cold

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Summary: This really doesn’t have a plot, it’s more so just a snippet of life with Din in the small cabin you share with him and Grogu. Din returns from the marketplace one morning to find that you have a cold, and he makes it his job to take care of you.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mentions of sickness, but nothing besides a temperature and a headache

Author’s Note: I AM SO BEHIND ON DINCEMBER! It’s literally over and here I am, still posting... Anyways! I had to finish up my first semester of student teaching, and then Christmas hit, and I’ve been trying to write in-between those things, but I’ve also been really sad lately, so there’s that. Regardless, I think I have five more posts for Dincember after this one (?) and I plan to have them all posted within the next few days. Also, this one is short, and as stated earlier, doesn’t really have a plot, it’s just kind of a glimpse into a domestic life with Din in a cabin with your small green kiddo on a planet where you’ll always be safe... I hope you enjoy!

Here’s the previous prompt: Dincember - December 11 - Please, Come Home

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

“Cyare? Are you here?”

At the sound of Din’s voice echoing throughout the cabin you try your best to sit up on the couch, but the sudden movement further spurs the headache you’ve woken up with.

You can’t even bring yourself to let Din know you’re currently laid out on the couch, fighting possibly one of the worst colds of your life.

You hear a noise beside you and your attention turns from the sound of Din placing his armor on the counter to the small coo beside you, so you glance to the floor to see Grogu staring up at you, his sweet little ears perked up as if he’s trying to sense what’s wrong.

You smile at him as best you can, slowly shaking your head to let him know there’s nothing he can do for you.

He seems to sense the distress the movement sends throughout your body, and you watch as he begins to slowly lift his hand.

“Alright kid, I think it’s time you played in your room for a bit.”

At the sound of Din’s voice so suddenly close, you and the child both snap your focus in his direction.

He’s standing just beside the couch looking down at the pair of you. His beskar has already been removed, and he’s standing in a dark green sweater and deep gray shorts, his arms crossed over his chest as he glances over you with concern.

“Go on,” you mumble out, and with your blessing the small child waddles to the hallway to return to his room.

Once you and Din have watched him turn the corner, you return your gazes to each other.

“Cyare, what’s wrong?” He asks as he moves around the couch so that he can squat just in front of your face.

“It’s just a really bad cold, Din. It’ll go away in a few days.”

Din can’t remember the last time he’d been really sick, but he knows what to do when you fall ill.

He slowly moves his left hand to brush a few stray pieces of hair away from your face before allowing it to rest against your forehead.

“You definitely have a fever,” he states, and you smile.

“It’ll break. I just need to stay here for a little while.”

He nods, agreeing with you, before his eyebrows furrow in the same way they always do before he asks a question.

“How did you get here?”

You laugh as best you can, but the movement brings on another pang of ache in your temple.

“Very slowly,” you mumble out and he smiles.

“How about some soup?” He asks, and you nod.

“Has the kid had anything to eat yet?”

A look of guilt flashes across your face and Din is quick to answer his own question.

“Okay, I’ll fix some for us too then,” he responds with a soft smile and you nod in agreement as you burrow further into the couch and under one of the many blankets you keep in the cabin.

Din makes the soup quickly, thankful that he decided to make a trip to the small marketplace down the road this morning, which reminds him of something as he places three bowls of soup on the small wooden table in front of the couch.

“I meant to tell you,” he starts, and you look up at him as you slowly move to a seated position.

“Waye asked where you were this morning, and that booth, the one you like to buy clothes for the kid from, got a new shipment in. The owner stopped me and told me that so that I would tell you specifically.”

Waye had quickly become one of your closest friends on this small planet. She ran a small food cart and always had the best ronto wraps, which always came with a side of pleasant conversation.

As for the owner of the clothing booth, he only knew that you were one of his best customers, as you and Grogu loved to spend hours perusing his stock while Din completed the actual grocery shopping.

You laughed at Din as he told you of the clothing booth owner.

“I think you’re his favorite customer,” Din responded, and you laughed again, nodding slowly this time.

“I ought to be, me and Grogu spend enough credits there that they should just start shipping the new outfits here.”

Din smiles at that as you both turn to see said child waddling into the room, clad in one of the outfits from the booth. It’s a deep blue sweater material that encompasses his small body like a romper.

He must feel the stares of his parents, as his eyes quickly dart up to look at you and Din. When he does, he lets out a gurgle of laughter before running, as best he can, it’s more like a fast wobble, to latch onto Din’s leg.

Din bends down to pick him up before setting him in front of his bowl of soup on the small wooden table. Grogu wastes no time and immediately digs into his lunch.

You smile at the sight as the couch shifts beside you with Din’s weight.

“C’mere,” he whispers, and you move to sit with him, resting perfectly between his legs as you lay against his chest.

“I really don’t want you to get sick,” you mutter before looking up at him.

He plants a soft kiss onto your forehead before leaning up to grab your bowls of soup.

“I’ll be fine, cyare, don’t worry about me,” he responds, handing you your bowl.

You smile and lift the bowl to your lips, taking a small sip of the warm liquid. It warms your throat as you swallow, and a sigh of relief escapes your lips as you nestle further into Din’s chest.

He chuckles at your actions, slowly sipping on his own bowl of soup.

Once the three of you have finished, Din doesn’t worry over cleaning up, opting to sit the bowls to the side to pick up later.

He lays down further on the couch, pulling you with him. You turn to lay on top of his chest, your right arm wrapping around him as the left rests just below his neck.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and Din makes sure to keep your blanket in place as you do so.

He watches Grogu as he plays with some blocks in the floor in front of the couch, the fireplace illuminating his creations.

Din suddenly notes a feeling of contentment settling into his chest.

He had never considered his life to be one that would grant him such wonderful things, but here he is, his riduur asleep on his chest, and his son playing in the floor with blocks he had been gifted during a past Life Day celebration.

“You think so loudly,” he hears you whisper, feeling you shift so that you can turn and see Grogu playing.

He chuckles, and the deep rumbles of his laugh shake you ever so slightly.

“Are you feeling better?” He questions, and you nod.

“I think my fever broke, and my headache has gone away.”

It’s silent for a few moments, save for the small sounds of Grogu’s wooden blocks knocking into one another.

“What were you thinking about Din?” You ask, and he sighs as he begins carding his hands through your hair.

“You. Grogu. Our cabin, our lives. The way everything has so perfectly entwined.”

Your fingers fiddle with the collar of his sweater.

“You deserve this and so much more, riduur.”

Din hugs you tighter to his chest at your words.

“I could never do anything to deserve you, or the kid, or this life, but whatever I’ve done to earn my place here, to create this life with you… I would do it again. I would do it over and over and over if it meant that I could have this, with you, forever.”

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember: DINCEMBER - December 16 - Blankets

#dincember #mando #mando x reader #mando x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #grogu #baby yoda #star wars #star wars x reader #sw #em writes

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greenteabtch · 3 years

Note

16 for the physical affection prompt?

hiii thank you so much for your ask!! ;_; Literally had SO much fun writing this.

Kissing Knuckles

pairing: sebastian vael x f!hawke

rating: g

word count: 1516

genre: fluff :)

“Do we all have to go in?”

“Yes,” Helena clipped.

A deep scoff sounded. “But we’re covered in blood. They’ll kick us out the minute we enter”

“Or they’ll just start screaming,” Aveline offered.

“Nothing new for you then, eh Junior?”

Carver sputtered, Helena sighing but choosing not to intervene as she climbed the steps to Kirkwall’s Chantry. Its spires reached towards eternity alongside the gilded statues of Andraste, like holy spokes against a gray fresco sky. Absently, she rubbed her fingers together, feeling dirt from the coast pill and disintegrate in the wind.

It took the entire weight of her body to pull open the doors, something she scowled at Varric for snickering at. Incense and cool air whispered through the opening, and very suddenly Helena found herself stepping back.

Hand fingering her combat vest, the mage looked towards her companions. “Go first. I’ll follow.”

Their puzzled expressions were obvious, but it only took a moment for them to shrug and continue on their way. Helena watched them start to disappear into the dark interior, breaking her vision away to dust off as much of the evidence of a fight as she could. The dirt was alright enough, but the bloodstains were another story. Regardless, once Carver’s black hair had been swallowed by the dark, it was her turn to enter.

Helena straightened her posture, taking a breath as she began her walk into the Chantry. Her chin lifted against ensuing whispers from the sisters that watched her entrance, nervous chills dropping down her spine. Whatever their opinions, she knew that her mission lied not with the red robed clergy today, but instead, a prince in white.

“Hawke!”

She had been found.

“Sebastian,” she acknowledged, nodding awkwardly in her approach.

As handsome as the last time she saw him, Sebastian Vael walked toward her through the scattered groups of faithful. He met her halfway, offering his hand with a charming smile.

Hesitation gripped her as she stared at his soft unmarred skin. Beautiful uninterrupted swaths of sepia shone like velvet in the red candlelight, his fingers well kept despite the few callouses she could identify. By the time she blinked she realized it would be more than rude to decline, so she submitted, taking his hand in hers for a shake…

Which never quite occurred, given that in one deft movement he had coaxed her fingers to lie neat inside his grip while he brought his lips to the surface of her hand.

A flush tore through her. Helena’s vision was glued to the sight, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven kissing her knuckles. Knuckles that were blistered with the efforts of her twirling her staff, nicked from stray slashes of mercenaries who pressed too close. Her surroundings spotted black.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, releasing her hand, which she tucked to her chest. “I’m hoping that your arrival brings good news.”

