#bottom left corner is current project thread | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justimajin · 4 years ago

Text

Til Death Do Us Part♜Pt. 2

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.9k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: some mentions of blatant sexism (sorry)

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, December 29

You face the shining mirror that rests in the corner of the room.

The reflection that stares back at you adorns a royal blue hue of silk, the length of the dress reaching the floor and collecting into large frills at the bottom. It’s delicate to the touch, the soft velvety fabric being far from something you could have the courtesy to wear back at home.

There’s a pair of long dangling jewels hanging off from your ears; eyes fluttering over to the bright diamonds that lay on top of your fingers. Your features have been brought out with a mix of cosmetics, hair supported up into an updo that nearly makes you appear doll-like.

Your roaming eyes reach the reflected orbs in the mirror and for a silent moment, you simply stare. The sinking feeling in your stomach increases by the second, unpleasantly churning.

From the dress to the hair, everything about you reflects an elegant, posed young woman. All your efforts for tonight manifesting into one simple concept that you must grasp.

The ideal, presentable wife.

Tearing your eyes away, your pupils land on the bed you spent the night on. Last night had caught you completely by surprise, recalling Namjoon entering the room late in the evening and making his way straight over to the couch without another word. You were taken aback from the gesture, but he had immediately explained the bed was for you, even after you were given the understanding that this was your shared room.

“It’s okay.” He simply replied, nestling in before you could manage to get a single word in. You spent the entire night mulling over the interaction, thoughts running astray.

It’s strange, hearing those words slip out freely from a descendent of the Kim’s, known for taking up the role of being the next head of the family soon.

“Kim Namjoon.”

You mutter in a monotone, eyes facing straight ahead with a piercing, cutting edge in them.

“Son of the current head of the Kim family and heir to their empire. He has been steadily growing in the past couple of years and has been slowly taking over the reins and responsibilities. Is identified as being cunning, highly intelligent and a triumphing force as the soon to be leader.”

Your cold eyes look up at the projected image, absorbing and memorizing in his piercing gaze and strong features.

Although you speak with firm conviction, the next words dwindle like your resolve.

“And,” You suck in a harsh breath, “My future h-husband.”

“Y/N?”

Your shoulders immediately jolt, eyes rounding into large saucers. Gyrating around, Namjoon stands at the door frame, a bashful smile crossing his lips.

“Are you ready?” He softly asks.

You still gaze back at him in surprise, a deep crease forming between your brows the longer you stare. Suddenly blinking, you become aware of your silence and nimbly nod in response.

He awkwardly reaches his arm out and you tilt your head to the side, puzzled with the gesture. He does it again and that’s when life flickers into your irises again, snapping right into action as you promptly walk towards him.

Looping your hand around his arm, you tread out of the room uniformly, like you’ve done this plenty of times before. Heading down the stairs, Namjoon looks straight ahead, not noticing the subtle gaze you throw in his direction from the corner of your eye.

Cunning, highly intelligent and a triumphing force…

He waits at the bottom of the staircase, letting you slowly step down with your long heels.

Although he smiles, you narrow your eyes in dismay.

But sweet and innocent is all that Kim Namjoon is…

***

The venue is grand and extravagant, a long hall that spreads out and is decorated with strung lights. It’s appearance along with the sheer volume of people clustered around it is overwhelming, but Namjoon eventually leads you away into the far corner where his family is. His mother immediately spots you right away, eyes brightening.

“Y/N, you look beautiful!” She goes for a hug right away and the corner of your mouth tug up, embracing her in return. Glancing over at Namjoon, she leans forward. “Make sure to introduce her to everyone properly, okay?”

He nods right away and reaches his elbow again for you to hold onto. Meekly following alongside him, from a distance away anyone can see the timidness you emit in your shrinking posture and the heavy reliance you place in being glued to your husband’s side.

But no one notices the way your eyes are especially sharpened for this evening, surveying the faces you meet like you had the intention of memorizing each and every one.

“This is Kim Yooseon.” Namjoon explains, “He helps my father make deals with other organizations.”

Yooseon smiles brightly at you and reaches his hand out, “Pleased to meet you, Y/N.”

Your lids flutter down, a glint sparking in your eyes.

“Kim Yooseon. A valuable asset to the Kim’s because of his diplomatic and direct ways of making deals. However, despite this, he’s known to be an avid gambler and drove some of the company's stocks into the ground with his constant and tedious meddling.” You robotically state.

“The Kim’s greatly respect him, but will not hesitate to dispose of him if he meddles again.”

You reach forward, a smile plastering onto your lips. “The pleasure is all mine.”

With a simple wave, Namjoon guides you to the next guest. “Meet Lee Jeonghoon. He’s recently begun to work with my family in the business and helping progress some of the latest models that have arrived.”

Your brows knit together.

“I’ve heard many of rumours about you, Miss Y/N.” He raises his hand out for you and gives you a lop-sided grin. “Marrying one of the Kim’s must have been a real change.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle and there’s a twinkle that flashes in them. You take his hand with a meek smile.

“Lee Jeonghoon. Married into the Kim family and has openly taken part in the family business despite not being a member that descended through them. Proclaims to have helped the empire considerably but rumours have spread that he keeps one firm leg in the black market, illegally selling merchandise behind the family’s back.”

You quirk an eye up at the information, “The Kim’s have been aching to get rid of him at the next opportunity....”

“I’m hoping all those rumours have been the good ones,” You remark, “and a big change or not, I am here to stay.”

His brows furrow and you steal a glance at Namjoon, noting that he still keeps the same smile lined on his lips. His pupils suddenly round and glimmer, directly you away in an instant.

“We’ll see you around.” He quickly mutters, leading you into a group of four men. Your eyes perk up at Namjoon’s sudden haste for your introduction, but once you come face to face with the group, your eyes are left widening.

“And these are our companies biggest shareholders.” He proudly announces. Your vision stalls, colour immediately draining from your features and breath hiking up.

The one clad in a red suit and matching red hair immediately smirks, his sharp gaze sending chills down your spine. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He raises his drink in his hand, supposedly giving you best wishes. “I’m Kim Taehyung.”

“Jeon Jungkook.” The one adorned all in black adjacent to him simply replies.

You hesitantly nod, eyes roaming over to the remaining two.

“I’m Min Yoongi.” He looks utterly disinterested, sharp eyes barely meeting yours as he points next to him, “And this is Jung Hoseok.”

He half-smiles at the mention of his name, a playful look dancing in his eyes. You suck in a deep breath, sight fluttering between the four of them.

“Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook. Min Yoongi. Jung Hoseok.”

“Namjoon’s closet men….” You carefully repeat, eyes narrowing as your voice drops down into a voice.

“But also the most dangerous individuals working underneath the Kim’s…”

“I-It’s great to meet all of you.” You stutter out, only being met with darkened gazes and pleased smiles. Your heart rate begins to extend tenfold and before you can excuse yourself, a voice comes intruding in.

“You’ve got a real treasure there, Namjoon.” Jeonghoon remarks, treading his way closer to you. He nearly stumbles on his way, a large drink in his hands and a lisp coating his words. “It’s a shame though, having such a pretty wife that’s just going to cook and clean for you all day.” He loudly laughs, placing a hand on his chest, “Oh well, I suppose it’s good to have someone around to take care of you.”

There’s a stiff expression on your features, pupils slowly beginning to boil with every word he sputters out. However, you contradict those reactions with a forced smile on your lips.

Unfortunately, it seems to rile him up even more, “She’s also a L/N on top of it!” He shakes his head as if Namjoon just offered him a hilarious joke, “At least her beauty compensates for it.”

He does what you least expect ‒ his arm snaking around your waist instantly as his foul-smelling breath is merely inches away from your face. You recoil away in an attempt to avoid him, but another arm instantly pulls you close, your form pressing right against his.

“She is very beautiful.” Namjoon softly says, keeping you near him. You blink, stunned by the sudden gesture, but that’s when you glance up and notice the look Jeonghoon holds.

He appears to be between a fine line of incredibly speechless and downright startled, yet there’s something hidden in his expression, something writhing underneath that has your pupils dilating.

A subtle layer of fear lingers in him, form beginning to slowly shrink away. He ends up awkwardly clearing his throat, taking a sip out of his drink as a flush of red radiates in his skin.

You raise an eyebrow, turning to glance at Namjoon. Although Jeonghoon has taken you aback, Namjoon has your eyes completely widening.

Although his tone was soft, the look in his eyes speak of a different story. They’re cold and sharpened, a parallel between menacing and utterly baneful. His jaw is considerably tensed, lips settled into a line of muted fury.

For some reason, your breath hitches as your irises are stricken by horror. You were expecting a lot of things ‒ potential more jabs at your gender, or a handful of more mentions of the family you belonged to, all while your husband would be lingering nearby and staying compliant.

But you weren’t expecting this, for him to abruptly intervene and even grab onto you, all while seeming like he had murderous intent brewing behind his eyes.

He suddenly faces you and you jolt in his arm.

“Shall we go meet some more guests?” He inquires. You’re appalled at the way his gaze has dipped into a warm one again, words softening.

Nodding, you aimlessly loop your arm around him and let him take you away from the group after he says the two of you will catch up with them later. You’re almost stuck in a daze as he does so, mind still swimming with the interaction.

“Y/N?”

You immediately look up, expecting a new guest to be in front of you. Much to your surprise, you’re off in a corner with barely any people in sight.

“I’m sorry.” When you turn to Namjoon, your arm is still looped in with his and his voice drops down into a whisper. “I couldn’t speak up in front of the shareholders, nor reprimand Jeonghoon for his behaviour because of all the guests, but I want you to know that I don’t believe in any of those things he said about you.”

Your brows draw together, lips falling in astonishment, “You’re my wife now, and I hope you understand that means I see you as being my equal partner.”

Namjoon looks expectantly at you and the words start tumbling from your mouth, “U-Uh yes, I-I do understand….”

He tenderly smiles, “Good.” He scans around the hall, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the representatives of the company.”

Even though you nod in response, the conversations fly over your head completely for the rest of the evening. Your mind remains clouded, and you know it’s all due to one person when your eyes unconsciously drift over to the man you’re eternally bound to.

***

Your morning breezes by before you know it. There’s an endless roster of individuals' names and profiles hovering over your head, individuals that you know desperately need to be reported.

You sweep through the house within seconds after overhearing that Namjoon has to leave for work soon, heading straight for your bedroom when there are zero servants in sight. With a quick turn, the door is tightly shut and firmly locked.

Digging around your belongings, your hands curl around the small box-container, immediately switching it on and awaiting for static. Once you’re given the cue, your knocking begins to resonate against the walls.

You disclose everything; the people you’ve met, their behaviours they have, even information regarding the members of the family you’ve been given the chance to associate with. Static crackles every now and then as you do so, and when you’re finished giving out all the information you’ve obtained, it begins to fizzle out longer.

A message. You cease your signaling, patiently waiting to decode all of it.

A frown lines your lips.

You’re aware the message you receive will dictate the next course of action you will take, but this certain one is jarring for you.

Keep a close eye on the shareholders...and gain their favour?

They want you to interact with the most dangerous members of the Kim empire, and get them to like you?

You almost wonder if you perhaps decoded the wrong message, but you know more than to question the motive and instead to blindly follow.

As you start to send a confirmation back, the sound of knocking against the door sends a jolt through you. Immediately you rush to hide the device in the confines of your belongings, hands uncontrollably tremouring and fumbling as you do so.

Another knock resounds through the door, this time louder. You get up with a huff, hovering your hand over the lock. Taking a deep breath, you attempt to steady your accelerating heart rate, a natural innocent look conjugating in your eyes.

Namjoon stands in front of you when you open the door, his eyes narrowed and a finger pressed against his pursued lips.

“Namjoon?” He instantly freezes and looks up with perplexed orbs, as if he didn’t even realize you had opened the door.

“I hope I’m not bothering you, I just needed to grab some things before leaving.” He earnestly says and you shake your head.

“Not at all.” You widen the door for him, “I was just about to change.”

The white lie slips out with ease and relief spreads within you as he simply nods, entering into the room.

Following behind him, you clasp your hands together, alternating between your heels.

“So you’re heading off to work now?”

“Ah, yes.” His voice is muffled and echoes, so you suppose he’s walking around and grabbing things, “There’s an important meeting I have to attend today with the shareholders, so I have to be there.”

“Is that so?” You keenly ask, a glint residing in your irises. Namjoon hums from far away, emerging from the corner of the closet with a briefcase.

“It might take a while so I hope you won’t be bored.” He apologetically smiles, knowing that his family had already long departed.

You reassure him right away, “I’ll be fine.”

He nods in retaliation, bidding you a goodbye before rushing out the door. Your gaze remains fixated on it, a thousand thoughts emerging from your mind.

You have to get access to that meeting.

***

“Ah, drat!” Eungoo ticks, watching the white feathery carpet eagerly soak up the spreading red residue. Swinging her head left and right, she peers around for any cleaning supplies she can come across. Heading in the route of the kitchen, her eyes instantly perk up at the sight of a familiar silhouette.