“Y…” she mumbled, eyes frozen before she shook her head. “Yes. Right. The, uh, mercenaries—“

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “The Fl—“

“—Int company! The,” she cleared her throat. “Flint company. As you requested, we have eradicated their presence from Kirkwall.” Helena fumbled for her belt loop, finding the prepared bag of collected badges and offering it to Sebastian. “Your proof. Sixty five badges for sixty five mercenaries.”

He wasted no time opening the canvas pouch, fingers combing through the clacking metal.

“You did all of this…” he met her gaze, snapping her out of the dream like haze she had dipped into while her fingers caressed her still-warm hand. “Thank you. I can’t emphasize enough what this means for my family.” The starting lines of frustration were fading into his skin, eyes falling. “Lives for lives, and yet, these people will never know what they stole. All I can pray is that my family wasn’t made to suffer.” His voice wavered. “Still that doesn’t seem like enough.”

Helena’s brows furrowed, heartstrings pulling at the sight of the man before her. “It’s a beginning.” she eventually offered. “That’s more than many people get.”

He looked up, eyes glossy. “I suppose.” A small tilt pulled his smile. “Well, in any case. Your aid has eased my spirit, and hopefully my family’s. As promised.” He produced a coin purse, which Helena accepted.

The second she felt its weight her brows shot up.

“This is more than the listed reward.”

A hissed ‘just take the money’ came from behind her, to which she sent a bone-chilling glare over her shoulder.

Low chuckles drew her back, Sebastian’s picture perfect smile warming her skin like the sun. “Please. The Vael’s coiffeurs run deeper than I’ll ever have a use for. Besides, it reassures my troubled heart to know someone is making good use of it.”

Her eyes were wider than saucer plates. “Thank you. Really.” She swallowed, heart-thumping while she pocketed the gold. “You’re… going back to Starkhaven now?”

“For a time, at least. I have some affairs to sort out with the remaining councilmembers,” his speech slowed, a pause blanketing between them. “I do plan to return to Kirkwall after, though.”

Helena’s skin felt electric, her fingers curling around her lower face. “Oh. Well. If you… ever find yourself in need of services again…” she tried not to pinch her eyes closed at the snicker behind her. “Or, if you want to come along with us— you seem very handy—“ Wait. “With your bow.” Sigh.

She was ready to give up and break into a full sprint out of the chantry, her brother’s ‘what is happening right now’ and subsequent chuckles from Aveline detrimental to her situation. The archer, though, was forgiving, a smile crawling over his face as his brows raised.

“Thank you for the offer. I… it would be nice to have friends to return to once business has been settled. I have to admit, it’s been difficult to find comfort amongst the Chantry as of late.”

“No, please. We’d be lucky to work with you again.”

“Perhaps as partners next time?”

Rose covered her skin as she looked away, then back, letting a smile slip.

“It would be a fortunate match.”

Again, a light chuckle left him.

“I’ll send a letter when I return then, ah— Maker forgive me, I haven’t even asked your full name.”

“Oh, no it’s… it’s fine. Helena. Hawke.”

“Helena.” He smiled when he said it.

She thought she might melt in his stare, yet another blush creeping up her neck as she fiddled with her hair. To break the silence she attempted to ask about his skills, but was interrupted by her brother walking up and planting his feet beside her, arms crossed.

“Well, thanks for the job. Good luck in Starkhaven!” He waved to Sebastian, before whispering as an aside “let’s go sister.”

She all but shoved him away, casting a tight-lipped smile towards Sebastian.

“I’ll see you.”

And just like he did before, Sebastian took her hand in his and swept it to his lips for a kiss. Ears burned as she marveled at the sight again, her lips creeping up at the tingles that ran through her body.

When he parted from his kiss, he laid another hand over hers, clasping her palm in a firm embrace.

“Walk in the Maker’s light, Helena. I pray fate allows our paths to cross again.”

“... Thank you… and good luck.”

“To us both.”

It was disappointing to leave the Chantry after that, but there was hardly anything she could do to prolong her stay. Besides, she had made enough of a fool of herself for a lifetime. Carver made that clear after they crossed the threshold.

“So that was…”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

Carver raised his brows beside her, “No, that was weird. I have never seen you smile like that before.”

“I wasn’t smiling!”

“Okay, now I’ve never heard you defend yourself like a thirteen year old boy.”

Helena let out an exasperated noise, increasing her speed to stride ahead of the group.

“And… now you’re running away.”

“Oh, let her go Carver. She’s clearly smitten by prince charming.”

“Who kisses hands these days? This kid’s got to update his literature.”

“Not everyone wants to have their bedroom broken into for a meet-cute, Dwarf.”

“So you HAVE read my books!”

The rest of their conversation tickled Helena’s ears as she walked, but their voices soon flowed into the musical hubub of Hightown, leaving her with her thoughts. In hazes of red and pink, her mind replayed the scene at the chantry. Clutching her hand close, she couldn’t help but blush.

Would she see him again? Would the prince remember the refugee mercenary who aided him through a difficult time? Would he kiss her hand just the same? And would they be different…

She didn’t know. She couldn’t.

But maybe… this moment would be enough until she did.

Till then, she held her hand close and decided to keep an ear out for her charming prince from Starkhaven, with the hopes that someday their paths might have the good fortune of crossing again.

#THANK YOU AGAIN this saved my creativity and cleared my skin #my writing #sebhawke #fanfic #asks #oxygenforthewicked #ship: wings sprout from broken backs #helena hawke #sebastian vael #da2

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hexedmaniacs · 3 years

Photo

i got back on my jojo bullshit because my boyfriend played through eyes of heaven for me. oc info under cut

The Hato [Heart] Sisters are a group of stand users, two sisters were born with their stands naturally while the other was gifted one by the arrow. Suzume Hato is the eldest of the sisters, a rebellious punk type who skipped class to hang out with her friends and caused problems, Suzume wasn’t afraid to talk back and even put up her fists if push comes to shove. She is terribly protective over her younger sisters, especially her youngest sister Kiyomi. Suzume became well acquainted with Jotaro after accidentally exposing her stand to him and was shortly recruited into the Crusaders- for fear that if they didn’t take her then DIO might set his eyes on her. She was one of the few survivors from Egypt, albeit with a nasty scar on her back. Suzume ended up pursuing a career in Psychology, becoming a student counselor for Morioh’s High School at the age of 25.

The middle child is Etsuko Hato, while not being born with a stand, during the summer of 1996, two years prior to the events of Diamond is Unbreakable, Etsuko was hit by a stray arrow and gifted the stand Heartbreaker. Shortly after graduating from High School with the ambition of becoming a world renowned Fashion Designer, Etsuko went to study abroad in Italy under the name Elektra Hart, where she was present for the events of Vento Aureo where she fell into the crossfire of the notorious mafia group Passione and it’s Bucciarati Gang. Etsuko was a rather straightforward and reserved individual, often times than not preferring the forgetfulness of being the middle child as opposed to the attention she get being the eldest or youngest. However the attention of her family was more than enough for her.

And the youngest of all three was Kiyomi Hato, a rather shy and introverted girl with a knack for video games. She was born with the stand Handmade Ego, while not having complete control of her stand- as her emotions and subconscious govern her stand more than anything- Kiyomi is quite popular due to this fact. Being the younger sister of her high school’s student counselor as well as the younger sister of the aspiring fashion designer Elektra Hart, Kiyomi is a part time model as well as the student council president. With a gentle demeanor and a purpose to pass all her classes, Kiyomi is Morioh’s star student as well as the town’s local sweetheart. This causes her to become a target of Morioh’s local hand-obsessed serial killer, where she ended up joining up with Josuke Higashikata to weed out Yoshikage Kira. By the time of Stone Ocean, Kiyomi is a full time model for her elder sister Etsuko.

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User: Suzume Hato - Stardust Crusaders Age: 16 (SDC), 27 (DIU), 29 (VA) Stand: Slow Love [Namesake: Slow Love by TENDER] Ability: Emotion Manipulation - Able to project a victim's object of affection and manipulate their feelings towards it. Slow Love is able to psychoanalyze a victim via 'soul seeing', it can detect the color of a person's emotional aura and affect it accordingly by changing it's color. It can also project a copy of said victim's object of affection whether it be a literal object or a person and further use this to manipulate the victim's emotions.

User: Kiyomi Hato - Diamond Is Unbreakable Age: 5 (SDC), 16 (DIU), 18 (VA) Stand: Handmade Ego [Namesake: Handmade Ego by TENDER] Ability: Empathy Control - Able to detect and appeal to other's emotions, causing them to find comfort with the User, when properly ensnared the Stand will proceed to link the User and Victim so that their emotions are interchangeable, sharing whatever emotional burdens Kiyomi has with the victim. The affects are triggered by the stand emitting a scent nostalgic or most enjoyable to the victim- framed as the user's perfume.

User: Etsuko Hato // Elektra Hart - Vento Aureo Age: 8 (SDC), 19 (DIU), 21 (VA) Stand: Heartbreaker [Namesake: How to Be a Heartbreaker by Marina and the Diamonds] Ability: Cupid - Shoots twin seeking bullets that don't actually kill, but will hit two targets and compel them to fall in love regardless of any prior conceptions or feelings. The affects will only ward off if the victims exhibit enough willpower to withstand the attraction for three hours.

#jjba oc #jojo oc #swindle draws shit #it's been a VERY long time since i've drawn jojo ocs and also HONESTLY? these are probably the closest i've EVER gotten to like #matching the various art styles from every season. they look so beautiful :')

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sweetness47 · 3 years

Text

Almost Too Late

This is for @idreamofplaid and @girl-next-door-writes for their ‘They Belong to Us Now’ Challenge. Hope you guys like it! Congrats on your milestones btw.

Warnings: Swearing, death mentioned, dark spirits, kissing at the end, pining I’m going to say PG-14

Prompt #16: If You die, I’m going to kill you.

Theme: AU Castle

Pairing: Sam x reader

Life was good, or mostly. My friends and I hunt monsters, save people from the things that go bump in the night. This isn’t what your thinking though. We don’t drive places. Most of our travel is done by horseback or hiking. The industrial revolution came, left, and is in the process of being reborn, but it’s very slow going.

Every day is a new adventure. It’s just four of us: me, Dean, Sam, and my friend Charlie. Oh, and spoiler alert…I’ve had a major crush on Sam forever! Like seriously. I mentally drool when he talks to me, stands close to me, and my underwear is a sopping mess by the time the day ends. It’s super hard being so attracted to him, especially since he has no clue. I hesitate to bring it up, my worst fear is that confessing my feelings would ruin what we have.

That would kill me.

So I suffer silently. Charlie has noticed my pining, and has tried to get me to admit my feelings to him. But I’m terrified. If I lost him because I chose to share my attraction, I’d never be able to live with myself. I would lose the one thing in my life worth living for, besides friends, and that would kill me, literally.

I’ve pictured all the different ways I could approach the subject. I could casually just walk beside him and slide into my feelings. I could just jump him while everyone’s sleeping (my personal favorite…for obvious reasons) but what if he rejects my advances? I just can’t find an outcome where I’m not overthinking, where I don’t see chances of disaster, of rejection, of heartbreak.

Ugh. FML. Seriously.

Our travels bring us to a long abandoned castle. It’s creepy as fuck, but if properly fixed and cleaned up, it could actually be a really good home for us to work out of, a place where we can just hold up and crash, seek safety, keep our belongings we don’t usually need on hunts.

It’s really big, in an intimidating sort of way. I shiver as I walk closer and touch the stone walls. There’s a presence or two here, things that are tethered to this ancient land, to this castle. It’s dark, and dangerous.

And it knows we’re here.

“Guys? We’re not alone here.”

Sam, Dean and Charlie all turn towards me, and wait. They know I’m able to feel things, so if I say to be careful, they listen.

I continue. “I don’t know if there’s more than one, but whatever is in here is dangerous, like deadly. And it already knows we’re here. The good news? It hates light. Bad news though…the sun will be setting in a couple of hours. We won’t stand a chance if we don’t make a plan.”

“Is it worth us even staying? I mean, we could always find another place to shack up.” Dean’s voice tells me he’s going against his heart. He really likes this place as much as the rest of us, but he also knows not to take my feelings lightly.

“Maybe, but how often do we come across such a magnificent place? A lot of castles have long since been destroyed by one disaster or another. With some work, and luck, we could make this our home. I love the idea of having a solid place to rest once in a while.”

I love Charlie. She’s never one to beat around the bush. Straight forward and honest. I nod in agreement, but as I stare at the dark looming windows and the ancient structure of the castle, I can’t help but wonder if Dean might have a point. I personally have never felt something this dangerous before and frankly, I honestly don’t know how to deal with whatever dwells inside.

The human called YN is correct, something dark and dangerous does occupy this castle. Me. I am the biggest threat here, the banshee that recently sought refuge here is nothing compared to my dark power.

I am a void, a darkness, sentient and silent. I feed off fear and humans, the ones that are foolish enough to try and remove me from my home. Many have tried. None have succeeded.

I am near indestructible. I revel in the power I possess. I will never let anyone take it from me.

I used to be malicious, hell bent on finding the next willing victim to feed my hungry darkness. Then my brother entity, the one hunters dubbed “the Empty” made a deal with an angel, where the angel would help save what was left of this world and then go willingly into that void.

The anguish I felt from those the angel considered family was horrific. They mourned. I hated the idea that the one like me could be so cruel. We were made for harbouring souls, ones that had no other place to go. We were made to feed on those dead and lost, to grow and suck the life from them. But we were never to make deals to take a willing live being, no matter the end game.

That was what our creator told us. My brother didn’t listen.

I did.

I left because of that. And was punished for it.

Now I am tethered to this stone building. I’ve been here for a long time, and have grown quite fond of the peace and quiet. Most of my energy is gotten from stray animals, or the occasional human. But I absolutely refuse to leave.

So I prepare to fight. I won’t lose this home.

Sam peeks through the door and down the dark hall. “Sounds like fun. Shall we?” He grabs a flashlight and steps over the threshold. The moment he does, I feel the change in whatever has possessed this place.

I grab his arm. “Sam, be careful.”

He nods. “Always.”

I snort at that response, because for as much as I love the brothers, they have had a tendency to get into some stupid situations.

Dean follows Sam, then Charlie and I step inside. I’m blown away from what greets us. The first archway we encounter opens to a massive foyer, large enough to rival a grand ballroom, with corridors leading off in all directions, as well as a grand wide staircase, gleaming with gold accents and dark cherry wood railings. All I was missing was the fancy ball gown and a crowd of ballroom dancers to complete the picture.

Honestly it felt like we’d stepped into a fairy tale, but the danger looming in the background dispelled that notion pretty quick. And now that we were inside, I could definitely sense more than one. The first one, the dark presence that resided in the walls, it was intelligent, and it didn’t feel as threatening as the other. Spirit number two was restless, malevolent, and downright deadly.

“Guys, just a heads up. There’s two different entities here, both are dangerous, but one of them is more so than the other. Be careful. We go in pairs. Watch each other’s backs.”

Everyone nods, and Dean whisks me down one hall while Sam and Charlie explore the other. The moment we’re alone, Dean calls me out on what I didn’t say.

“Ok hotshot, spill. What aren’t you telling us?”

I sigh. Dean knows I have a thing for his brother, and has encouraged me numerous times to tell Sam how I feel. He also knows I have a habit of keeping important information from the others when I feel like it could jeopardise an outcome.

I stop and face my friend. “It’s just a feeling Dean. Honest.”

Dean purses his lips as if trying to figure out if my words are the truth. “Ok. But the moment that changes, you tell us. None of this hero bullshit you usually pull. I saw the look in your eyes. Your spooked. And you never get spooked like this.”

He’s right. It’s one of the reasons I’m good at hunting the things that go bump in the night. I don’t scare easily.

I nod. “I know. I promise to tell you if the feeling becomes more. Ok? Can we drop it now?”

He does, but only because I have a tendency to blow a fuse if I’m pushed too far. And I need to be on top of my game if I want to stay ahead of the dark.

An ear-splitting, high pitched scream echoes through the entire castle, the walls vibrating as it bounces off everything it touches.

Dean and I look at each other and say at the same time. “Banshee!!”

We radio Charlie and Sam. They confirm they heard the creature as well, and promise to keep a close eye on their surroundings. I can’t shake the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach though. It’s almost like someone’s going to die…

FUCK!

“Dean! We have to find Sam and Charlie now!”

He takes one look at my facial expression, and whatever he finds there is enough to convince him not to argue. Another banshee scream fills the halls, and we take off back to the main foyer as we try to radio Charlie and Sam. They don’t answer, so we head in the direction they took when we split off.

The horrible feeling grows with each step, and when we stumble upon a broken two-way radio, I swallow hard. Dean calls out, but neither answer. I look at the elder Winchester, who’s grim looks mirror my own.

Suddenly, we’re thrown across the room by the high pitched wail, having been too distracted to notice her presence. I recover quickly, my need to contain her is great, she is a road block in my quest to find my friends and make sure they are all right. I summon my will, and I throw everything I have, everything I am feeling, at my nemesis. Her screams fade as she disintegrates before our eyes.

It’s then we see Charlie and Sam, both of whom are lying on the ground, motionless. Charlie is moaning and attempting to open her eyes and sit up, but my focus is on Sam, or rather his lack of movement. I’m paralyzed by fear when I notice his shallow breathing, the struggles he has just trying to breathe.

I fall to my knees beside him. “Sam? Baby, talk to me.”

He coughs and smiles weakly, blood trickles out of his mouth with each wheeze. “You called me a pet name. I knew you liked me.”

Tears fell as I smiled at his attempt at humor. “Asshole! Don’t you dare try and distract me. I swear Sam, if you die, I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will fucking hunt your ass down and kill you!”

His answer is to chuckle, but it quickly turns to another bout of coughing, and more blood oozing from his perfect lips. He never gets to say what he’s thinking as his lungs give out, and he stops breathing.

My worlds stops. I can’t breathe.

A gasp leaves my lips, and quickly turns into a strangled cry. I fall over him, hugging his still form, begging him to wake up, to come back to me. I can’t live without him.

Why the hell did I pair with Dean? Why? I could have protected him! I’m such an idiot! And now I’ll never be able to tell him I love him, I’ll never hold him again, or kiss him the way I’ve always imagined.

Because he’s gone.