“Miss Y/N!” A huge smile stretches across her lips, and she ecstatically sprints over into your direction. You spin around, alarmed by the sudden call of your name until Eunjoo reaches, beaming at you. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I was just walking around.” You truthfully admit, mind still swirling on the prospect of a plan. Although Namjoon had already left a while ago, you’re wondering if there was any way for you to show up to his office for the meeting without looking intrusive or suspicious. “I also started feeling famished, so I came to the kitchen for something to eat.”

“You should have just told me!” Eunjoo protests, placing her hands on her hips, “As my master’s wife, I am here to serve you and him.” Her bright eyes beam at you, twinkling with excitement, “So please, if there’s anything you need, do not hesitate to ask!”

You warmly smile, and she hurriedly ushers you to sit down, proclaiming that there will be no need for you to enter the kitchen when she’s around. As you watch her from afar prepare something for you, the memory of you cooking yourself abruptly emerges, reminding you of times when your family was struggling. There wasn’t much food to share to begin with, alongside the downside that your kitchen was always faulty and broken down, an occasional oven that wouldn’t heat up or a simple stove that would spark too much when turned on. As a result, your parents would turn to the roaring fireplace in your home to cook and heat your food as you would eagerly wait for them to give you something.

“Here you are, Miss Y/N!” Eunjoo hurriedly presents you a tray of salivating foods, breaking you out of your daze and placing them in front of you. She patiently watches you lift a tart to your lips and take a bite out of it, your eyes instantly lighting up.

“It’s delicious.” You whisper and Eunjoo tenderly smiles. “I...I never had the pleasure of eating things like this…”

Eunjoo’s smile drops and you swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat.

“Uh, I-” Eunjoo bites down on her bottom lip, lowering her head, “I don’t know if I’m in the position to ask you this.”

“What is it?”

She cautiously peers up at you, “I’ve heard rumours,” Her hands raise up in defense, “Just rumours, about the L/N’s and um,” A regretful wince passes through her, like she was still aware of the implications her words will bring, “T-That the L/N’s weren’t doing so well after their dispute with the Kim’s.”

Eunjoo quickly glances at you again, knowing she was treading on thin ice. However, her form eases down when she notices the tender look in your eyes.

“The L/N’s and the Kim’s haven’t agreed on many things regarding each other,” You note, and Eunjoo hums, “But what you are saying is true, the L/N’s lost a lot of their power and as the generations went by, so did much of our wealth.”

“Our company started to tank soon afterwards and the only thing holding my family together was when my father started making deals with other organizations to keep the company afloat.” A bitter smile lines your lips, “But ultimately, it wasn’t enough.”

“The union…” Eunjoo whispers, following through with the next best option.

“Right.” You muse, “If the two families could unite, a lot of our problems would be resolved.” Despite lying being something that should come easy to you, your stomach twists with the next tidbit you give to Eunjoo, “So I will do anything in my power to make sure this union will go as smoothly as possible.”

“That’s wonderful.” She lights up again, “You and the Master will be great together.”

At the mention of Namjoon, your eyes narrow. “You’ve known him for quite a while….”

Eunjoo eagerly nods, “What is he like for you?”

“Well, Master Kim is actually a lot of things.” She giggles as if fond memories were being drawn back into her head again, “He’s kind and generous, amidst a little clumsy at times, but he has a big heart.” She plants her hands against her face, dreamily gazing at you, “I definitely think the two of you will fall in love soon.”

You nearly choke on the tart you were chewing, a chain of coughs immediately slipping out of you. Eunjoo leans forward to hand you a glass of water that you gratefully accept, but it doesn’t take away the deep red flush that scatters over your complexion.

“Too soon?” She wonders, a pout resting on her lips.

You shake your head, awkwardly laughing. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not too sure if it will be soon per se, but-” You fixate your stare onto her, carefully surveying, “You’ve never seen him, I don’t know, angry?”

“Angry?” She tilts her head to the side, like the idea itself was appalling, “Master Kim doesn’t really get angry. Maybe frustrated at most?”

You hum, hand resting underneath your chin. Eunjoo’s eyes suddenly widen, glancing down at the tray she brought for you.

“I’ll bring you seconds!” She hurriedly picks it up and you gyrate forward to tell her you weren’t hungry anymore, but she happily skips away before you can get the opportunity. Left waiting for another platter coming your way, her voice abruptly breaks through the silence.

“Again!? How many times has it been now??”

You crane your head towards the kitchen, “What’s wrong?”

“This!” She points to a particular black box in her hand, “Master Kim forget his lunch again.”

“Oh.” Eunjoo grumbles, staring at the box in dismay. Suddenly a light goes off in your head, eyes considerably widening.

You get up onto your feet, “Do you know where his office is?”

“Of course I do, it’s right by th-” She squints her eyes, “Wait, Miss Y/N.....do you perhaps want to give it to him?”

A warm smile curls on your lips, “Why not? He doesn’t have anything to eat and I would love to help.”

The underlying intention in the suggestion flies right over Eunjoo’s head, her mind filling with thoughts of the two of you getting closer instead. Without hesitation, she gives you the box and grants you careful instructions on how to get to the company’s office, all while coaxing you to bring her along in case you get lost. You reassure her on the matter, reminiscing that you should be just fine and that she has nothing to worry about.

Departing from the house, you’re ready to put your plan into action.

***

A knock resounds against the metallic door.

You sway from side to side, eyes roaming around. The building wasn’t difficult to find despite Eunjoo’s warnings that you could get easily lost, as it was the same building that had been drilled into your head on numerous occasions through darkened photographs and routes ‒ the only difference now really being that you were seeing it in person for the first time. It’s just how you would have imagined, a meek and busy infrastructure filled with multiple offices, or at least, that’s what it should appear to be like.

“Come in.” A familiar voice beckons. Pushing your hand against the exterior, you enter into the room.

Namjoon’s office is surprising. You were expecting it either to be neatly organized and micromanaged like the rest of the building, but instead it appears as if a whirlwind had gone by. Namjoon seems to reflect the chaos in the room, his tie hanging low and eyes frantically scanning papers before glancing up at you.

His gaze freezes, and he abruptly gets up from his chair, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Y/N?” He attempts to shuffle away from the desk and hurries over to you, “What are you doing here?”

You raise your hand, displaying the bag you’ve been carrying, “Eunjoo said you didn’t have lunch today.”

“O-Oh, I see.” For a moment, he twists and turns, glancing around his office. You wonder why he seems so flustered, but then you suddenly recall the meeting he told you before.

The hunch seems to hit the mark, because there’s soon another knock pounding against Namjoon’s door, this time heavier.

“Come in.” He hurriedly says and the door swings open, revealing a tall man with bright red locks. His gaze falls onto you in an instant and the playful smile that was once lining his lips drops into a scowl.

Namjoon steps forward, “Taehyung, I’m assuming you remember Y/N.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply continuing to stare at you. The sharp gaze of his reminds you of this morning, chills transcending down your back again.

“What is she doing here?” He sharply questions, craning his head over to Namjoon now.

“She just came to give me my lunch.” Namjoon states, but the door creaks wider and more individuals emerge in his office.

You recognize them right away as the remaining shareholders and unconsciously, you acclaim yourself for getting here in time.

The rest of them seem to share the same discontentment as Taehyung, a few glares and puzzled looks getting sent your way. Yet Namjoon is unaffected, gesturing for all of them to enter inside without a second thought.

Taehyung is still staring at you, as if you would eventually pick up the cue to leave.

You don’t move the slightest.

He clears his throat, eyes meeting Namjoon’s. The latter’s stare dips into a colder one, his words having a cutting edge to them.

“It’s better in here than out there.” Your brows knit together and suddenly Taehyung shifts, planting himself down on a chair in silence. The remaining shareholders do the same and you realize that unwillingly on Namjoon’s request, you are going to stay for the meeting.

“The stocks have been down lately, I don’t think the recent deal made with Jinyoung was wise.” Yoongi states, staring at Namjoon intently.

“That was made at my father’s request.” Namjoon clarifies, rubbing his hands together. Jungkook leans over, reaching out and planting a bag in Namjoon's hands.

“It has all the details about the deal.” Yoongi narrows his eyes, “Didn’t you know about this?”

Namjoon averts his eyes and Yoongi leans back in his chair, keenly eyeing him.

“You’re the next heir.”

“I know.” Namjoon immediately says, stare remaining on the ground. You notice there’s a stifling silence in the room, none of the five individuals daring to speak up.

Taehyung clears his throat, throwing a sharp side eye in your direction.

“I’ve also heard that the L/N’s haven’t been doing so well.” He crosses his arms with a grin, “Their company is on the verge of plummeting.”

Yoongi hums, “It won’t be surprising if the company destroys itself all together.”

“Won’t that be something interesting to see?” Hoseok shares Taehyung’s smile but instead of being subtle, he cranes his head back and stares directly at you.

Your hands fidget, words practically begging to escape your lips. But you remain silent, merely standing near them as a spectator.

“They’ve got like what? Two-three years until they’ll disappear?” Hoseok ponders.

“More like one.” Yoongi states, “And even that’s being generous.”

“Right.” Hoseok enunciates, a half-smile curling on his lips, “Well, I can’t say they didn’t have it coming. Their past endeavours will surely make up for it.”

“They’re salvaging whatever they can - the head is investing every penny he has into his stocks to raise the company’s value and has done whatever it takes to ensure nothing crumbles down!”

Small huffs are leaving your lips, your chest rising and falling. All eyes remained glued to you, a range of perplexment and stunned expressions greeting you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “The head is trying to raise the company’s value?”

Taehyung leans forward, resting a hand underneath his chin, “With his stocks?”

Your heart drops, “I-I’ve admired my father’s work a lot.” Breath growing thin, you meekly whisper, “He’s still trying....”

Looking up, you notice all the shareholders still appear dismayed with your sudden outburst. However, the person you least expected to intervene, steps forward.

“Do you think there’s a chance the company can be saved?”

You’re taken aback with Namjoon's sudden question, wondering if he was perhaps throwing on a facade in front of key members of his company. He leans closer to you, eyes desperately searching around your features like he was searching for an answer he had long lost hope for.

You slowly nod, and he exhales in relief, “What is your father planning to do if he can’t salvage enough money? Does he have a back up plan?”

“Namjoon.” Hoseok hisses, akin to a warning tone. Namjoon doesn’t pay any attention though, his eyes remaining on you.

In that one moment, it strikes you that the road to the shareholders is farther than you could have even imagined, but there’s a much simpler road, one that has always presented itself to you and that has the potential of being even safer and rewarding.

269 notes · View notes

smalltragedy · 4 years ago

Text

* herman tommeraas, cis man + he/him | you know donovan mercer, right? they’re twenty one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, four months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to ice boy by corbin like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole fear hidden behind a stoic stare, bleeding from your nose and from your gums, and the night sky with all its stars, with all its mystery and unknown thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 15th, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

looks away as i finally post his intro after being kinda awol fr however long. i love him a lot n hes also bri’s character mercy’s younger brother so u hv to be nice to him. think abt mercy’s life. then think abt ducky. im sry in advance tht his intro’s a little longer ive hd ducky fr like. a year or two n i’ve been playing him a While <3 as always like this if u’d like 2 plot n i’ll try 2 msg u bck bt otherwise im gna just hop right into threads bc obv i need to. change my methods.

ABUSE, VIOLENCE, DRUG ABUSE, EYE INJURY, GANG MENTIONS TW.

mini playlist.

father ;; the front bottoms / ice boy ;; corbin / lose yourself ;; eminem / my own worst enemy ;; lit / say it ain’t so ;; weezer / maps ;; yeah yeah yeahs / star stopping ;; lil peep / benz truck ;; lil peep / trauma ;; nf / northern downpour ;; panic! at the disco / your graduation ;; modern baseball.

statistics.

full name: donovan mercer.

nickname(s): ducky.

birthday: march 15th, 1999.

zodiac: pisces sun, aquarius moon, aquarius ascending.

mbti & temperament: intp & theorist / phlegmatic.

label: the despondent.

hometown: hell’s kitchen, new york.

sexuality: bisexual (bt not out).

pinterest.

biography.

born in hell’s kitchen to vinny mercer and a mother who ran out of the hospital as fast as she could, as soon as she was able. she’d gone so quick that she’d never given ducky a middle name - just donovan. the younger brother of mercy (shoutout 2 bri)

his father’s the right-hand man of a well known mob boss named lars amaretto, and so, you can imagine the kind of environment ducky (& mercy) grew up in. weapon & drug dealings, interrogations, violence around every corner. a brutal way of living, no place to raise two children.

implied abuse tw // their father was not kind, or merciful - and ducky was a runt compared to mercy, small and sensitive and kinder than his brother. weak, and filled with softness, with big brown eyes and a smile that should’ve been able to melt ice - but it didn’t. and it never did.

he cried often, and was punished often for it until he learned to stop crying - at least in front of their father, and mercy too, at some point. only in the comfort of his room, with doors locked and blinds drawn closed. implied abuse end of tw

he dreamed, too, dreamt often. he’d been obsessed with outer space since childhood, as long as he could remember. school had once shown man landing on the moon, and ducky wanted that. wanted to be that, wanted to be there, up with the stars, discovering the unthinkable.