That’s when I feel the other presence, the heartache that mirrors my own. The entity within the walls is feeling my pain, which is weird in itself, like it’s mourning my loss.

So I engage it in conversation.

You…why do you mourn my loss? I ask it in my head.

There’s no delay in the answer I receive. I have felt human loss before, it saddens me. What makes this human special?

I love him. He is everything to me…the air I breathe, the life in my body. He’s my reason for living. Is my answer.

This time there is considerable pause before it talks to me. I can bring him back for you. All I ask in return is to be allowed to stay in these walls. I have grown to like it here.

Deal. If you can save him, I will not harm you. But you can never harm me or my friends for as long as we live in this place.

The entity agrees, and I feel it join with my mind, it’s darkness seeping into my body, taking my power and my connection to Sam. I involuntarily move my hands to hover over his chest, and close my eyes as power is released from me into him.

Sam’s body shudders and suddenly he gasps, sitting upright, his lungs taking in gulps of fresh air. He coughs then looks at me, eyes wide.

And I fold my arms around his neck and kiss him.

It takes about two seconds for him to kiss me back, parting my lips with his tongue. Kissing Sam is everything I imagined and more, he tastes sweet, like cotton candy. I’m crying again, but it’s tears of joy. I eventually tear my mouth from his, needing to say three words.

“I love you.”

His response comes immediately. “I love you too YN. Always have.”

He kisses me again, leaving Dean and Charlie cheering and teasing us to get a room. I look up, and a shadowy figure smiles in my direction. The entity.

Thank you. I manage.

It nods, then fades into the walls.

@idreamofplaid @girl-next-door-writes @drkcnry67 @lyarr24

#they belong to us now #sam x reader #au castle #post apocalyptic

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soldrawss · 4 years

Note

What would their personalities be like in the reverse au? All the brothers are usually pretty protective, so is Mikey the protective one now?

Their personalities are, for the most part, pretty much the same. It’s just their dynamics with each other that is the biggest change!

Mikey is still the bubbly optimist and sunshine child he is, and tries to do his best to be the best brother he can be to Raph and Leo and Donnie and do GOOD by them. He’s protective like any big brother is, obviously, but that protectiveness got a little more strained and heavy to carry when he became the boy’s sole guardian and substitute parent. And Mikey, though he’d happily sooner work himself into an early grave than show it, is terrified that he’s inadequate. That every day poses a threat of him messing something up, something big, and all it would take is for one little slip up for the powers that be to take his baby brothers away from him forever. He’s protective in a way he wears on his chest like a suit of armor. He’s proud of his burden and he wouldn’t have it any other way if it means he gets to keep the three best things that have ever happened to him safely in the circle of his arms. But it’s a burden none the less. A weighted responsibility, dragging him down and wearing him thin, but he trudges on anyway because that’s just the way it is since pops died.

Leo and Donnie and Raph are protective right back though, the only way a child knows how to protect the person they love.

Leo and Donnie are old enough to know what’s at stake. They know what Mikey puts himself through to provide for them. How that first 2 years after dad’s death, Mikey took up the worst kinda jobs in the worst part of towns, just to get a paycheck big enough to squeeze all their necessities out of, and even though he’d been working for 16 hours, and his feet probably killed him, he still would make dinner for them, ask them about their day, help them with homework and listen to whatever nonsense they had to say like it was the most interesting in the world. How Mike would stay up late even after the long and probably rough day he had, getting barely three hours of sleep at a time, just to try and scramble together enough credits in pieces and tiny handfuls at a time to earn himself an associates degree, so he could do even better and work even harder to provide for what was left of their little broken family. They know all of it. They see Mikey kill himself every day for them and pretend he doesn’t and it invokes a sort of protective rawness out of them that is just as toothed and fierce and braided in well-worn love as Mikey’s and they work hard in their own right.

It’s little things mostly, things they don’t really think are that big but add up immensely. They keep the house clean, take turns doing the dishes and laundry and make a game out of it for Raph so that Raph doesn’t get fussy or bored while they keep up with house chores. They pick up Raph from daycare on their way home from school, swinging his hands in between them as they walk down the street so that he doesn’t get the wise idea to rush out into traffic at ever bird or stray cat he sees. Donnie helps Leo with his math homework, cause Leo swears 6 ways up to Sunday that Mrs. Andrews is trying to fail him on purpose, and Leo always picks Donnie first to play on his team during P.E and recess even though his friends groan about it to him and Donnie sucks at contact sports, and half of everything they do already is just a twin thing anyway. But they can’t deny that half of it is also for Mikey’s sake. Because every A+ science project and winning homeroom is a sort of red flag the twins wave in defiance of all the adults in their lives that look down on Mikey taking care of them and Leo and Donnie dare anyone to look at them and thinks, “those poor Hamato children. If only there was someone older than could take care of them. Give them the life they need.”

Which is stupid. Because they already have the life they need. And the twins don’t want any part of whatever life others think could be better than a life without their big brother, who is all cat jokes and warm hugs and tickle wars and ‘sure, of course, you can make a pillow fort in the living room, use my bedsheet to make one of the walls’, in it.

And Raph doesn’t know about all the big things his brothers know, like how money is always tight and there are people right outside his door that could take Raph away whenever they feel like it. Or how there were some people who looked at Mikey or Leo or Donnie, who looked at the three people who made up Raph’s whole world, and thought that they weren’t the literal best people on the planet and that they didn’t deserve whole moons and stars and suns as far as Raph was concerned.

But there are things even a 7-year-old can see and understand. He can see Mikey's eyes go distant and glossy, like they’re a million miles underwater when he looks at the mail sometimes. Or how Leo and Donnie will share a Look, capital L, that could mean one of a hundred things, whenever Mikey came home way later than he was supposed to and Mikey would say he’s fine, and hug Raph just as hard as Raph would whenever Raph would make the breakneck run from wherever he was just to be the first to meet Mikey at the door like he was trying to prove it. And Raph saw the slouch in his shoulders and the lines under his eyes but he decided to believe his Mikey anyway just for appearance's sake cause that’s what little brothers were supposed to do.

And Raph couldn’t do much to help out like Leo or Donnie could, he didn’t know how to be helpful like they could be. But Raph could smile. And he could laugh and he could hug Mikey so hard and sometimes it took his best tricks, but he was always able to chase the shadows in Mikey’s eyes away, and at the end of the day, sometimes, that was enough.

#rottmnt #big brother mikey au

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themadauthorshatter · 3 years

Text

RED SCHOOL UNIVERSE ALTERATION HEADCANONS/STORY!!!!!! Mainly based on that series titles and plots post I did a little while back.

This story happensthe same as before, but there are three arcs, not two parts; Arc 1 is the two worlds dicscovering each other and each wondering who the other is. Arc 2 is the worlds meeting each other and making introductions and first impressions. Arc 3 is the "Peace and Cooperation" between the two, which includes the Unity Ball.

The Endless Woods were still discovered by Silvers, but it was completely on accident. They were trying to go to Piedmont or any other Nortan ally because the Scarlet Guard situation is getting a little crazy and Tiberias needs needs reinforcements who are not having the same problem as him.

In their defense, it was really dark and they couldn't see a damn thing. And they thought the trees and grass being blue were because of Greenies.

One of them, a Swift, ran away when his travel partner, an Eye, got shot by a stray arrow and when a wolf jumped out of the trees. Like, a BIG ASS WOLF.

Little did the Swift know, a ferret snuck onto the boat while getting chased by an evil mist possessed hawk.

So the Eye gets patched up by Professor Espada, who scolded Chaddick, he is interviewed by Espada and Dovey, though they all talk in the School Master's office.

THE REVEAL OF RHIAN WILL COME, JUST WAIT BECAUSE IT WILL BE AWESOME!!!

The Eye explains as much of Norta as he can, mistakenly talking about the King and his two sons to a certain blonde girl who keeps thinking she's in the wrong school and her more realist, down to Earth friend that is intrigued, but just wants to go home.

SPEAKING OF NORTA!!!!

With the Swift, he arrives back at Norta and claimed he'd been chased away by soldiers.

The ferret slips away from the boat and finds its way into the garage, where Cal happens to be working, because he overworked himself in training.

It gets his attention and he very stupidly asks it how it got in.

It starts chattering and then claws at the door. Ever the compassionate, Cal lets it on his shoulder and he meets an Animos who takes notice of the rather articulate rodent on the prince's shoulder.

She does her own interviewing of the creature and is curious when it talks about a school meant for teaching children how to be heroes and villains for fairytales.

She infirms Cal, but tells him to not tell his father because it'd sound stupid and like bullshit.

He tells him anyway because Cal cannot keep a secret.

Tibe tells him that maybe he's been training too hard or in the garage to much; oil or gasoline on the brain.

Good thing the Eye comes back and tells Tibe EVERYTHING about what is called the School for Good and Evil. It is across the sea and has no Reds or Silvers to speak of, though they do have magic.

Tibe tries brushing it off, even when Elara asks him about it, but starts getting frustrated when letters start coming in, all sent by ravens.

These address Maven, Cal, Tibe, Elara, Evangeline, Ptolemus, and Volo Samos, and just about anyone and everyone else the Eye talked about, Even Mare, who is Mareena Titanos at this moment.

This was not only an assignment from the School Master directly, but a test to see if the Eye was BS-ing.

Maven rolls his eyes when he reads his.

Mare, at first, got really excited because she thought it was her family or Shade, but was really sad to learn it was just a bunch of kids in school.