abuse mention // but it was discouraged, heavily so - projects destroyed by an angry fist only to be reconstructed to the best of ducky’s ability, with mercy’s help, all throughout the night. he’d saved up for a telescope when he was thirteen, but it’d been destroyed almost immediately when discovered. not a day went by that their father didn’t tell ducky that he was, first and foremost, stupid - and would always be. end of abuse mention

to the point where he stopped trying, simply. he never graduated high school.

abuse mention // anxiety mention // anyways … at the age of fifteen, he’d have enough. he was sick of the abuse, the pain - the crying behind closed doors, the sneaking around, the constant feeling of needing to escape, impending doom, anxiety attacks in the shower and in school bathrooms and at the back of the bus where nobody sat besides him because he was - that boy, the son of that man, the brother of that brute. he’d been a teenager and he’d already been an outcast by all means - an outcast in his family, no matter how hard he tried to appease vinny, and an outsider everywhere else.

the plan took months of preparation, paper ripped out from the back of his school notebook and stuffed beneath his mattress, details of his escape from a checklist of essential items to makeshift maps of bus routes to different cities.

all for nothing, the moment vinny discovered it, the edge of a map sticking out after a rushed morning.

heavy abuse tw // violence tw // it’d been the same day he’d gotten the nickname - ducky - the way the wound wrapped below his mouth, and the way it’d begun to heal - puckered, at first, like a duck’s bill. a better name than eyepatch, at the very least. the scar’d run from the arch of his left brow, across his eye, down his cheek, and below his lip. his eye sustained injury, and not allowed to see a doctor about it, it never healed properly.

eye injury // corneal scarring, impairing his left eye. astronaut dreams destroyed, but not in a matter of seconds. in the matter of an hour, maybe more - and that’d been much, much worse.

he stopped trying to run away after that. tried to be more like their father, more like mercy - more brutish, less feeling. spoke less, and less. spoke hardly at all, unless spoken to first.

still didn’t matter. still lived his days in fear, still knew it’d never change. nothing would ever change.

the mercer brothers have been floating around the north carolina scene for ~5ish years now, trailing after their father who is consistently chasing after their mother with no luck. they’re currently residing in palm motel. can we get a hell yeah?

personality & facts.

he’s actually very? intimidating? when you first meet him. mercy’s younger brother, with a criminal’s record almost as long as his - a scarred face and a mean resting face. it takes at least five minutes of conversation beyond small talk before it starts to weigh on your mind that maybe, he’s not as bad as he seems.

and - well, he isn’t. but he’s guarded - so guarded. more-so than mercy, because mercy’s quicker to anger, quicker to react, and ducky tries so hard to drown out the noise. but he’s not a robot, and his facial expressions can give him away in a second.

he’s seen what happened when mercy had a glimpse of something good in his life (though, it wasn’t actually good at all - mercy had someone, at least. at the very least) - and how quickly it’d all fallen, and so ducky puts a barrier between him and others. distant, as much as he can be.

it hurts, because ducky isn’t by any means antisocial. he doesn’t hate people - he wants to be normal, wants to have friends and a girlfriend - or maybe even a boyfriend, god - but he’s so afraid. ducky is, by nature, a very scared person. terrified to his very core. he knows there is always eyes on him, and mercy too, and he knows that nothing is worth getting someone else hurt.

you know him as mercy’s little brother, and he’s quiet you know that - but his name is ducky, and you think - he’s not too bad. and he knows this, knows the doubts. knows that it’ll get back to mercy, eventually, that his brother is nothing more but a pussy. so he fights more than he’d like to, against the guilt that buries itself deep within his chest with every thrown fist. he throws up, afterwards, in the garbage can outside. too much to drink, he says, rare grin - because grins are convincing, and grins with bleeding gums are intimidating. he learned that from his brother.

violence makes him sick to his very stomach. he can’t watch horror films, or even action films, without feeling queasy. there’s been more times than he can count where he’d thrown up after a fight, or after an interrogation, usually in private but in the occasional presence of mercy.

they fight, a lot, sometimes - ducky’s too soft, too weak, and it’s bad and it’s terrible and ducky knows that mercy’s afraid. for him, of their father, and his wraith. ducky knows that if mercy isn’t hard on him now, their father will be on him harder. still. there’s resentment, small but there, like the flame of a match. he doesn’t know what’ll happen when there’s nothing more to burn, but he doesn’t want to find out. he’s afraid to find out.

he’s still in love with the moon and the stars, and the planet’s - and their moons, too. its subdued, now, though. a silent passion - one that is often not watered, left for rot. he sneaks into engineering lectures at the community college, occasionally, or physics, or whatever peeks the small curiosity inside of him.

commits small acts of kindness when nobody looks. doors held open, the meals of elderly folk eating alone suddenly paid. picks up litter besides trash bins, and always cooks extra than what he needs and leaves the rest for mercy. it’s these small things that make him feel, just the slightest, better about himself.

because god - there are layers and layers of self-loathing. it’s a labyrinth, and he’d never speak of it - but he can’t stand his own reflection. doesn’t keep photos of his family, only a few sparingly of mercy.

a liar, sad to say. has little experience with. ehem. intimacy, and the bodies of others, but lies often and says that he does. mostly to his brother, but word travels quick - and he’s not nearly as much as a fuckboy as is rumored, having only been with a handful of girls, if even that. it’s better this way - if people know that he throws others away like they’re nothing.

he ghosts often, too, if he does get to talking with anybody. the moment ducky feels a spark, something pulling at his poor heart, he ghosts. he develops feelings too easily, too often than he’d like. has left many friendships without explanation, because of this. you know the priest in fleabag season 2? the scene where he comes to fleabag’s house? yeah. tht’s ducky!

has maybe half the amount of clients that mercy does, but he’s working on it.

pretends he doesn’t care as much as he does. pretends a lot, like there’s nothing soft to him. but a trained eye can see clearly through this. even so - even if you can see that there’s more to ducky than violence and drug deals - you’d still have to break through a dozen walls.

in the rare occasion you get him talking - i mean, talking a lot - he’ll talk about space. ramble off a dozen useless facts about dwarf stars and black holes and all of jupiter’s moons. about a video game he likes, about nothing and everything at all. but as soon as he begins, he stops - embarrassed. apologizes, shuts his mouth, disappears to wherever. anywhere but there.

drug abuse // has a. complicated relationship with benzos n xanax n a various assortment of painkillers. ironic bc he hates drugs due to. his chosen career n wldnt do most of what they sell, bt yknow. this ws inevitable. hates beer bt forces himself 2 drink it bc toxic masculinity probably man idk.

overall just … he’s a soft boy, with a big heart - bigger than anybody else in his family, that’s for sure, but his exterior is far different than that, and it’s hard to tell.

violence mention // purposely loses fights so that he doesn’t have to severely hurt someone. because sometimes he just - he was raised in a violent environment, and sometimes he snaps. sometimes ducky just fucking snaps. and his vision goes red, and he can’t control himself - because need to survive kicks in, and violence is all he knows. if someone pushes ducky - pushes him enough, he breaks. he fights back. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows. it’s all he knows, and that’s not an excuse - and he knows this, and god, he’s so tired. he is so. tired.

wanted plots.

u look good tonight ... ;; wld love a connection in which he is feeling emotionally compromised n maybe kinda hs a thing w someone bt hes like. very unreliable n kinda ghosting bc he is very afraid n it wld b maybe bad fr them to b anything other than hook ups. cld apply to smth very intensive or smth very surface lvl i’ll take thousands.

palms sweaty ... moms spaghetti ... ;; ppl tht ducky just hs fkn brawled. cld b anybody fr any reason. ducky prob lost n he prob lost on purpose bt also ur muse cld maybe kick ducky’s ass? cld b a fake fight cld b a real fight. cld b a npc fight n then ur muse cn patch up ducky? possibilities endless. maybe they hv a nice spaghetti dinner n both of them r both bruised up frm their fight. sometimes fights end in spaghetti dinners. thanks eminnem or whatever.

own worse enemy... ;; ducky needs friends bt hes bad at making friends n sometimes he fks shit up by pushing ppl away n self sabotaging n being a major cunt n sometimes he just ghosts bt hes always very remorseful abt it? this cld b a very like. up n down friendship of any type its just. where do they stand. r they friends. r they enemies. r they lovers? probably not lovers. prob just platonic. but still its the thought tht counts.

and also ;; literally just like. anything. clients who buy off of him n like. casual friends n casual enemies n casual hookups. ppl hes ghosted. ppl hes embarrassed himself in front of. maybe ur muse tries to get ducky to socialize or maybe ducky is like. u are too much fr me. n ur muse runs off crying. endless possibilities all u hv to do is call this number now.

#abuse tw #violence tw #drug abuse tw #gangs mention #eye injury tw #irvingintro #( ducky mercer. ) about. / ice boy.#sighs sm #also sry fr hw embarrasingly late this is #did i even spell tht rigth? no #did i spell tht one right? bno.#fuck.

18 notes · View notes

regardingseas · 4 years ago

Text

Ttile: Echoed Vexations (Part One, part two linked)

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Rating: Teen and up audiences (violence warning)

AO3: here! (Full story at once)

•••

Plot Summary:

It's all too easy to turn a blind eye to the past-- to believe that because someone has been shielded from harm's way, they should no longer fear the wrath of their opponent's creed. They're safe now, after all, so why would they..?

Yes, Scar and Cub are certainly "safe", but they're still haunted by memories of the Vex and their deals all the same.

An average afternoon during the HCB Base Swap is cut short when Mumbo accidentally digs up a remnant from Scar's Vex partnership days, and unfortunately for the town's mayor, the other Hermit is far from aware just how triggering the topic can truly be. Things only dissolve from there, and in the end, Grian lends a helping hand to console a friend.

•••

Additional Content Warnings:

Depictions of trauma disorders, panic attacks, flashbacks, paranoid thoughts/delusions, manipulation, gaslighting, threats, injury, and violence. Mentions of religious themes, unintentional self-harm, and non-permanent character death.

Do be careful, but otherwise, enjoy!

•••

The sun was still high in the sky even as Scar finished decorating the monument's support chains, sweltering rays beaming down and adding to the oppressive humidity of the jungle around him. With his usual jacket set aside to fight the heat, he wiped away the beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead and grabbed a stray bucket from the sidelines. He'd nearly finished the waterfall aspect of the design-- crystal blue streams cascading over the edges of four white spanners, all joining together in the octagonal pool at the base's foundation. It was looking quite spectacular, if he were to say so himself, with the vine-coiled braces and additional water currents tying the otherwise juxtaposing themes together nicely.

Scar scooped up a fresh pail of water, filling it to the brim and hauling it towards the last pillar. He glanced down at the container as he carried it, catching a glimpse of his reflection from the liquid inside. His face shone red with effort, misplaced strands of hair having clung themselves to his tan skin.

Though unsurprised, he still couldn't help but laugh at the rippling image. "It's just my luck I'd swap with another jungle dwelling Hermit. I swear, I can never escape this climate for long. First the island last year, then all this."

With a shake of his head he returned his gaze upwards, continuing to muse aloud to the landscape before him, "You tropics are wonderful and all, but it sure would've been a nice change of pace to set up camp in somewhere like the mountains. Or pull total 180 and have landed in the tundras!"

Concepts for each design raced through his head, each idea fighting the others for dominance and tacking details onto itself, trying to land its place on the metaphorical pedestal of his imagination. A cottage with medieval influences? No, that would be far too typical, amp both of those components up. An entire village with a steampunk driven aesthetic, built into the mountainscape itself; no doubt with custom terraforming to integrate the buildings into the natural environment. That was more like it.

Scar could envision working windmills and waterwheels accompanying purposefully makeshift farmlands, historic blimps having reclaimed skies where they'd soar high overhead. Below them, eye-catching pops of colour, shining through as floating lanterns that hover above connective rope bridges.

As for the arctic concept? Something more grand would be ideal. In his fantasy, he'd created an absolute oxymoron of the words cabin and mansion jumbled together, and he adored it that way. A bottom floor made of bricked stone, the top made of logs and large windows to oversee the view. Accompanying them in the same manner would be a balcony, propped on columns that hugged the building and curved around its corners. The top deck would be open for clear days, and the space below it safe on harsher ones. Sloped roofs would be adorned with chimneys, and the interior warmed by cozy flames that were kept organized with inviting lofts. The living area could be split leveled, sinking down to create its own margin where guests could comfortably gather by the fireplace and--

There was a tug at his ankle, and next thing he knew, a bemused Scar went crashing to the ground, having been too caught up to notice the trailing plants blocking his footway. His hands shot out to catch himself, palms scraping against the concrete floor in a way similar to the childhood stunt of crashing and burning on the pavement. A stinging snapped up his arms, and the water bucket dropped from his grasp, clattering down with a metallic rumble before spilling its contents across the floor.

Scar pushed himself upright with a hiss of air through his teeth, shaking off his grazed palms and wiping them on his jeans. Pulling his foot free from the greenery and gathering himself up was no problem, what was a problem, however, was the troubling sight now before him.

The water had spilled all over one of Mumbo's redstone contraptions, causing the device to short circuit and emit a sort of maroon-grey smoke. The wires fashioned from the compacted dust had been all but washed away, any remaining pieces hanging on by threads and failing miserably whenever a signal attempted to fire; more so sizzling rather than surging alight with energy.

"Oh, crud!" he shouted, racing towards the machine and yanking on the shut-off switch to divert any further input from the broken setup.

It powered down, but Scar was still left swatting the coloured smoke from his face, coughing as the scent of burnt metallics filled his nostrils. When had he gotten so absorbed in possible building opportunities that he'd managed to miss the foliage in front of him? Why had he even been wondering so deeply about it, anyway? This event was about improving one another's bases by adding their own personal touches, not starting a new project entirely.

Scar sighed, he wasn't sure why his mind had begun drifting so far. He'd like to blame it on the wild imagination of a builder, but he had a feeling there was a little more to it. Sometimes, when the world wasn't too much to handle, it was too easy to let fall away. Maybe he spent too much time daydreaming-- he was sure there was a word for that, when trances became so all encompassing, so engrossing.

"But I don't have time to think about that right now," he reminded himself, "I really need to fix this. It doesn't look like most of this redstone is salvageable, I'll have to get new supplies to repair it. Maybe some of the circuits are okay..?"

Scar nudged a repeater with his shoe, the device making an unnatural sloshing noise in his attempt to change the feed-in. He scrunched up his nose, "Okay, nope, gonna need to replace that, too."

Running a hand through his hair in defeat, he glanced towards Mumbo's storage system before shaking his head. It wouldn't be right to use the other man's supplies without asking, let alone waste them on a mistake made due to Scar's own carelessness. He'd have to make his way back to his original base and gather the materials from there once more. When he dropped by initially, he figured he'd gotten everything he needed, but apparently hadn't accounted for dissociation-induced redstone mishaps.

"I guess we're making a trip back," Scar announced to no one, finally picking up the empty bucket to set it safely aside. He made his way over to his tent, temporarily discarding any excess materials and bidding adieu to Jellie before grabbing his elytra and setting off.

Taking to the skies, Scar squinted against the wind as it roared in his ears. His hair parted itself from where it had stuck, short locks brushed back by the flowing breeze. With arms extended for balance, and maybe a dash of amusement, he lit his rockets and propelled himself into the distance.

-----

It wasn't long before he encroached on his base again, allowing his faux wings to glide him downward where he kicked out his legs to come to a soft landing. Scar stopped before the massive drill site just on the outskirts of the forest, heading towards the agglomeration of crates and boxes he had haphazardly stowed aside. He was certain there had to be the necessary hardware in one of the many containers, though which that may be was lost on him. At least, thanks to Mumbo and his new storage system, the chest monster he'd created would soon be a thing of the past.

"I wonder how that's going for him..." Scar pondered, striding over to a random shulker and beginning his sure-to-be protracted search.

"Scar?" a familiar voice interrupted, making him peer ahead to see the moustached man himself rounding the corner. "Hello there! I see you've made yourself rather at home at my base," Mumbo teased.

He couldn't help but chuckle, "That I have. I just needed to stop by and pick up some redstone and iron. With all the ore this place has quarried up, I was sure there's bound to be more of that here than back at Larry."

Mumbo faked surprise with a hearty grin, "Getting into mechanics, are we? Have the inner workings of the temple really had that much influence on you after only a few days?"

"Now I wouldn't say that," Scar shook his head and closed the lid of the grey shulker, seeing no point in hiding the truth. "I took a tumble holding a bucket of water and it kinda spilled on one of the contraptions. I'm sorry for the trouble-- but don't worry! I came here to fix it right up. I just didn't wanna waste your materials fixing my silly error."

The suited man waved his hand dismissively, "Nonsense, it's no trouble. Have you seen the improvements you've made to that place? I mean, of course you've seen them, you built them, but rhetorically speaking--" Mumbo cleared his throat, "Just don't fret over it, I trust that you'll have it fixed right up in no time."

Scar smiled, "Thanks, dude. Now I just have to find where on Earth I put those ore…"

Mumbo gave another laugh, "You know, you can feel free to use some of my things if need be. I have no idea how you expect to find anything in this mess. I'm only trying to do a basic look through so I know where to begin when it comes to the item sorter, but even that doesn't seem to do much good. I swear, it's like trying to play a very intense game of memory, with thousands of nonsensical cards all scattered about."

Scar snickered sheepishly at the comparison, "Yeah, no kidding. But being able to use some resources without flying all the way over here would be great. Thanks again, Mumbo. I don't know if there's anything you'll need here while working, but hey, consider it free range. We're doing these things for each other in the long run, anyway."

"I'd say, 'unless we don't switch back our deeds', but in all honesty? I'm beginning to miss the ol' living monument already."

The two exchange a chuckle before returning to their previous tasks, both going back to digging through the pile of chests in preparation for their projects.

It took longer than Scar wanted to admit to finally find the crate stocked with valuables-- sighing in relief at the sight and immediately beginning to pile the items into his inventory. There were pre-smelted metals from an iron farm, so he didn't have to bother with the ore, and the redstone he'd gathered was already in dust from, meaning all he'd have to do was craft the items after returning.

"I wonder if it would've been easier to stop by the shopping district and buy these directly, instead of making them by hand..." he said, "Oh well, saves on diamonds, and these had to be used some time, I guess."

"Talking to yourself over there?" Mumbo asked.

"Just thinking aloud is all."

"I see," the moustached man nodded, pushing himself up from where he'd been examining the supplies. "I found something neat from last year! Do you wanna see?"

"Sure!" Scar agreed, setting aside his intent of flying back in favour of seeing what it was Mumbo had to show him.

He smiled and stepped over to Scar, holding out a faded piece of paper for them both to see, "I found it stuck to the bottom of a shulker box! Can you believe we used to be competition so recently?" He joked.

Scar could only stare at the advert before him, a steele blue page embellished with a vault-like ring in the center. It meant nothing to the untrained eye, but to him, all of the company's horrors were sealed underneath. ConCorp read bold text in half-connected lettering, the logo finalizing its signature with a black bow tie adorning the bottom.

"Hardly," managed Scar, having just remembered he'd been asked a question, "But it wasn't that recent."

"It was practically yesterday if we're talking business," Mumbo snickered, "but we aren't. I'm not very good at business."

"Me neither, I prefer mayorship," he said in an attempt to change the subject.

Mumbo, however, didn't seem to notice, only turning to stare at Scar with eyes wide. "Are you kidding me? You were quite literally the richest Hermit of all last year! You're wonderful at business. Sahara was amazing, and I don't for a second doubt it was the most ambitious project of our group to date, but she had plenty of bugs, being the machine powered industry that she was. ConCorp, however? That was an utter monopoly! The thing lasted two bloody seasons!"

Scar chuckled awkwardly, "I know, I know, Cub and I worked very hard. But it wasn't all us, we couldn't have done it alone."

"Give yourself more credit," Mumbo insisted, "I'm more than convinced you could have gotten your business up and running even without the help of your Vex friends. Weren't they less prominent in your company last year, anyway? You did change your guy's name from ConVex to ConCorp, after all. I think that would imply less input on their part."

"Not really," he explained, though the tension building in his body was becoming harder to conceal. He had to keep his arms rigid so that they wouldn't shake, forcing in deep breaths to avoid the shaky ones that threatened to take their place. "We just thought it would be better for business, rebranding to something more gentlemanly and all."

Mumbo nodded, "Ah, that makes sense. Though I still don't understand how you managed to work with them to begin with. I likely wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. I mean business partners with the Vex? Friends, even? How'd you do it? Not to mention why? With all due respect, what makes one seek that out?"

Scar blinked hard at the influx of questions, "Oh, it's- it's really complicated, you might not understand. Cub started it, though. I joined the team not long after, but I wasn't there when he first struck the deal with Them."

"Huh, some deal," Mumbo remarked thoughtfully, and Scar nodded.

He had no idea.

"So what made you leave that behind?" Mumbo continued.

"What?" he asked, finding his thoughts hazy. They were static nothingness, but somehow also crashing into his skull. He found himself having to dig his way through them, while at the same time trying to bury them once he passed. The last thing Scar wanted was to do was hark back to the Vex, to beckon forth Their memory with his own.

The other man simply chuckled, oblivious to Scar's inner turmoil. "ConCorp, the Vex. Did you two just get bored? Having done the same thing for too long?"

"In a sense, you could definitely say we were tired of it. It just- well, it wasn't what we wanted to do anymore. We wanted to move on to new things."

"That's fair enough. Do you blokes still get along? Or did they take the corporation's end like a sour breakup?"

This time, Scar couldn't contain his wince. "We're still friends!" he insisted, "Of course the Vex are my friends."

Mumbo finally quirked a brow, "Are you sure about that? You don't have to worry about hiding some burnt corporal bridges from me, I'm not here to judge."

"Oh yeah, I'm positive," he nodded eagerly, "I'm just- I'm gonna go work on fixing that contraption I damaged, best to get it fixed before we have to switch back."

"Buddy, are you sure everything's alright? I'm sorry if I upset you or anything."

"Nah, I'm just peachy!" Scar announced with far too much false enthusiasm, internally cringing at his failed masking abilities. Not allowing any more time for his ruse to be cracked, he uttered a quick goodbye before adjusting the straps on his elytra and dashing off, leaping into the air and back towards the ruins.

"Scar, wait!" Mumbo tried, but he was already gone.

------

The returning flight was far from the peaceful journey he'd made to the excitation site. His artificial wings beat frantically, struggling to keep up as he charged forward with excessive firepower. He paid no mind to the safety protocol regarding the rocket's cool-down period, simply heralding through the air as fast as his elytra would carry him. Scar arrived back to the monument in a trip overall much faster than when he'd left, but it seemed to drag on for an eternity. The entire excursion consisted of a battle with his own mind-- a war in which he knew he was bound to lose, but he had to hold down the fort until he was on solid ground.

Scar was lucky not to crash into the debris upon landing, frantically stumbling to the dirt and having to grasp onto a piece of wreckage to maintain his balance. His legs nearly buckled under his weight, form trembling in spite of the deep breaths he gave it his all to draw in.

He grasped hard to the rubble, trying to anchor his brain into focus. He couldn't let his thoughts spiral, he couldn't think about Them. He knew grounding techniques, and he tried to rush his way through them.

Five things you can see.

He could see the golden heart, plants, stone, the golden heart again-- the thing was too anatomically correct, he'd seen horrors too similar to it before. And the sound, it was too damn loud, too hard to ignore. Its unsteady rhythm hammering in his ears alongside his own faltering pulse.

Forget visuals, four different noises?

Scar squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to listen, focusing hard on the world around him. Still, he could only hear the heart. He could only hear it pounding, its once melodic notes like nails on a chalkboard. He could remember far too many times when he was left alone with nothing but his heartbeat and his pleas.

Tactile. Texture. What can you feel? Three things you can feel.

Internally, he screamed at his dulling senses to return. God, he didn't want to think about Them, it wasn't worth the risk. They'd been inside his head before, and the mere idea of having his thoughts broadcasted again made his stomach churn. Scar tried harder and harder to suppress the images bubbling to the surface, festering like maggots in an old wound. The more he tried to push them down, however, the fiercer they'd rise back up, and he choked down a sob in attempt to list the sensations he could currently identify.

He could feel the stone-- but he already said the stone, didn't he? He could also feel the sun. It was hot against his back. So hot. He was overheating.

The notes should have been a success, but the drops of sweat felt too akin to tricking blood. The sting of his hands felt too much like the friction burn of a rope. It felt too much like he was back with the Vex again, and as he finally sunk to the soil, he could no longer swim against the onslaught of memories crashing over him like a tidal wave.

They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still hear him, They could still get him--

------

The day he and Cub first found the courage to try and cut ties with the Vex had been a hellish one, and the two men weren't even successful in their attempt. Hence, of course, it being the first.

Still, it had taken ages for Scar to persuade Cub that it was even worth trying, the other man having believed it was impossible to sneak anything past the Vex on their own. Scar was persistent, however, and eventually convinced his friend they had a shot if they played their cards right, if they made the right proposal without their intentions being discovered.

They'd constructed their plans in secret for weeks; discussing them only inside of untold locations with hushed whispers, or in the form of coded scrawls they'd burn immediately after reading. They couldn't be too careful, that's what they'd tell themselves whenever they worried their precautionary measures may be over the top. Even so, when a so-called conference was put on the schedule --such events were far from any type of cordial meeting, despite having been assigned the title of one-- the men were hardly prepared for it.

Their conference room consisted of a needlessly grandiose suite, with floors of marble and walls carved from deep umber wood. The polished lumber was adorned with expensive paintings in aureate frames; antique laden shelves taking up the spaces they did not. Aesthetically pleasing decorative tactics were discarded in favour of showing off their riches in a possessive cluster, with the only average items being the table and its chairs sat in the dead center of the area. A chandelier of gemstone and gold swung from above, dangling by the same chains fated to one day bind their vassals.

"Concordats, greetings!" A Vex declared as the men were led through the doorway, hovering in the air at the opposing end of the surface.

"Greetings," parroted Cub minimally, Scar giving a plain nod beside him. Fewer words meant less chance at letting their guard down.

"We've been needing to speak with you," a different Vex chimed.

"Speak with you about the business," yet another visitant confirmed.