Cal just laughs because he gets a lot of questions about what Norta is like and how he lives life, especially how HE goes to school.

He writes back, after realizing that the letters are being sent by literal 16 year olds.

Here is a letter sent by Tedros:

"Dear Tiberias Calore VII, We found one of your people in our school when my friend accidentally shot him.(sorry about that, by the way!) He talked a lot about you and a thing called "Queenstrial" and said that every King had to choose his Queen like that, even though your father didn't. His blood was silver, too. LIKE A MIRROR! Is that how all of you are? As in, does everyone have silver blood? And does everyone still have powers? Write back when you get a chance. I hope to here from you soon, Tedros Pendragon of Camelot."

Here is Cal's reply:

"Dear Tedros, Call me Cal, just about everyone else does. And don't worry about our comrade, he's doing okay. And I hope he didn't say anything confidential. To answer your questions: Yes, Queenstrial is somewhat a competition to marry the next King. My father didn't really partake in one until after I was born, then he married the current Queen and had my brother Maven. Kings rarely marry without one, though my father was the third to do so. Assuming what he said to us was true, that being you and your classmates all have red blood, then no. Not all us have silver blood. I and my family are all Silvers, meaning we have silver blood. We have powers because of it, but it's not as vast as yours, what you call magic. I'm a Burner, meaning I can control fire and not get burned by it, just like my father and brother. My mother, the queen, is a Whisper, meaning she can read minds. And no, not everyone has powers or silver blood. Reds, people with red blood, don't have powers at all, so they work. Granted, Silvers work, too, but Reds have more labor intensive jobs like lumbering and even fighting in an army. It's to make them feel more useful next to us. I hope this answered ypu questions. Tiberias Calore VII"

Here are letters Sophie sent to Maven:

"Dear Maven Calore, It's very nice to meet you! My name is Sophie. I'm from a village called Gavaldon, though you might not have heard of it because it's really deep in the woods and, let's be honest, if you live in a place like Gavaldon, you can probably live and die without anyone knowing who or where you are. Anyway, I tried writing to your brother, but I guess he gets THAT many letters. That guy they found didn't talk about you as much as your brother. And he said he'll be best king yet. I know how frustrating that is, I got put in the wrong school when I helped so many people and even became best friends with a witch. AND SOMEHOW I'M IN EVIL!? I'M THE PICTURE PERFECT DEFINITION OF A PRINCESS!!! Did that ever happen to you on school? Were ypu ever in the wrong place and your brother was where you were supposed to be? Anyway, write back when you get a chance! Love, Sophie P.S. Is it true you and your brother are ALREADY engaged to someone?"

Here is Maven's reply:

"Dear Sophie, Yes. My brother and I are already betrothed, him to Evangeline of House Samos and I to Mareena of the lost House Titanos. I'm not surprised that he didn't; the nobles usually pay more attention to my brother anyway, kind of like you. I remember once I'd wanted to join my father on a meeting concerning one of our legions. He chose Cal to join him instead and left me to train, even though I'm better at talking in council meetings. I was fairly upset, as I'm sure you are, but all I can say is to grin and bear it. As far as I know, most schools last four years. It may seem like a long time, but it will go by very quickly. Aside from that, I wouldn't know because I wasn't taught in a school like you. I was taught in the palace with my brother. I hope things get better for you, at least. Cordially, Maven Calore"

If this was a legit book or movie, we'd get back and forth POVs between the Red Queen cast and the SGE cast.

With the RQ cast, we'd see Mare and Maven talk the letters they'd each gotten and talk about the existence of magic, and the last letter sent to all three of them. FROM AGATHA. Cal joins them and they get to speculating what it could mean for their future.

"Dear Tiberias Calore VII, Maven Calore, and Mareena Titanos, This is the last letter we're allowed to send. The students, at least. Mareena, or Mare, or whatever your name is, I wish I had a chance to meet you at least once. I don't know, I just have a feeling you're lying and I want to know why. Tiberia Cal, I hope you someday become a good king, and that you're happy with Evangeline. If not, just get along and be freinds. Maven, I'm glad you and Mare met. She sounds like she's a good part of your life, and it sounds like your doing everything you can to help her adapt. I hope you two become your own little weird, married family. If I never meet you, best of wishes to you all. Agatha of Woods Beyond"

All three are bummed out by this and Mare cries into Maven's shoulder as he hugs her out of genuineness, not his mother's plan.

Maven later admits to Cal that it would be interesting to meet the students, but is glad he isn't, because they already have enough problems.

Cal agrees, but solely on the front that they wouldn't really know how to get there and back to Norta, and who qould have to stay behind to hold down the fort, as Tibe doesn't trust Elara or any other high house leader and doesn't talk to Julian.

The two simply imagine what such a meeting would be like as they part ways.

With Tibe, a letter from the School Master himself has just arrived and details a safe route from Norta to the School and back.

SWITCH AND BACK TRACK TO THE SGE CAST!!!!!

Sophie hugs the return letters from Cal and Maven, squealing about how gentlemanly they are and that she can't wait to meet them. Agatha gently breaks it to her that that might not happen because of how they don't know where this Norta place is and the last letter was sent last night, HER LETTER. Sophie waves her off and calls her gloomy for not having any hope. Agatha tries talking Sophie into trying to find a way back to Gavaldon instead, but Sophie shuts her down by gasping that she'd never meet her princes, then.

Norta is a hot topic for the students as they all compare letters, Evers and Nevers.

Tedros wonders to Agatha how long it would take for them to arrive, and Agatha admits she doesn't know because she doesn't know how they get from place to place without horses or carriages.

Dovey and Lesso are about to pull their hair out from the nonstop chitchat of Norta, Reds, and Silvers, and the School Master has just the solution:

After enough ravens left and returned safely, he determined a route on water that would help the Silvers arrive safely and get back home. Considering the advances in technology Norta has, it should take them about a day or two to arrive and another day or two to sail home, regardless of the weather conditions.

With that all thought out, he puts it in the form of him own letter, sends it by eagle, and waits.

After A MONTH of waiting, he gets a letter back that Tiberias will be happy to meet the School Master at the rendezvous point.

AND THUS CONCLUDES ARC 1

BE ON THE LOOK OUT FOR ARC 2!!!!

#red queen #school for good and evil #red school #universe alteration #cal calore #sge tedros #mare barrow #sge agatha #maven calore #sge sophie #tiberias calore vii #tiberias calore vi

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minyoonmeme · 4 years

Text

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 1

Word Count: 2494

Pairing: reader x ?????

Genre: like 90% fluff, 10% stupid jokes and bad humor

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs.

(Disclaimer: This will probably have some typos. I started writing this instead of doing some Statistics homework and spent so long on it that I have zero time to edit. Sorry~)

masterlist

There was no game plan. There never really had been, at least not for me. Making it past 16 was something I had never foreseen, never imagined I could do. And now, here I am, alone in a country in a university far from home with no idea how life is supposed to go. Okay, maybe I’m being pessimistic because I’m not completely alone. I have friends if you count the two idiots who don’t let me drown in takeout boxes on weekends. They’re wonderful, they really are, I promise.

Yoonjin is the sweetest person I’ve ever met no matter how much I want to strangle her into putting herself first. She’s the one who calls me about anything and everything. Don’t tell her that I secretly love that she calls me first when something happens. Chaebin is my right hand gal. My broski. My homegirl. My uh… well she’s great honestly. She’s all bark and no bite with the strongest affiliation for cute things, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. These two are pretty much my whole life other than the impending doom of my failing future that I have chosen to personally personify. Makes it less scary if it's punchable, honestly.

“Are you gonna actually do your work or are you gonna stare at your coffee all day?

Rolling my head to the side, I eye Chaebin with the blankest face I can muster.

“I didn’t ask to be criticized when I asked you to come to the library with me.”

“No, but you did ask me to make sure you finish your paper in time for practice tonight. Yoonjin will cry if you let her go by herself again.” I groan, throwing my head against the cushion of the booth’s chair. She’s right, I know she is. I’ve missed two weeks of dance workshops and Yoonjin, without missing a beat, after every workshop comes knocking on my door teary eyed and sputtering about how she was all alone and lost without me there. Food usually helps soften her up.

“You think she’ll forgive me if I miss just one more week?” Chaebin twitches her eyebrow up as she side eyes me from her computer. I slump even further and push my laptop farther away in favor of laying my head down. “You’re right. She’ll probably accuse me of abandoning her and our friendship if I skip one more time.”

“I’ve literally seen you pump out a 12 page research paper in 3 hours, just go dance or whatever tonight and stress yourself later.”

“Anxiety and Red Bull are a toxic combo, but I’ll have you know that I got a 94 on that paper.” Smiling smugly, I turn my head to look at her. She’s not wearing her glasses today, so it’s hard to tell if she’s glaring at me or blind today. “If I bail, are you gonna be okay by yourself? I can swing by afterwards with Yoonjin, so you don’t have to walk home alone tonight.”

Her glare softens as she shakes her head no before grabbing some eyedrops. Oh. So she is wearing her contacts. “No, I’ll be okay. I came packing.” Her right hand pats her bag before she smirks and continues searching through her syllabus.

I eye her bag warily and half jokingly say, “Please, tell me you don’t have a gun.”

Her face scrunches as she stares at me. “Are you stupid? Why would I have a gun? I meant I have my phone and a taser. Do I look like I know how to shoot a gun?”