"We actually need to discuss similar matters with you all," Scar noted, voice and expression a façade of tranquility.

"You do?" the first asked, wide smile replaced with inquiry.

"Yes," managed Cub, "we want to make you an offer, one you can't refuse."

"I do like the sound of that!" the second snickered.

"We'll hear your offer," the Vex grinned, "we only have one question first!"

"Of course, what is it?" asked Scar, in mental awe of how well their exchange was going.

"Do you recognize these?" it asked, gesturing towards the white table where a blue light flashed, fading away to reveal a small pile of ash.

Cub and Scar glanced to one another in evident confusion, the latter of the two speaking once again, "Forgive me, but we're not sure what you're talking about."

"Oh, silly me!" the Vex giggled, another flash of luminesce encompassing the soot and leaving a stack of papers in its place. As if caught in a controlled gust, they blew from the surface and organized themselves midair; levitating in a cloud of magic.

All of their once burnt notes were lined up before them, cyphers needed to crack their messages included.

Still beaming with innocence, it continued, "How about now? Look familiar?"

The blood drained from their faces, and Scar could have sworn his heart was going to burst from his chest with how hard it was drumming. He wanted to wake up, because this had to be a nightmare.

"No, we have no idea what those are," he tried.

LAIR!

Overlapping voices screamed in his head, all sounding in haunting unison. Scar hastily clapped his hands over his ears, but it did nothing to silence the uproar emanating from within.

You try to break our contract then lie to our faces?

Foolish concordats.

Terrible secret keepers, terrible subjects.

Cub seized hold of Scar's arm and made a break for the door with the brunet in tow, reaching the exit and tugging desperately on the handles. They refused to turn under his grasp, and his eyes darted back towards the Vex; floating creatures growing ever closer to their imaginary bubble providing them with the illusion of safety.

More of Them were phasing in through walls, forms non-corporeal and having no need for the sealed entryway.

Apologize.

They all ordered, Scar flinching at the simultaneous projection. He lowered his hands and turned towards Them, watching Their unmoving grins with wide eyes.

Kneel before your gods and divulge your prayers, we may just show you mercy.

"I'm sorry-" Scar whimpered, but Cub was having none of it.

"No!" the man barked, "Screw this! This isn't worth it! None of this is worth it! He's right! The business, the money, the power, it-- it means nothing! Not when you treat us like this!"

They watched him step forward, his furious yells echoing through the expanse of the room, "We're done! And we mean it! You're going to get us go or else!"

An orchestra of shrill cackles filled the air.

Oooh, it's angry.

They're fighting back!

Teach them a lesson.

"You won't dare make another-" Cub's retaliation was cut short with a cry, the bearded man dropping to the ground in a swift crash.

"Cub!" Scar called, but his attempt to step towards his friend was met only with a searing pain through his legs and the subsequent buckling of his knees. He fell to the marble, limbs heavy as if they'd been weighted. It took considerable force to balance on his arms, appendages left shaking as he peered back up towards the Vex.

He regretted it instantly.

•••

(Part two)

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #goodtimeswithscar #grian #mumbo jumbo #mcyt #the vex #cubfan135

11 notes · View notes

ramonaprintmakingtwo · 4 years ago

Photo

Assignment Two: Abstract prints

I have been looking at the ongoing photographic project by Clarissa Bonet called ‘Stray Light’. Constructed from multiple photos Bonet’s images looks at the light cast within urban environments from different homes. The dark buildings fade into the night sky creating a constellation like image. In the city you rarely see the stars due to the light pollution, Stray Light, highlights the beauty within the city.

These photos strike differently when viewed through the current pandemic. Many people have been isolated, unable to go out or meet with friends and family. Within the photographic project Individual homes are viewed simultaneously, this creates a sense of shared experience and community. We are all alone together.

Stray Light (2014- 2018 C. Bonet)

I wanted to use Stray Light as a starting point for a series of abstract prints. breaking the print down into two key layers. The first a more expressive abstract monoprint and the second a black layer making up the buildings. The negative space allowing the monoprint to come through, like the windows in Bonet’s photographs.

Initial designs and planning

In Abstract Expressionism: The Mystical Experience. Art, Levine describes Action Painting as conveying the personality of the artist from their mark making. ‘Action Painting can be viewed as a surrender of the self and individuality.’ (Levine, 1971). I wanted to attempt to ‘think less’ for my first layer, focusing on going with my gut rather than trying to plan it. However for the printing to be successful I needed to plan the process and layers.

Abstract art and Jazz

Norman Wilfred Lewis

Arrested Fractions (Lewis, 1961), Untitled (Lewis, 1977), Cathedral (Lewis, 1950), Untitled (Urban Abstraction) (Lewis, 1949) City Night (Lewis, 1949)

Lewis was a figurative painter before becoming an abstract expressionist in the 1940s. Although a contemporary of Pollock, Klee, Rothko and Kooning, and despite his active involvement in the movement and his work being featured in exhibitions alongside many credible abstract artists, he does not appear in any of the historical narratives of the time due to being African American and a civil rights activist. Growing up during the Harlem Renaissance Lewis’s work was influenced by the city he lived in, his community and music, specifically jazz.

The vertical stokes within his work create crowds of people, the movement of music and cityscapes. The use of bright colours overlaid with black in Cathedral and City Night resonate with what I hope to achieve in my printing. In a audio recording for the MoMa curator Ann Temkin discusses the use of line within City Night (Lewis, 1949)

‘You have the buildings that line both sides of the street and indeed the very thin lines that you see going from the coloured vertical on the left to the colour vertical on the right have been interpreted as the laundry lines or perhaps the power lines that go from building to building in a city.’ (Temkin, 2011)

Lewis’ use of rectangular forms and bold shape is a stylistic aesthetic often associated with Jazz music. Developing alongside each other Abstract Expressionism and Jazz music became synonymous with one another. This has continued to inspire the creative world, more recently with animation.

Drums West, Jim Henson (1961)

youtube

Monsters Inc Opening Credits, Disney Pixar (2010)

youtube

It's Just Some Crazy Jazz, Sergio Blanco (2018)

youtube

I love colour, and the contrast between high colour and black. I wanted to consider this within my mono-printing keeping the movement fun and joyful.

Monoprint plates

I used A3 sheets of acetate as my printing plate and a range of materials. Traditional oil based ink, craft ink pads, water, string, thread and sequins. I had various brushes, rollers and tools to make additional marks on the plate also.

The inked plate prior to printing.

vimeo

Drying monoprints.

Finished first expressive print layers

I really love the expressive prints, the colours and movement within them. It made it harder to plan for the next layer as I was anxious I may ruin the prints!

First attempt at second layer

My initial idea was to continue using the acetate as a plate to create the areas of black. I cut the acetate into uneven strips, inked each piece and used various tools to remove areas to create the windows.

One of my monoprints unfortunately had some marks in the boarder from residual ink on my self-healing mat. For this reason I decided to use it as a test print. I later used it to help register the lino layer for the other prints.

Photo has been edited to try and recreate what it looks like in reality. Unfortunately it is too big to scan.

I was not happy with the result of the acetate monoprinting. The saturation of the ink was poor, so that the overall print didn’t have the impact that I wanted. For this reason I decided to change printing method and create a linoprint as I knew I would be able to create a stronger image.

The impact of the print was not what I had hoped nor what I had in my mind. I decided to do additional research into the mid-century aesthetic I had in my mind. I was influenced and inspired by mid-century, Bauhaus and California design. My subsequent research and reflections can be accessed here.

https://ramonaprintmakingtwo.tumblr.com/post/647827952041689088/artist-inspiration-mid-century-textile-design

Subsequent designs

I wanted to ensure my designs weren’t static and had versatility. For this reason I chose to cut the lino into different strips, much like the weft of the Bauhaus textiles.

Usually when I carve lino I have made strict plans prior to carving. Using tracing paper I will transfer the design to stained lino often going over the line work with a pen if I’m unsure of the layer I am on. Stepping away from methodical approach to carving, for this design, I just made cuts where I felt they should go.

Final Prints

Final Selection of Three Prints

Reflection

These are the three prints that I have selected to submit for assignment two. A key element that links the prints is the visibility of the string imprint within the monoprinted layer. When mixing the ink for the black lino layer I cut it with extender in order to reduce the opacity of the ink, this allowed the negative of the string to be seen throughout the print. I wanted to create an abstract print based on Bonet’s photo series, depicting the glow of windows in the night sky, but also to represent the sense of connection and community. The string becomes symbolic of the ties between individuals creating something larger.

I am pleased with the prints overall from a technical standpoint however there are some parts that I need to improve upon. I’m still getting used to my new press and learning about the correct pressure. Unfortunately I didn’t notice as I was working but there are embossed marks on the outside edges of the top and bottom corners where I had additional lino (in order to prevent ‘jumping’). There are also tiny marks on a couple of the prints which I find incredibly frustrating. I have been trying to improve my practice to ensure my workspace remains clean, my hands remain clean, no enough apparently! I could use disposable gloves in order to keep everything clean however this is something I would like to avoid as it is wasteful.

References

Blanco, S., 2018. It's Just Some Crazy Jazz. [video] Available at: <https://youtu.be/tcUgV0PkveA> [Accessed 3 April 2021].

Bonet, C., 2014. Stray Light. [Series of photographs].

Disney Pixar, 2010. Monsters Inc Opening Credits. [video] Available at: <https://youtu.be/nOCc8D2rbkQ> [Accessed 3 April 2021].

Henson, J., 1961. Drums West. [video] Available at: <https://youtu.be/9RysUNvQZTE> [Accessed 3 April 2021].

Levine, E., 1971. Abstract Expressionism: The Mystical Experience. Art Journal, 31(1), p.22.

Lewis, N., 1949. City Night. [Oil on wood].

Lewis, N., 1949. Untitled (Urban Abstraction). [Brush, ink and wash on cream wove paper].

Lewis, N., 1950. Cathedral. [Oil on canvas].

Lewis, N., 1961. Arrested Fractions. [Oil on canvas].

Lewis, N., 1977. Untitled. [Oil on canvas].

Mir, S., 2016. Filling Out the Story: On the Art of Norman Lewis. [online] Hyperallergic. Available at: <https://hyperallergic.com/281487/filling-out-the-story-on-the-art-of-norman-lewis/> [Accessed 3 April 2021].

Temkin, A., 2011. City Night, Norman Lewis. [audio recording] New York: Museum of Modern Art. Available at: <https://www.moma.org/collection/works/140169?artist_id=3524&page=1&sov_referrer=artist> [Accessed 3 April 2021].

#part2 #ass2

4 notes · View notes

adanfourty · 5 years ago

Text

Life In Neon ~ cHapters Of the dreaMing hEart

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- I. Simple abundance in an empty life II. Stop III. Projection IV. Come To Theism V. Enter the Threshold

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------ White Feathers Atrium Universal Rain Shade Naissance Home

Part III: Pandora's Clock ------------------------- First. Second. Then I see you Third. Air Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child Fifth. Realitv Sixth. Water Seventh. Closure Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Part I: A Piece Of Mind

----------------------- In A Room Without A View

When there is reason, I awake in silence

Please enter, The door is open

I. Simple abundance in an empty life ...

The scent of passion after loneliness A hope of jubilation in life Coming closer to a dream A prelude before the plot

This time, the sunset becomes sunrise in my heart

Her sway, wavering in soft motion Guarding, away from polarity

She is herself not another other than her own self Only she can dance alone without a hint of loneliness That whiff of uncommon independence without arrogance With her right palm always open to the wind, A sign of welcomed company, only if she grants

She's a prelude to a drama An overture to a rhapsody

II. Loose-skin-loose drift, truth abuse truth to mute [St*p]

A new consciousness arises from the abyssimal gap, along with the voices of the singing colours, with the company of colourful rain.

A sighs escapes her as her old consciousness deteriorates.

Though silence is golden, it can also be a sign of unbelievable pain.

Terribly one sided, the consciousness gains space only in her extreme. Though it resembles a lesser four letter word, it cannot be spelled as of yet.

To her it came, through her it goes.

It escapes with swiftness by the way of her fingers and unto the three middle strings.

Now the top.

Now the bottom.

A play of ease and enjoyment, like a teardrop of meaning. There's release and meaning in her words, spoken through the melody escaping her fingers. Weaving phrase by phrase into sentences. Line by line into paragraphs. And chapter by chapter into a story, written in the air to her listeners' ears.

She tells her tale.

A drop of colour in melody's landscape First vivid, then lucid, then luminous The story of song and emotion, of motion and sound

Hikari luminates her enticing configuration Dancing fingers, dancing harmony Another conciousness slowly takes presence...

III. Grapple dream drama and colliding day of another mind [?`jection}

She said that fate can intertwine and leave you speechless Between your eyes and mine we share the same story Especially in this corrupted world of mounting decadence Nothing can hold truth and honesty together

As I wave my hand in the air, I motion you to come closer Start this endless romance

Not between you and I But between trust and committance

Wait for silence Wait for sleep Wait for peace

Then we can touch ..in dreams..