I shrug and start packing up my bag. My joints scream and pop from being stationary so long. “I am, do I look like I know how to shoot a gun? You never know Chae, I could be a highly skilled marksman just waiting to take someone out. I might not even be a real college student, just a really good undercover assassin.”

Her nose twitches as she clicks open a few browsers. “You almost cried last night when you saw a stray cat ignore you. I highly doubt you’re killing anyone these days.”

“Animals love me and that one hurt, don’t use my feelings against me. Don’t you remember when you cried because you thought I was ignoring you last year?” Her face dropped as she coughed into her shirt, trying to hide the red splotches. “I was literally sick for three days and you came to my apartment with food because you thought I hated you. What was it you said? Something about not being allowed to hate you if you fed me.”

“We don’t talk about junior year, I was going through it.” Her voice was tight, but I could tell she was amused. “It’s almost 6 o’clock, you should text Yoonjin and tell her that you’re not abandoning her tonight.” She slides my bag towards me and lets me scoot past her out of the booth.

“Yoonjin and I will be by later to walk you back to your apartment around 9:30. Sound good?” My legs wiggle as I try and get a feeling back into them from sitting so long. When I stand there longer than normal, her eyes flash up as she nods and waves her hand at me to leave.

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

You wanna meet outside the commons tonight or walk over together?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

WAHH

YOU”RE COMMING? No more awkwardly standing in the back by myself!?!?!? :)))))))

[crying egg dog.pdf]

let’s meet in the the commons

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

7? By the double doors upstairs?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

No, no, no my friend come ASAP. We have much to discuss.

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

Uh okay???? See you in like 10 minutes I guess???

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

See you! <3

_______________________________________________________________________

“You actually did come.” Yoonjin’s hand reaches out and pinches my arm before she settles back against the wall. “I thought for sure your text was all some weird daydream I had conjured up.”

“Chaebin convinced me that our friendship was on the line if I left you alone at another workshop for the third week in a row.” My bag landed on the ground as I slide down next to Yoonjin. Her hair, newly cut and dyed to a short choppy greyish purple bob, was still something I needed to get used to. Yoonjin had failed her midterm last week and as a result decided that her hair would rejuvenate her life and, thus, her will to study. I still don’t think she’s bought her textbooks for this semester yet, but that’s not my business.

“As she should! It was your idea to start coming to these dance things, and you left me!” Despite her anger, she still turned her smoothie toward me as an offering. “I look like a loose limbed monkey in there. At least with you there, you explain the steps to me.” I choke on the smoothie a little bit, as she crosses her arms.

“Loose limbed monkey? Yoon, you look fine! These workshops are meant for people who don’t have dance experience. It was your idea to try dancing, I just found a place to do it” Her face contorts as she sips on her smoothie again, shaking it to mix it up and get some frustration out.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if people like you or Jeong-fucking-guk didn’t kept coming. It’s not fair to suck and then have to watch you two just like magically do it.” Her head gets thrown back with a thud as she grunts. Immediately I laugh and rub the back of her head in oder to soothe the soon to be ache.

“I can go if you want since you seem to not want me or Jeongguk here apparently.” Her eyes dart over to me in the most non threatening but threatening way possible for someone like her. “Okay, so I’ll stay. Make your mind up Yoonjin, I can’t keep playing these games with you.” I click my tongue against my teeth as she smacks my thigh closest to her. “You said something about Jeongguk coming right? Since when does he come out to these things? I thought he was a dance and choreography minor? Shouldn’t he be with the big dogs or something in like a real class dancing?”

Yoonjin hums, offering me the rest of her smoothie. It’s a green looking health smoothie from a self proclaimed health bar down the street. It’s for sure my favorite, and definitely not her’s, so I take it and nudge her as a thanks. “That’s the thing, I didn’t even know he went to these things. Usually I just hang out with you and everyone else who hides in the back with me, but last week he came up to me and asked if you were still coming.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise and nod for her to continue. “I told him you’ve been busy and he kinda just nodded and shuffled away. He did tell me to tell you to take it easy though.” “Were you ever planning on telling me that a boy approached you about me?”

“I'm telling you now and that’s all that matters. Besides, I thought you swore off men after the mishap freshman year with that one Tinder date.”

Immediately my face heats up, and I grimace at the memory. “We don’t talk about that for a good reason, you brat.” If she’s mad I called her a brat, her smug smile doesn’t show it. I go to open my mouth and further yell at her for bringing up the traumatizing story when a pair of black heavy boots skids to a stop by my stretched out legs.

Okay, so here's the thing about Jeon Jeongguk . He is terrifyingly good looking. So much so that looking at him hurts, like physically hurts. Jeon Jeongguk could punch me in the face and I would say thank you for the attention and bow before passing out. Okay, that’s perhaps way too far but he is attractive and built. God, is he built. And he’s not even an asshole about it! Most guys who exercise thrive on showing off their bodies and flaunting their muscles. Not Jeon Jeongguk , though., Nope! Jeongguk wears sweaters and button ups that make him resemble a Korean version of Mr. Rogers. All smiles and kind eyes with a heart of gold. Men like Jeongguk are the reason I have heart issues and top notch acting skills.

“You’re back!” My eyes blink a few times at Jeongguk before I register that he's looking at and me actually speaking. When I don’t say anything Jeongguk fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks at Yoonjin before letting out a cough. He speaks a little calmer now, more airy and rushed. “Yoonjin said you’ve been busy and I was worried you weren’t gonna come back ‘til next semester. Not that I worried about you or like not not worried about you, but uh…” He sputtered a little and lets out a small huff of air before ruffling his hair back. My lips pressed together as I swing from internally swooning over his cuteness to the attractiveness of him pushing his hair back. “It’s good so see you back. Hobi hyung, says it's good to have some experienced people in the class to encourage and help beginners.”

“Is that why you keep coming too?”

Maybe he doesn’t expect my question or for me answer him at all, but he blinks a little too hard and shyly looks over my shoulder rather than my face. It’s cute and maybe it makes a smile break out on my face. Just maybe though. “Yes! Hobi-hyung asked me to help him since he can’t uh ya know help everyone at once.” He doesn’t sound too sure of himself, but I let it go seeing as this is our first comprehensible conversation.

“That’s sweet of you to help your hyung for free. Does Hoseok-shi think I’m there to do the same? I feel a little bad missing the past two weeks if you’ve been doing it all by yourself.” I frown and pinch my eyebrows a little tighter, looking the direction of the doors. Should I apologize? Yoonjin beside me, I can tell, has grown more and more interested in our conversation as she undoubtedly is texting our group-chat with Chaebin about what's happening. She nudges me to focus when the conversation stalls a little. The nerve of her, I swear.

Jeongguk , getting redder and slightly more panicky, shakes his head no a little too roughly. His hair looks a little messed up, and I nearly squeal with the need to fix the adorable mess that he is right now. Outside, however, I just smile softly and encourage him to explain. “Hobi-hyung and I are okay, you’re just like an added bonus to class cause you know you obvious have some experience with your technic and seem to pick up the dances quickly.” It’s a little rushed, but I think I make out everything he’s saying.

“Are you trying to say I’m a good dancer Jeongguk ?” It’s meant to be lighthearted and playful, but Jeongguk physically widens his eyes and looks everywhere, but in my direction for a few seconds before he stops trying to voice anything out just nods. My hands clasp in my lap as a I suppress a smile and will the flush to disappear from my cheeks. “Thanks, you dance really well too. I can see why you’re studying dance.”

Jeongguk whispers the faintest, “Thank you,” before shoving his thumb in the direction of the door indicating that he’s gonna help them set up for the workshop. I wave goodbye and watch as he does the same and dashes behind the door. Now that he’s gone, I can breathe a little easier. That was probably the weirdest experience I’ve had today, or this week for that matter. Pretty people don’t just go up to me and talk, let alone me of all people. And when I say pretty people, I mean pretty people like Jeongguk and his pretty posse of friends. Jeongguk and his hyungs are just uncommonly so pretty and somehow together all the time. Even now Jeongguk is inside with Jung Hoseok, a graduate student who hosts the beginner dance workshops on Thursday. The fact that Jeongguk even talked to me, or asked about me last is enough to twist my insides a little. Normal people talk to people all of the time, but Jeongguk was not normal and his hyungs are not normal. I mean they are, but they project this ethereal aura that just intimidates everyone. So, why for the love of God was Jeon Jeongguk just talking to me?

“Are we gonna talk about what just happened or are you gonna keep staring at the door?”

“Shut up, I'm trying to process everything.”

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tenduw · 4 years

Text

How not to make a terrible Hetalia OC

Hi y’all, I feel like this really needs to be said, cause I was looking at different hetalia OCs the other day, and ngl many of them were, well, terrible.

First off, before I begin with my guide to making a decent oc, can I just say that any one of us can create an oc, in fact I would encourage people to. One problem with the hetalia fandom is that other than Scotland, Yugotalia and South America (somewhat) we haven’t really done our research when it comes to creating ocs and it really shows.

1) Research – I do feel like some of you spend too much time looking at stereotypes of different countries and not enough time doing actual research. I am going to show you 2 different pictures here (Example 1 and 2 are below.) Notice the difference? Someone clearly researched into the issues faced by South Africa and decided on a way to come to a neutral outcome, whilst someone else didn’t do any research and decided that a White person was the best way to represent an entire population in Africa. Please research into the culture and history of the country when deciding to create the OC as if anything that would help you to try and understand the character you are attempting to draw or write. Also look at the hetalia tumblr or Instagram tag for the character as there might be an OC that you really like! I did so, and found really cool ocs by @disaster-fruit and @portu-cale! Then if this happens, there's already an oc you can see as the country! Just make sure to contact and credit the artist in any art you may produce.

2) Ask - Also remember that research doesn’t just apply to the internet! If you have a friend or some of your family members are from that country and have been there, then ask them about the culture! Not only that, but I’d suggest you also check out the country’s reddit, as there is a bunch of stuff you can find there which helps to gain a general understanding about what might actually be offensive and what won’t be. Also, I’d check out the tumblr tag for the country as well – really interesting facts about the country tend to come up.

3) What you are creating the oc for – Are you creating an OC for a fanfiction or fanart? Depending on which one you are looking at then your research differs. Fanart requires you to be respectful towards the country, and obviously this is where most people in the fandom fall short – as you are literally drawing a representation of the country. Fanfiction in contrast tends to be more about characterisation, so rather than just make up a personality for the country, I would suggest that you read the history and facts about the country before creating a character for them. The thing about personified nations is that none of them are good or bad – they’re morally grey, so it’s important to do your research when deciding how exactly they are in this category. Patient Harmony on Fanfiction.net actually does this really well, and if you’re over 16 and are into the darker side of the fandom, I’d suggest checking them out!

4) Think – Please think about what you are creating. This is most important when it comes to two areas – Colouring and Controversy. I’ll cover those in the next two points. Just remember to think before you create – what countries should I draw cutesy fanart for and which ones should I not draw it for? Also, think about the human names for the countries. You do have to look at names from the country you are creating an oc for – why the hell would Wales’ name be Victoria or Israel’s name Tal Haviv? Giving a oc of a nation an anglicised or Americanised name or making up a name because it sounds like the nation’s capital is just plain disrespectful. Also, please do research whatever name you do end up using as for example if Mexico was called Porfirio, you might not realise the problem with the name, but most Mexican fans of the show would. So do think about what you’re coming up with – And if something doesn’t feel right, then research it!

5) Colouring – What skin tone are they? This seems to be the hardest thing for the hetalia fandom to comprehend and I can empathise to an extent. Of course, if the country is particularly diverse, such as Uganda then it will be somewhat challenging to come up with a skin tone for them. However completely whitewashing the country, like an ungodly amount of people have done with aph Mexico is ridiculous. Not everyone is white, in fact most people aren’t white – Just because you and your neighbourhood may be doesn’t mean that the entire world is! If you think that everyone is one skin tone then you need to get the hell out of whatever special rock you were living under. There are hundreds if not thousands of skin tones out there, and people do not either look like this: (is below) Or this: (is below) So if the OC you’re going to create is black, you don’t need to paint them the darkest shade of brown that you have. You also should avoid making them orange – If someone is from Africa, they are not orange! Likewise if someone is from Native America then don’t make their skin yellow! One thing in general that might help y’all out is if when creating your oc, you search on google images ‘X country people’ and see the results. JUST DON’T MAKE THE CHARACTER WHITE CAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Also, I don't know why someone created an entire south America oc, nor do I understand why people keep making statetalia ocs

6) Controversy – Now this one is going to be kind of long, but it really needs to be addressed. Just because you’re creating ocs for hetalia doesn’t mean that ALL stereotypes about the country need to be the main thing about the oc. Stereotypes about Italians loving pasta or the English loving tea are NOT the same as Mexicans being fence hoppers or the entire continent of Africa being malnourished. Like I’ve said many times already, do your research. An important thing to note, is that most of these stereotypes were made by 1st world countries and so naturally the most offensive ones are about the ethnicities that struggle to get any form of positive representation in the media. Another thing that needs to be addressed – Would you make fanart about any recent terror attacks? No? Then don’t make ocs that would have solely come about as a result of a disastrous event (e.g. Chernobyl). Also, you have to be reaaalllly careful when it comes to quite a few nations. Like Yemen and Palestine. It just feels really insensitive to draw cutesy fanart when their people are being targeted and insensitivity already is a major problem with the fandom. It’s 2020, not 2010 and it’s important to remember that!

7) Try – Another problem with the hetalia fandom is that most people just stray away from non-european countries. On google, it says there are 196 countries in the world and if you add all of the micronations, you easily have more than 200 ‘nations’. The thing is, the countries that we keep missing out all have their own histories and cultures – this is a constant. I personally see hetalia as a series which serves to show that not all history is depressing and gory – it can be funny and amusing too! And it’s not just Europe that has amusing aspects to it’s history and culture. Where’s the jollof rice war between Nigeria and Ghana? Or the confusion surrounding how many islands Indonesia has? Creating ocs for the world’s countries literally means that what you draw doesn’t need to be as limited – You can have a BRICS meeting, or have a meeting between the African Union. Hetalia literally has a worldwide fanbase and wouldn’t it be interesting if we could spread more countries to the fans outside of the canon countries in the show? Shouldn’t it be our goal as fans of a show about different nations and cultures to introduce people to as many cultures as possible? So I encourage you guys to try with hetalia OCs – Just maybe run it by other people before making it public and MAKE SURE YOU DO YOUR RESEARCH.

It isn’t hard to create an OC, in fact I’d say it’s a bit easier for hetalia because we have access to everything we need to make one.

I hope this helps ^^

#hetalia #hetalia oc #fandom #hetalia axis powers #aph ocs #aph south africa #aph israel #aph wales

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lvlyhao · 4 years

Text

「PART THREE: FAMILIARITY」

HUMANITY SERIES; Q.K

A/N: guess who forgot to update lol they’re whipped i just— also two surprise appearances hehfjfhsjh

important: i can’t think of anything??? the general warnings are in the masterlist if you wanna be sure none of them is a trigger for you!

word count: 2.8K

pairing: qian kun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

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Cussing like a sailor, you trudge towards the man, who's catching his breath by the sidewalk. His glance instantly darts to your face, about to say something. You cut him short, though, too disturbed by the fear that still clouds your every action.

“We have to leave while we can. Like right now.”

“H-how do you know I’m not infected?”, he asks, abruptly realizing something even more critical. "How do I know you are not infected?"

He backs away, then, gorgeous features closing off in hesitance. While he stares at you, you think his voice is much, much more angelic than you thought. It drips with uncertainty but is beautiful enough to make you forget how to speak for a minute.

"Uhm”, you clear your throat, now looking for your weapons. It's a good attempt at escaping his piercing eyes, but it dawns on you. He has quite literally no reasons to agree with what you were planning.

"I'm immune, actually. My DNA has some mutation that I honestly cannot explain that well. You", you pause, scanning his defensive form before going back to putting away your knives. "You are definitely clean. It's been over 15 minutes since I arrived: no walker bit you or you would have, at least, screamed. If by some chance it happened and I was not aware of it, I would have seen it in your eyes by now. It's the first part of the process", you grimace.

The guy stays silent while you speak, taking everything you say into consideration. You find it makes sense to him if his relaxed posture is anything to go by.

Finishing up with your arrows, you promptly head back to where you came from, assuming your companion is close behind.

“Wait!”, he trots, halting in front of you. “I… I don’t think I can go with you.”

You could say it's the dumbest thing you have ever heard, but your yell from earlier begs to differ.

“I can see you don't trust me, and you have no reasons to, but this is how rescue missions go. I see someone in danger, I do my best to get them away, and we go to my settlement, where we can hopefully be stronger by numbers. We can get there if we run." Your voice is borderline dull, almost like you have made that same speech 500 times in the past few days. It would have made him laugh, under different circumstances. Yet, he plainly breathes, running a grimy hand through his hair.

“It’s not that”, he peers around, lost. “I came to the pharmacy for medical supplies for one boy in my own settlement. He needs them as soon as possible, or I’m not sure I’ll be able to help him at all. Besides”, he tentatively lifts your dominant arm by the sleeve of your jacket, careful not to touch you. “We should clean that and put some bandages around it, even if I don’t have the time to stitch it up.”

You are not sure what part of his speech you should pay attention to first.

“You have a settlement?” The question bursts its way out of your mouth before you can think better, but he doesn't seem to mind. Lips curling into a proud smile, he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah, I’m currently the father of 6 children from the college I used to attend”, he snorts.

“That’s amazing! I’ve been mapping this area for some weeks now, and I never found anyone”, you smile. “I’m currently the parent of”, stopping, you count the names in your not-chewed fingers. “16 children? Around that. I swear there's a new name every time we make the roll call."

Studying his kind expression, warm under the red sunlight, you feel as if you could talk to him for hours. I'd never get bored. Your situation seems small, squeezed all the way in the back of your mind. It's clearly much less important than your attractive stranger.

Gasping quietly in realization, he sobers up. He pulls you by your jacket once more, just as delicately, and keeps you close.

“Listen, I understand you have people to take care of, but you said you could get there in time if you run. My boys are not too far from here. I think it would be safer for you to come with me for now, at least wait until morning. Otherwise", he gulps, "we will both be in more danger."

You reflect his words guardedly. You are painfully aware that the clock is ticking and each second spent here makes it a bit worse. When the sun goes down is when things get seriously nasty. The night would swallow you whole before you could get to the campus, and then your eyes would be useless. You wouldn't be able to see any walkers or even traps you came across. You'd be a sitting duck.