Metropolis doesn't want us to sleep Less it let us inhabbit our dreams Only to pieces of the shattered It can only resolve in our disloyalty

Total mindcrime it says, cannot rebuke There's no rebutle, but an end of statement

Pandemonium clouds temporary judgement A short analysis of ourselves

We cannot be subjected to distinctive terms We are fictional

City of blurring lights in swaying darkness Inverse luminary overshadows heartly judgement

"Tell me more..." "Tell me about myself"

IV. Let silence fall assunder as a boundary (ome to 7heism

Escape in makna ~e%ca]>e~ Don't let it be abstract

Have we been transformed? Apostle of today's corporate culture

Would you have changed a thing ? Destruction of the left brain regime

There is a cycle, which determines life and dharma In the starlit sky of human's silver sea of madness On the seeming horizon, inately seen A lonely silver surfer, Comes to push the wheel for me.

"Gotta move" (

"Gotta move" ^

"Gotta move that wheel right round" )

"Push the wheel of dharma round"

Repeat,

Repeat until the end of perdition

This re|>etition is road to redemption

This hand, can you feel it's touch? Now don't let go.

V. Enter this threshold, where you're }afe w/ m{E

Could it be that you and I have grown to love each other, In the dense aura of this lonely city, full of bitterness? True feelings can never hide much long, For whatever covers, cannot hide from true sight

The wind carried your cries, your wishes, your tears. And when I held my hand out to the sky, I caught some of your dreams.

The misty air partialy hides the growing flowers Blooming without sunlight, to the music of the marionettes Quartet players with classical aptitude Flowing melody in rivers of song

Endless...

Love, love, love, love, beautiful life In the eyes of a lover

Love, love, love, love, merciful touch As if in another dream

Dahlia...

Yes we are, I say we are destined Nothing else but nature that guides The wind, the solstice, the leaves Le ciel's faint whispering Warm snow welcomes this gardenia

Let's enter together...

Part II : The Sea of Moonlight ------------------------------

I dream of a blue nightingale

Not a dream. a perchance SDelirium guide me through this dance

a pointer. an address SPathway leading to this glass

not a form. a code SLanguages, conversations I do not recall

From a faraway place . . . The structured becomes the harmonic, then the frail

White Feathers: ---------------

Start of a lasting imperfect feeling A blissful impression unhindered This slight cut, an apothema Sweetening the shape of a tale

More poetry than justice A judgement in a poem

The tale paints itself a caligraphy Cornering prose to naratic ballad

Few words write themselves as prelude to a dream An overture towards realization Forging a small footstep for an elegy A move towards the end of a chapter

Before planting a kiss on the cheek Take a step out of square one

Atrium Universal: -----------------

I can feel the city itself Living, pulsing through me

I can feel the city itself Breathing in my own breath

At night's first saunter Tides, affairs subtly sweeping

Affairs yielding agnomen Pastly borrowed, then lent, now buried

Not a monumentous rite, A forecourting repose of endeavor

Melfluous, degree, decimal

The wall, the crack, the breach A light, a hope, A piece of reverence A sigh, a gleam, A benevolence

Neon. again a blinding, Charges, pistol, crackpot

Rain: -----

Swaying Petals, Fluttering Sight

Resting in silence Peace in the chaos that surrounds

Hiding within metropolis' fog

Out of reach Out of touch

Lit lanterns sway westbound Path seeking seem astray

Only patience can persevere Only time can lead the way

Only a woman

"A deepened interlude as an intro to a greater truth."

In phrases she speak In riddles she keep

Feel, a longing to be Only little she has

Not much left in her palm Desperately trying to keep

Err on the side of safety

"Here belies the safety of my sanctuary."

Trusting no one Careful not to love

Metropolis. weaves her coccoon

Silence within a storm

Survival is her language Passion is her secret

"Lesser I believe in myself, so I hide."

Shade: ------

A tide to ebb, A shoreline A flow, a motion A gaze

Once, a woman Twice, a sun Thrice, a nephentes

I feel the breze A neophytic caress, innocence So much to long for So much to ebb and lose

Subliminal violence An abstract for laterality

I'll always remember The news of a fog, The songs of a deaf

No echo in the halls No lesson but in our own

A feeling, inside her Notwithstanding a fall Silence for the requiem Not now, not for awhile

This feeling, inside me A pace not too far from fiction Splitting images on one screen My futile vision embracing

His feeling, inside him Bewildering encompassion of a trilogy Another mind, a friend, a rushed exemption Coming closer to a closure, then rebirth

Naissance: ----------

The birth of a soul, Deus ex machina

I feel a distant sun caressing A slow perchance for fate and fancy intertwined

What cometh this way Grasping scars emerging from days past

What shroud cloaks this day A slow immedicine, The unsounding of my parts

My love, a mirror, a friend It needs a chance, a chokepoint degapped

Heal me, A cessation from discrepancy

[tides of Helen]

This time window we must cherish, You and I and eye of The All Seeing

There's none other, Than the mindmaze in the mirror

I became, I bethroned, I abjected Thread, my dearest thread I dearly depart myself, bidding A home for a respite

Home : ------

The walls cry of absence and whispers

A slight touch of the palm graces, The plight of the plaintiff behind the fate Cursors move up the struggles of the vein, Inconclusive ill of melancholy

This notion of separation, Reaps the heart to its dires On bended knees we sink, At this river of futile tears

The ambience of loneliness and division, Portrudes above our conscious minds Heisting the current abode, Unfathomable desire to mutually caress

Beyond this boundary exists my other half Beyond this wall lies another...

Another,

Sustain contain then stop the ambience surrounding My speechless thought echoes throughout without surpass

and another,

Oboete [remember] Never forgetting specified frame of memory First clandestine then disctinction to final separation

and another,

I hear this loudness from inside my ears Humming, fainting whisper, to a soft speech

and another.

...

No more can I reject my objection towards presence PLighT is a revocable sister of her brother, fate

And you.

I miss you

The corridors of fate seems to form an unwanted maze No escaping reflective clarity, images beyond seen mirrors

Such is the configuration of this longing A lamentable presence, expelled from fate

It has been two long years, It has been an eternity

Your modulating kiss fades from memory As each deafening ambience ravage me

I, to my heart : [Perhaps to silence, I have spoken for far too long.]

Now the peregrine, Now the calmative

a boundary of mist separates while the only road leads to home

I've nowhere to go But to return to the confines of my sanctuary

[pulang]

Y've reached I home

Part III: Pandora's Clock -------------------------

I have come at a crossroads A silent tantrum of mind and consciousness

Please take my hand Brace the future with me

First.

The solitude of a solitary mind At this junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

The solitude of a solitary mind At the junction of overlaping converses

A gaze, then a hand A reach from inside

[E] "Would you dance with me?"

Dec, the 12th of each cycle A courtship between Soleil and Capricorn

Of your latter solstice I find my solace Under luminous frost After a day after days before a new season

[Dahlia] Rest dear Soleil Shine a lesser warmth Shine greater southbound

Then through motion and period Embrace at former solstice

A garden in winter Not far from closure Enclosed in glass And luminosity

Come dear lucidity Let us speak to warm ourselves Let us become classic

One past, presenting a future

In this garden we trust Grace a prelude to truthful fancy

In this garden we lust Skin to skin without a mindful hinderance

In this garden we bind fire and ice

A simple presence felt between us and our dance Resultante, Of motion and perceived decadence

.the second conciousness.

A girl in the mirror Yet to set her feet, Yet to step to the real

A face becoming clearer Vivid smile doubtful eyes

Is she to be welcomed?

Don't let her future mimic the past This is not a point of vacancy Don't let time's vagrancy become turmoil This is a coming whirlwind

A new stream of conciousness is the resultant There can be no regret

Sleep, breathe deep, deeper in a shallow sleep

This is a form of regression Unfolding a dream of recurrence

~Mataku From my eyes

.Mata Ku. To eyes of myself

..Ma Ta Ku.. Then my own eyes

...Mata Milik Aku... These eyes are mine

[E] A cyclic process of birth, death and rebirth Sequential teardrop from a cloudless sky Freefall to a deep mirror of factful fallacy far from fiction

More to truth full of lies and truth, then lies, and lastly truth The answer to a riddle of the sequences and the abstract

A fracture of this mindspace leaks into the open Bequeathing beautiful lies of autumn and of lust But the winter in me is still vast, far from passing Not a drop of colour but a blackless landscape of total blur

Second. Then I see you...

On a road once shared before the crossroads Gleaming with a blueish haze of tenderness Before the coming of daylight's echoing shine Take me to a world outside this shallow sleep

Walking to currentness.

Cascading deep dark blue shade follow folly Interred in my living bones, blades of blunt burden Remain in viewable secrecy, lucidly reasoning for an answer Unwritten forgiveness uttered through a wordless whisper

Reflections, There's me in my head and me in the mirror I can see me very clearly, and I don't like it

The vivid image of reflection has a mind of it's own Why do reflections answer me with such prejudice?

...

A revisitation, A reflection of light Duplicating a world Forming an inversion Making you, Not quite yourself

...

Cascade the masks of emotion to emulate prudence Infer I have, that this is a motion of incredulity

I remain

Asking The Heaven for forgive~ness My hope is now in the clarity of my written bequest

Third. Air

Interlude to preciousness

The world is only an interlude I can't wait for the night to cast it's cloak {of dreams}

A gateway to my paralel life, another conciousness Lucidly living in a shallow sleep

Fourth. Trumpet of Million's child

Dawn to daybreak with a string of trust Warm caress of loyal sunlight Distress and jubilance harbours, Away the stray

A soulful sailor's song Lamenting grace and riddance

Yearly yearning without regard Clasping for release

Melding heartplace and effect Arriving distances to encumbrance The headplace earthing Excelling to explace

Love is a peaceful embrace A feeling, most emtious Of innocence in riddles of sin and temperance A forgiveness for the plightful son

[E] I found who I am at last By a glimpse of fate, enduring A slight mention in destiny A moment alone with my dear fate

A close brush, an eventful sigh Relief, a respite to sensefulness

One last time, Take away my breath

Deliver me my chance, To exhale my last sigh

[Dahlia] I am standing on a ledge A stare to this decending fathom

Cold air sweeps behind me As I tearfully leave my presence

I cannot give you more I cannot be a fitting piece

Musing over life and precedence. Now I'm tired.

I've tried so hard to stay afloat. I'm too tired.

Goodbye now, For I am never truly gone

Fifth. Realitv

[E] A life outside of this TV screen A roundabout of moving pictures preceeding Of passion, of circumstance, of changes My faults and lies, my trials and crimes

Curious apprehension of what may yield I behold to myself, my own mindsight A view to a thrill, a dream of a dream A dull lucidity, a makeup of frigidity

My past turns present My presence sinks into the past Another besetting recurrence Another triumph lost

Sixth. Water

[E] How is my lifeline?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A freight train coming my way.

There is a door nearer to the right. Marking exit from a disaster.

(Not out of lifeline)

But indeed. It is I, myself who can save me. It is I, myself who conjured the door. It is I, myself who live my life. Not someone else.

And it is I, myself who choose what I believe in. Not someone else not me.

I'm still breathing, I can still exhale Without hesitation, normalcy without change A sense of endless freedom without boundaries Miracles coming at an enjoyable rate

Now here's that jazz [0}

Flood of tears don't drown me You'll never catch me again crying a flood Now that I'm holding on to my dearest hope I have to hold her gently Careful not to break her to pieces

Seventh. Closure

Strewn paleness, The setting sun colours the sky

A thousand rays bidding farewell, Bidding another rest

And I wish I am not here

Wavering clouds speak with the doves A faint sentence caught in my ears

"There's nothing left to hide."

My melodies will take me Wherever this heart is needing to set

You took away all my strength, Now please take away my pain

Leave my cold outside this shell Never let it rain inside these doors

Please lead me to your promises Then please take away my pain

I am in need of refuge

This is the final scene Before the curtain falls . .

Please, Make me believe in hope, And please take away my pain

Finale. Memoire, a scene in a lifetime

Now I must rest, I must be at peace

Hibernating from culture PlacIng membrane, a distance to bid myself

Sayonara for a moment Please do not forget, oboete my dear Remembrance is for sentient bliss

Keep me in your mind And please, bathe your memory of me in absolution

3 notes · View notes

theparanormalperiodical · 5 years ago

Text

The True Story Behind The Ring (2002) And The 11 Real Cursed Videotapes And Films That You Should NOT Watch

As a paranormal blogger, I often find myself treading the line between honesty and hoaxes.

It could be the photographic evidence behind a ghost story, or it could be the claims of those that have supposedly witnessed something unexplainable - I spend most of my time trying to work out what's real with a capital ‘R’.

But if there’s one thing I can always rely on, it’s this:

The Japanese know how to make horror films.

Sure, each corner of the world brings its own flair to the genre, but it’s a very specific aesthetic that runs like a piece of thread through Japanese horror, weaving together the cloak of Asian horror.

And it was the British winter weather that reminded me of this aesthetic (and had me emotionally prepared to see a clump of black hair snake around my hand and upvote a Teen Mom 2 meme on Reddit).

So, in true Paranormal Periodical fashion, I’ve decided to dig deep into the reality of a horror icon native to Japan:

Samara, the creepy-ass chick from The Ring (2002).

Check out the trailer to her cinematic debut here!

But the thing is, the true story behind one of the most famous horror movies of all time goes much further than any ol’ cursed videotape.

Turns out that Samara’s life - and afterlife - is based on a very real story, and a very real set of ghosts that Japanese culture cannot get enough of.

Yep.

This means that there’s twice as much chance that The Ring is based on a true story than any other horror film. Great.

So, for all of the readers that haven’t hidden under their duvet, this article is going to be summarising the true story behind Samara, the Japanese folklore of the Yurei (imagine multiple Samaras just, like, existing all at the same time), and all of the cursed videos that bring us uncomfortably close to the plotline of The Ring.

And if that wasn’t enough to traumatise you, I’ve even included all of the cursed horror films you need to know about!

Why? ‘Cause fuck you.

If I’m going down, you’re going down with me.

Now, let’s get spooky.

First, Let’s Recap Samara’s Screen Time (The Ring Movies And The Ring Novel Series)

Our story starts in 1991.

We are in Tokyo. News breaks that four teenagers have died on exactly the same night at exactly the same time. A journalist piques interest in this suspicious occurrence, and winds up in a holiday resort where they stayed a week before their mysterious deaths.

When he’s not shacked up on the beach and living his Love Island fantasy, he discovers a videotape has been left in the room. This tape contains a set of weird-ass images and a warning appears which basically says:

“You gon’ die in seven days. If y’all don’t wanna die in 7 days do thi-”

An advert cuts off the instructions. (So, just like Love Island, then?)

This plotline sounds familiar, doesn’t it? That’s ‘cause it gets repeated in every novel and every film. But that’s not to say that this saga slacks story-wise.

In the first novel, the investigations lead the journalist to the story of Sadako. Turns out that she was the daughter of Shizuko Yamamura, a medium who was branded a charlatan. Shizuko committed suicide by throwing herself in the crater of Mount Mihara as a result of her disdain by the world around her, but the fate of Sadako was declared unknown.

The journalist follows the trail back to a well. And at the bottom of this well? What’s left of Sadako.

Firmly believing that a proper burial will restore peace to Sadako’s ghost, he believes that laying her body to rest has fulfilled the duty expected of the viewer before the Flat Tummy Tea advert cropped off how to stop her.

But fit with the surprise ending that kills a sidekick of the journalist, we discover that copying the videotape is what spares the watcher of the tape from Sadako’s curse.

Sadako doesn’t want to be laid to rest - she wants the world to know of her suffering and thus by copying the video and showing it to someone, more people will know.

Swap out a couple Japanese destinations for Seattle inspired locations, and we end up with The Ring (2002) - the American film.

Still with me?

Good. Because this is where the Japanese story and the American films diverge:

The American films go off-piece, either churning out this same plot, or go deeper into Samara’s past. This includes seeking out her mother and the child of the journalist being possessed by Samara.

The Japanese, however, shake off such a simple plot and stick to the novels.

Spiral (1995) is the sequel to the first book, from which it is deduced that a tumour is what kills the victims of Sadako. The tumour forms in the throat, and then blocks the airway when the 7 days are up. This tumour is transferred from the tape to the body via an organism known as the Ring Virus.

Investigations continue, questions go unanswered, and then the virus mutates and uses a report on this case to become a medium to transfer the curse to the reader. Some bloke reads it, and begins to think of Sadako and the well. He follows these thoughts to the well, and meets a girl called Masako.

They zig-a-ziga, and he discovers that Masako is actually Sadako.

Oh, and she’s up the duff.

Sadako then makes him publish the files that are essentially now the tape.

The rest of the book series sticks to the growing spread of the virus, and includes a supercomputer project, someone giving birth to Sadako… The Americans only went so far as someone sending a video clip to her next victim!

Yet despite the escalating Japanese side of things, there is something that I need to mention to bring out yet another component of Sadako’s uncomfortably realistic story:

It’s her tragic death.

Having fled to Hakone - the site of the well she died in - to visit her father in hospital, she is raped by a doctor. She defends herself with her psychic powers, but once she is strangled, she is incapacitated and cannot fight back. She is then thrown (still alive) into the well.

Nevertheless, the premise is still clear - and uncomfortably accurate to Japanese folklore and the true story inspiring this set of novels and films.

*Runs away*

The True Story Behind Samara

Now it’s time to discuss the woman of the well herself.

Samara, or Sadako, is the leading lass of these films and novels, and is known for her mop of tangled black hair, her debut appearance in the creepiest cursed video tape known to mankind, and desire for the world to know her name!

(I’m telling you, this whole saga could just be a metaphor for Love Island.)

But it turns out that this tale is based on a similarly tragic set of events taking place 700 years ago:

It is claimed that a woman named Okiku worked in the dungeon of Himeji castle, and was the servant to a samurai. Among her tasks was looking after a set of 10 golden plates.

In true rom-com fashion, the samurai fell in love with her, and wanted to leave his wife for Okiku. However, in true patriarchy fashion, when she declined his advances he blackmailed her by hiding one of the golden plates and threatening to tell the authorities that she had stolen it.

We are uncertain of the exact events following this, but we know that she either committed suicide by throwing herself in the well, or was murdered by the samurai and then thrown in the well.

Either way she ended up in a well. And this well actually exists…

(Note the iron bars covering the well. To keep her contained, perhaps?)

Well, I say ended up - Okiku made a point of revisiting the samurai after her death. She would haunt him by crawling out of the well each and every night, and would make a point of counting the golden plates. When she found once was missing, she would scream and throw a fit of rage.

If that story wasn’t similar enough to the theatrical version of events, then Okiku’s portrayal as a yurei will be sure to send a shiver down your spine...

The Yurei

Okiku is far from alone in her ventures in the afterlife. In fact, a whole branch of Japanese ghosts bare similarities to her existence.

And they are known as yurei.

Take a look at this gif of Samara:

A dark mop of wet, let down hair. A white, flowing dress. Arms outstretched and hands limp.

These are all core traits shared by this #squad of spirits.

The japanese word translates to ‘faint soul’ or ‘dim spirit’, but the main focus of the yurei is actually their burial and afterlife.

Women are buried in Japan in white flowing dresses and have their hair down, hence this aesthetic crossing over to the other plain of existence. Unfortunately, the plain of existence they reach is far from the heavens expected:

The yurei are spirits who are kept from a peaceful afterlife, thanks to the unfortunate nature of their deaths. The yurei are ghosts which have died under unnatural circumstances - think traumatic deaths or having no official rites to bless than during their final moments. Oh, and you can’t forget the burden of jealous feelings and the desire for vengeance!

“So, is sharing round their tragic stories like Samara’s the way to cleanse this spirit?”

Nah.

Performing the rites or resolving the circumstances of their desire for vengeance or their unfinished business typically does the trick.

In fact, letting the ghost have intimate relations with an intended lover is a very popular method of de-yureing your life.

Not willing to shag a spirit?

(Of all the sentences I thought I’d say on this blog, that is definitely not one of them.)

I’m afraid you’re going to have to let the yurei carry out their final actions forever…and ever… and ever…

So, we know what yurei are - but is Okiku the only recorded case of one?

Nope!

In fact, she’s one of three famous yurei that are repeatedly portrayed in theatrical and cinematic productions. Otsuya and Oiwa make up the rest of the trio, but unfortunately I can only find Oiwa’s story.

Well, the terrifying part, that is: anyone that portrays her in a film or at the theatre is sure to be haunted by her!

Currently freaked the fuck out? Here’s how you can spot if you are being haunted by a yurei:

Their appearance is often what gives them away. Aside from the white dress, the hair style is actually key to their aesthetic. It is believed that Japanese women often wore their hair pinned up during their life, and thus had it down for their burial. That or the characters portraying yurei at the theatre would wear wigs, giving the appearance of a cloak of long hair.

Speaking of the white dress, yureis wore white kimonos as this was the symbol of purity, again the traditional garb of buried Japanese women. They would also wear a small piece of cloth to cover their forehead.

(Perhaps explaining why Samara draped her forward and covered her face - and thus her forehead, too.)

“So, they just look like women that have been buried?”

Nearly - they are often seen hovering above the ground, with wisps of colour coming off of their bodies. Also known as hitodemon, these often stick to the colour palette of greens, blues and purples.

These colours feature heavily in the American Ring films.

The Real Cursed Videos You Seriously Shouldn’t Watch

Aside from Samara’s #aesthetic, the main feature of both the novel series and the films is that of the cursed video tape.

Bearing a similarity to a student film from an edgy undergrad, it contains a mix of abstract and hyper-realistic images bound to unsettle the watcher - all set to a soundtrack of high pitched noises.

The tape contains traces of Samara’s life, and is intended to leave a mark on the watcher to encourage them to make the world know of her pain. But being creeped out isn’t the only effect of this tape. Over the week prior to their deadline, weird effects in photographs, bite marks and other physical afflictions are also noted. It's these mental and physical effects that give the real life cursed videos lingering on the net their ‘cursed’ label.

Unfortunately, these effects tend to be much more drastic than those envisaged in The Ring.

*sigh*

#1 - suicidemouse.avi

Mickey Mouse is one of the most iconic cartoon characters to date. His lovable charm and his adorable voice make him the extrovert of the age! However, this video might make you regard the frontman of Disney in a different light.

This video - which first appeared on 4chan - sees a sad looking Mickey walk through a dark, grey city, with hands behind his back.

Things take a turn, however, when a series of creep-AF things go down.

The screen goes blank for a couple of minutes. The piano music stops. The music comes back on. Screams are heard. The music gets fucked up. The buildings around him crumble. He wears an uncomfortable grin as the city falls apart. Mickey collapses with a syringe in his hand.

The final shot shows a blurry logo for the cartoon character, and Russian text appears. It reads:

“The sights of hell bring its viewers back in.”

It is claimed that after a single watch you will experience panic attacks and suicidal thoughts.

Could it have simply come from a troll on the web? Potentially. But the urban legend follows a much darker tale, claiming film critic Leonard Maltin was reviewing old cartoons that would be brought into a compilation when he saw this one. He voted it out immediately, and actually left the room thanks to the video.

But it is also claimed her kept a version for his own records.

Oh! And it gets worse!

The original editor was supposedly driven to insanity having watched it, stealing a security guard’s gun and shooting himself having yelled “Real suffering is not known!”.

Yeah, fuck this shit.

#2 - The Japanese Kleenex Advert (1980s?)

The Japanese film industry makes yet another feature on this list, and once again, it's the traumatising stuff that puts them on the map.

The advert shows a woman sitting next to a baby painted as a red ogre who sits on a pile of straw. If that wasn’t weird enough, music with the innovative lyrics “die” in German repeatedly being chanted is the soundtrack to this freaky advert.

Well, depending on the time of day, that is. The soundtrack would alter depending on when it was viewed.

Viewers also noted an unsettling feeling whilst watching the advert, some even complained of sudden intense suicidal thoughts. The advert was quickly pulled from air thanks to the complaints, but not before it could take its toll on the creators of the advert.

Unexplainable accidents and a series of mental health issues plagued the creators of the film, leaving both viewers and producers haunted. The baby in the video? Killed in a car crash. The actress in the video? Hung herself in a mental hospital.

#4 - The Grifter

Potentially the scariest video on this list, the Grifter is a collage of images and clips relating to human torture, sacrifice and a variety of other gruesome scenes. Splash on some unsettling music and you have yourself a 4chan icon!

The thing is, only screenshots have been shared of this video. All we know is based on the whispers and wonders of the internet pit that is this website. This includes a clip of a rotting plant with the words “Your race is the one dying”, writhing maggots, paintings melting, flashing colours, random forests, text in different languages...

“Hold up - doesn’t this sound like all supposedly cursed videos?”

The images of a very realistic looking baby/doll set this apart from the other videos (dis)gracing this list. Well, that and the supposed subliminal messages people claim to be lingering on the frequencies in the music.

A very clear message is laid out to viewers, however, when a voice says:

“This child (now a young man) is still alive and lives in a local shelter whose name was not given. He never spoke, and still is katatonie [sic].”

We then once again return to the parallels with the other videos:

Negative physical effects and internal afflictions are frequently noted by viewers; sudden nosebleeds, nightmares, hallucinations, depression and suicidal thoughts haunt anyone who dares watch.

Fancy clickin’ ‘play’? Good luck with that. Any clips found on any corner of the web are often taken down, and are near impossible to copy.

#5 - Satan’s Sphinx

Most of the videos have been traced back to 4chan, and have left us with much speculation regarding their backstory. But the urban legend accompanying this video starts with its creation:

It was supposedly uploaded to the internet in 2006 by the US government in order to test subliminal messaging. But when the reports of madness started rolling in, it was taken off the web.

Don’t fancy watching it yourself?

Then you’re missing out on a succession of bloody images overladen with high pitched sounds and murmurs! Eventually the images flick through so quickly that a flash of is all that is left.

So, no, you’re not missing out on much. Apart from depression.

The Real Cursed Movies You Seriously Should Watch (They’re All Great Movies, Okay, It’s Worth The Sacrifice)

Everyone okay? We all good? Had a little cry?

It’s ok, it’s over now.

Now it’s time for the cursed horror movies you can watch!