Sighing, you know your decision has been made.

I can only hope Taeyong forgives me for this.

With a curt nod, your free hand gestures for him to lead the way. He seems awed by how fast you agreed but decides against mentioning it. Instead, he gives you a gracious smile and goes on. He stands just past the crushed glass, where you can now see a coffee-coloured messenger bag on the once-white floor. Something seems to be fidgeting inside of it, and you stiffen.

Before you can ask about it, he drops your wrist. Picking up the bag gently, he cradles it to his chest and looks at the inside softly. He coos, speaking in a language you know to be Mandarin. That’s when it pushes out—the little, furry snout of a puppy, licking his hand and whimpering.

It's like your systems just crashed.

“You have a dog in your bag?”

Laughing briefly, he turns to you again. Cosy inside of the leather is a tiny Beagle, looking at you with bright eyes. You can't help but think it's ridiculously adorable.

“Well, not at all times. I found her wandering around here, but one of her ears was bleeding and she’s limping”, his voice lowers to a whisper, watching her with concern. “One of my boys is a vet student. I thought maybe we could help her.”

Choosing not to question it, you simply nod. The bleeding ear would explain why she stayed here even with the noise. Her hearing must be quite damaged.

“And I’m assuming the medicine or whatever you needed is also in there?”

He's serious once again, reminded of the primary reason for his trip.

“Yes, I placed it in separate pockets and smaller bags. We are good to go.”

A breeze swiftly races inside the barely lit building. It’s a warning of how fast the twilight is coming, and he takes it. His quick steps sound first, light on the ground, and he checks to see if you are coming. Understanding of his rush, you jog along.

“I didn’t forget about your hand, by the way. I know a safe spot close to here where we can stop for me to treat it.”

Staring at his broad shoulders, your breathing hitches as the throbbing in your fingers come back. Treatment would be useful before you have to amputate it, but...

“Do you know how to do that? Not to doubt your capacities or anything, but I can just clean it with some water later.”

Running to come up to his side, he playfully eyes you. He is moving so naturally along the streets you imagine he must know this route well.

“I am a med student. Uh, was, I guess.”

His striking traits are highlighted by the blue hour, hues of periwinkle ghosting over his nose, forehead, cheekbones and lips. He chuckles airily, and you are conscious of how surprised you must look.

“A med student. That’s pretty helpful, huh? I’m sure you care very well for your friends."

From the corner of your eye, you see pink spread over his face. He glances up to the sky, lost in his own head.

“I try to. Our youngest has just turned 20. I can’t imagine what it must be like to go through this at that age.”

You hum.

“I know how you feel. I’m watching over an 18-year-old”, sighing, you think back to the freshman dance student at the settlement. You pray he doesn't feel your absence so strongly, familiar to his tendency to cry.

Comfort sparks in the way your companion bumps his shoulders into yours, drawing you out of foggy thoughts. When your heart suddenly tries to break free from your ribcage, you swallow dry. Could I not find a worse moment to develop a crush?

Beating yourself over your feelings, you travel silently, sometimes admiring the starry skies. It feels nice to be like this, almost… at peace. Funny how you can feel that way around someone you barely know while touring a town full of bloodthirsty beasts.

“Ah”, he breaks the silence awkwardly. “I still don’t know your name.”

You wince at that, realizing you were forgetting about it. It's like I've known him for ages.

“Sorry. I’m Y/N”, your voice is soft, rivalling the autumn winds.

“Y/N... That’s a beautiful name”, he compliments, eyes finding yours. “You can call me Kun.”

You say his name out loud, testing it, and giggle. It feels nice in your lips.

---

The trip to the first hiding spot was fast, just a matter of minutes cruising under the starlight. The place is a dainty, small wooden cabin, right at the foot of the mountains that surround the city. All around you are bushes and fireflies, that blink over stray pieces of cars. How they got to here, in the forest, is a mystery to you, but then again, a lot of things do not make sense anymore. It's simpler to overlook it and get inside, plopping down on a rusty chair as Kun grabs a flashlight from a corner.

His hands work quickly, and with confidence, like medicine is in his blood. It's impressive, but, most of all, painless. His touch is even gentler than Tyong’s and feels warm against your cool skin. A tiny smile plays on your lips the entire time, watching him and the sleeping puppy discreetly.

After that, your wounded hand is snug against the white bandages and the sting lessened. You feel like you could go on for miles, but Kun only laughs and tells you to calm down. No way you two are running uphill to his house.

“Wait, you mean you guys live… up there?”, you point, and he follows your finger, contemplating the towering trees of the forest nonchalantly.

Seeing your dubious expression makes his heart crack a little. He understands how intimidating it is: the dark, unknown forest. Who could guess what lurks between the twigs, spying on the few, brave souls that dare cross their territory?

“I know hiding from zombies in the woods sounds a bit weird, but I promise it’s safe. They have a hard time traversing the trees because they’re so closely set. Also”, he studies the grass beneath his feet, feeling a mix of shame and hesitance himself. “We might have planted a few landmines around the perimeter.”

The sound you make then is something between a wheeze and a gasp.

“How did you…?”

“I preferred to not question when Yukhei showed up with them”, he breathes, sounding like a tired father. “There’s a protected path we’ll follow, though!” He makes a face at how he saved the most important detail for last. I have no idea what is wrong with me today.

But, Kun thinks, secretly relishing on the way you shine under the moon, if you’re scared, I’ll hold your hand.

---

The journey to his house is more serene than you guessed. There are no walkers you perceive. It's almost like this place is completely cut off from the world, far away from real danger. Although maybe that is just Kun's effect on you. You have not failed to notice how tranquillity seems to flow out of him in waves, wordlessly comforting your wild heart. It's nothing like you have ever felt.

I met him two hours ago.

Once again shaking off your feelings, you try to focus on the other things that surround you. The crickets, the faint crunch of the grass and fallen leaves, an owl, how smooth his skin could feel under your fingertips...

Oh my god, you cringe.

As you steady yourself against the trunk of an oak, your shoulders finally loosen. Not too far ahead, you can see something that resembles a ski cabin, surrounded by barbed wire, and with orange light pouring from the windows. The path you walk on is surrounded by sharp wooden stakes from both sides, but the place still feels homier than the campus.

You don't notice your grin until he smiles back, taking your hand in his and continuing the walk. You remain quiet until the ground changes from grass, pebbles and mud to beaten earth, and you stand right outside the fence. It's far taller than you, with the metal glittering intimidatingly. If the landmines had not made you feel safe, this definitely has.

Kun, still grasping your hand delicately, surrounds the house with an attentive look. He searches for something and stops a few meters from where you were. It’s always simple to find—the crossing point—and he spins to face you.

“If you don’t mind holding the bag, I can cross over first and then help you. Is that okay?”, he asks, looking for approval in your eyes.

Warmth takes over your heart at his caring nature, knowing he could have just gotten in and expected you to not hurt yourself.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

With no other words, you reach for the bag, and hug it against your chest, observing the sleeping dog in your arms. While you are distracted, Kun steps on the lower row of wire and carefully places his hands on the upper one, creating a space he can shimmy through.

He pays close attention to where the barbs were, but does it calmly, and gets to the other side with a small sigh. He then gestures to the bag, stepping on the wire once again, and passing it over with even more care than he had for himself.

The moment he takes the bag from you, you feel your fingers brushing. While you both pretend not to notice, the heat rushing to your cheeks speaks for itself. Neither one of you mention it.

Then, it's time for you to get in. You can admit you are a bit apprehensive. Kun’s frame is sturdier than yours, in general, and he was just fine, but the idea of sneaking through sharp thorns is not exactly exciting.

Kun seems to know what you feel, and gives you a sweet smile, hoping to calm your nerves. He places the bag on the ground gently, trying to keep the puppy asleep. The process, then, starts over.

One foot over the first wire, a hand on the upper one and the other stretched out for you to grab. The wind picks up abruptly, and you can't tell if you shiver from it or from the grip of his fingers on yours.

“No need to hurry”, Kun whispers, eyes trained on where your body is concerning the barbs. He, time or another, tells you to bend a little lower or higher, and pulls more at the cable. To your relief, though, all is well. After a minute of wiggling, you touch the other side of the fence and allow yourself to rest.

“You did good”, he praises, patting your hair kindly. You sort of feel like a kid, but maybe not in an unpleasant way.

Tardily letting the tiredness from the day catch up to you, your brain slows down, and your limbs ache. You had not noticed Kun was already up on his feet with the bag until a hand shows up before your eyes, a silent offer. You take it without a second thought, letting him pull you up.

From then on, your mind gave up on processing a lot of what you did. You were nearly sure you went up a row of stairs to a wooden deck, the floor squeaking under your boots. Your new friend still holds your hand securely, which you are thankful for when you trip on a loose board. His eyes examine you for a second, making sure you're alright before he turns to the door.

It is also made of wood but painted red and unyielding. Letting go of your fingers, he knocks 3 times, waits a couple seconds, and then 4 others. The house, so far still, erupts into hushed cheers and shouts. Kun can only shake his head, holding in a smile, and look up when the door flies open, candlelight spilling out. The slim figure that appears nearly throws himself in Kun’s arms, but freezes when he sees you and the bag.

“Y/N?!”

“Hendery?!”

“...You two know each other?”

---

final notes: don’t question the way the virus works. just don’t, ok

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