But before I continue the train of terrifying-shit that is this post, I wanted to begin with a personal story regarding cursed videos: In case you didn’t know, I captured paranormal activity on audio whilst recording a video for my long-dead YT channel. It was when I mentioned the true story of Anneliese Michel that strange occurrences began to plague my sound.

Given that, I firmly believe that discussing the true stories behind certain hauntings is what cursed these films, most of which were based on true stories or unholy themes.

#1 - The Exorcist (1973)

It’s famous for being one of the scariest horror films to date, becoming a cinematic icon that would lead the the horror movie genre forward in terms of both CGI and storyline. But it's also earned its reputation through the claims of a curse.

Fires on set, actors being seriously hurt during filming - and the death of actors whilst the film was barely out of post production - all scar the film. Heck, in 1987, the actress who voiced the demon experienced the curse herself when her son murdered his own family before comitting suicide.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDGw1MTEe9k

#2 - The Conjuring (2013)

Both the cast and crew cited paranormal activity, but it was a slash of a claw on Vera Farmiga’s laptop that sparked the rumours of a curse…

Digital claw marks ripped through her laptop and then appeared on her thigh, bearing the mark of a demonic attack or violent spirit.

An exorcist was thus made to be on set throughout filming for the sequel.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k10ETZ41q5o

#3 - The Passion Of The Christ (2004)

The presence of Mel Gibson was not the only thing to have cursed this film.

In fact, is was an ungodly amount of lightning strikes that plagued production - even if ‘ungodly’ isn’t the right word to use. In the filming of one scene, lightning struck the set, specifically Caviezel, a key actor in the film. And this was the second lightning strike felt by the assistant director.

Unfortunately, this was one of the few ailments and issues Caviezel would fac including lacerations due to whipping and pneumonia.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Aif1qEB_JU

#4 - Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

It’s time for another biblical tale!

The sudden death of the composer and the infamous death of the director’s wife at the hands of Charles Manson have scarred this film. In fact, Manson supposedly cited that he was the devil and doing the devil’s work when he killed her.

A producer also suffered sudden kidney failure soon after the film, amping up the evidence to suggest this film was cursed.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjpA6IH_Skc

#5 - Poltergeist (1982)

There’s a lot going on with this film. Like a lot. Like real, human skeletons being used in the pool scene. But that was just the start of this curse.

Unfortunately, this fantastic film has a fatal backstory.

Carol-Anne, the little girl at the centre of the film, died at the age of 12 as a result of a cardiac arrest, and across a mere 6 year window 3 crew and cast members also met their demise.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9eZgEKjYJqA

#6 - The Omen (1976)

This film certainly racked up the greatest number of tragic occurrences, and this supposed curse is believed to be linked to the film itself.

The plotline follows the birth of the antichrist, and follows his life as he takes out his enemies and seeks to dominate the world.

(Mwahahahaha)

And honestly, it seems like outside of the set this may have just been true:

3 planes carrying both cast and crew ran into dangerous weather conditions. The screenwriter himself was on two separate flights that were struck by lightning, and an executive producer was on a flight that flew through a storm.

Another plane that was supposed to carry Gregory Peck - one of the masterminds behind the film - crashed. Peck had cancelled his ticket moments before deciding to fly.

And the director? His hotel was bombed by the IRA. A special effects artist? His girlfriend was killed in a car crash. Still wanna watch? No thanks.

Here’s the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sS-sXcx30O4

So - What Do You Think?

Are you planning to watch any of these cursed videos?

Or are you currently googling ‘how-best-to-protect-from-yurei-and-maybe-the-antichrist-too-why-not’?

Whatever your doing this fine evening, you can find more spooky stuff on this blog - including a new ghost everyday. You in? Then hit follow!

31 notes · View notes

zhooniyaa-waagosh · 2 years ago

Text

Shitty photo but finally got a thread organizer and bobbins!

Bottom left corner is for my project threads, labeled with the numbers according to the kit, bottom middle is ribbon, next to that is the sparkly thread, then bottom right is the thick natural wool threads.

I had 22 thread packet things to start with and then 7 more from the kit I'm currently working on. One of the wool threads I had (an alpaca one) actually got tangled to shit while I was trying to wind it to the point where I just threw the whole thing away, which actually worked out really well since I only had 28 bobbins.

I actually have no idea how to use those thick threads though, genuinely clueless. They're just sorta there for now.

The green thread is left over from my very first kit, the blue threads are all the exact same shade, and I have four different shades of pink. I got all but the kit threads from a big box of random craft supplies from a thrift shop so it's an. . . interesting assortment. We're pretty sure it was leftover craft stuff from an elementary or kindergarten teacher.

#hush and shush #embroidery #fabric crafts

5 notes · View notes

ktarsims · 6 years ago

Text

TS3CreatorsCave Discord

A discord server for learning and sharing knowledge about creating for The Sims 3.

We invite all creators interested in sharing knowledge of how to create for TS3, and all those who are not yet creators but would like to be to join us and learn.

We now have some testing and feedback channels, and invite non-creators who’d like to help test new projects to join our server!

Just three brief notes you should be aware of before joining us: 1. This is a server is primarily for creators to learn, improve and share knowledge. 2. Those who make a habit of creating conflict will be removed. 3. Testers should be mindful of what feedback has been requested, and not bombard creators with personal requests. 4. Requests of any kind are only allowed when solicited by creators.

This discord is public, and this invite link is permanent: discord.gg/4duP5QE

Since I know Discord can be a bit intimidating for some... here’s a brief tutorial on the basics... under the cut.

Okay! Let’s start with the things highlighted in blue in the above image. Please note that this tutorial shows where things are on the DESKTOP version of Discord. Mobile settings are sometimes in slightly different places.

The Blues: At the far left side of the discord interface (accessed via the lines in the top left corner in mobile version) there are icons for each discord server you belong to. (Yes, I belong to a lot of servers.) Our server icon actually says ‘TS3 Creators Cave’ courtesy of @pitheinfinite. If you belong to more than one server, you’ll have more than one icon. Simply click on an icon to change servers.

You’ll also see the title of the server you are currently looking at at the top of the next column to the right, in this case, ‘TS3CreatorsCave’.

Next up, the two red markings on this image...

The Reds: The red arrow pointing down is basically to let you know that everything else in this column, aside from the circled green things at the bottom, are channels for the server you’re currently visiting. Think of channels like different forums or forum threads. Each channel is for particular types of conversation, so you can find the conversations you want more easily. Just click on the channel you want to talk in to go to it!

The four channels that are circled in red are the first channels for you to look at. #nosimgeneral is the channel you’ll be in after you first accept the discord invitation to this server. #welcome, just above that, is where your welcome message will be found, with an advisory to check the #serverrules. In the Creators Cave Discord, you won’t have access to all the channels until the admin assigns you a role. Once you have a role, check out the #selfassignedroles channel to assign yourself various roles you can choose for yourself.

And now, on to the green markings...

The Greens: The green circle to the right of the server name allows you to access the ‘server settings’ for this particular server. Here, you can change your nickname for just this server, set your notification preferences for this server, etc.

The larger green circle at the bottom of the channel listings is your main Discord settings. It displays your main Discord ‘nickname’ (mine is K’tar), and the little gear to the far right takes you to user settings. Changing your nickname via this gear will change your nickname for every Discord server, so if you want to change it for only this server, use the ‘server settings’ described above instead. (Think of changing settings for individual servers like belonging to a network of forums that all utilize the same login ID, but you’re able to customize your display name in each separate forum.)

Last, but by no means least... the purple markings...

The Purples: The purple line at the top is under the channel name and description. Most channels in our discord have descriptions, so if you’re confused about what a channel is for, this can give you a hint. Or you can always just ask. Also, please don’t worry too much about saying something in the ‘wrong’ channel. The channels exist primarily to make topics easier to find. We are more likely to gently guide you to a different channel than to be upset with you about it.

The purple circle to the right of the channel name highlights the tools you can use in each channel.

Spool of Thread - This icon will show you a list of threads that were created in this particular channel.

Bell - This icon will allow you to access notification settings for this channel. (This can also be done just by right-clicking on the channel name.)

Pushpin - This icon will allow you to read ‘pinned’ messages in the channel. Not all channels will have pinned messages, but eventually many probably will have resources and suggested tutorials in pinned messages, so feel free to check!

People - This icon allows you to hide or show the list of people who are in this channel. Get rid of the list to widen your space for reading messages.

What are threads?? If each channel is a forum, threads are just like individual topics inside a forum.

To create a new thread, click on the + button to the left of ‘message’ box.

This will open up a box that will ask you for a thread title, and an initial message for the thread. Type in what you like. (It can be changed/edited later.) Then press enter like you’re sending a normal discord message to create the thread. Press the X in the top right corner to close the thread interface.

Threads show up like a message in the channel in which they are created, visible to all. For the thread creator, and any who have posted messages in that thread, the thread will also be visible as a sub-channel in the channel listing. However, the visibility in the channel listing will fade after several days if the thread becomes inactive. You can always find it again using the ‘spool of thread’ icon next to the channel name.

That about wraps up my mini-tutorial for the basics of Discord. I hope this is helpful to those who are wary of this ‘new fangled social media thing’. Happy simming! And happy creating

#ts3 #sims3 #ts3 discord #sims3 discord #oh dear what I have gotten myself into now #but please come join us #we'd love to have you #I hope the tutorial is helpful #I don't have a lot of creation skills #but I'm always willing to share what I have #I always plan to learn more eventually #but time is always a factor

214 notes · View notes

mattiebluebird · 5 years ago

Photo

[ID: A thread of tweets by @TheMERL (The Museum of English Rural Life). The tweets say, "So, we found a live bat in our rare book store. 🦇a thread🦇

We have a big, boring box with lots of fun, rare historic archives and books in it. It's so boring on the outside we don't have an image on file. But it is very exciting on the inside.

It's where we keep the Ladybird Books Archive, medieval manuscripts, our children's book collection, the WH Smith archive- it's a treasure trove. Full of lovely, lovely books. Do you know what's not a book?"

Next tweet has a bat emoji in the middle of a bunch of asterisks. Below it says 'A BAT'. "Bats can't even get library cards. But here he is, chilling above a fire exit he can't even open." Below is an image of a bat clinging to the wall in the corner of a room.

"He got through a tiny hole to begin with (which we're plugging) but the hole was so tiny that our bat couldn't find the exit, like a bewildered father in IKEA. The bat signal was lit. (the bat signal is a librarian out of their depth screaming 'there is a BAT in the LIBRARY' down the corridor)

Because the universe is weird, though, one of our volunteers and former @UniRdg_Library librarian also looks after bats in her spare time. Seriously, she saves bats and nurses them back to health in a spare room and then releases them back into the wild. Our team is full of secret X-men.

Here's our bat." Below is image of a bat being held in a gloved hand. Below that is the same image with a reporter's microphone photoshopped onto it and the text 'I have had a very long day... I'm very small and I have no money so you can imagine the kind of stress I am under' in the bottom left corner.

"First things first is to check the gonads, which confirm the bat is a boy. Male bat genitalia look like, and we quote, 'an albino hedgehog'." Below is an image of said bat's genitalia.

"We thought the bat was a type of pipistrelle, and after examining the ratio of forearm to 5th finger, and wing venation, it turns out to be a Nathusius' pipistrelle." Below is an image of the bat's wing. It is semi-transparent and you can see the bat's finger bones through the skin.

"This is very cool, as the species has only recently started migrating to Britain. They've previously travelled from the Baltic to settle in Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium or France." Below is a map of Europe with many black lines drawn from the Baltic to the aforementioned countries. The image is captioned 'Documented long distance movements of Pipistrellus nothusii in Europe'.

"We've named the bat MERLin (...). He is helping a current project capturing and ringing Nothusius' pipistrelle, so we can learn more about their migratory habits. Bat populations suffered catastrophic losses up until 1981, but are now heavily protected. Their main enemies are cats, habitat destruction and diminishing food supply of bugs. Find out how you can help bats @_bct_:"

"The latest update on Merlin is that: 'it took him ages to get the hang of self-feeding but there's no stopping him now so he's put on rather a lot of weight and needs a bit more flying practice before we can release him'.

The tubby bugger." End ID]

Link

141K notes · View notes

krainecommissions · 7 years ago

Text

Weekly Update: Work-space Tour!

I thought it might be neat to do a little sewing room tour. I’m super into looking into people’s work-space/rooms they work in. It always gives me inspiration to work and find ways to re-arrange my space to work more efficiently.

This here is the main space I work in. It’s where all my main sewing takes place. The table was bought from Ikea years ago, and it’s probably the best purchase I’ve made for a sewing desk. It’s fairly wide, and its solid too, so I don’t have to worry about it moving around when my machine is running. I keep my laptop on a separate table to keep it away from whatever I’m working on. On the bottom right is where I keep my patterns and notebook for whatever current project that I’m working on. The little trash can I keep there is great for when I need to toss spare thread or bits of fabric.

One of the most efficient things I’ve gotten set up is having my thread all out in front of me like this. Whenever I need to change something I can just reach up and grab it. The little kitty box is where I keep a lot of my immediate tools I need. Stuff like scissors or the needles for my machine. My bobbins and writing/marking tools are also kept close as well. I have part of my charm collection here as well. For no particular reason other then I like it there!

My machine of course, and an extra lamp for more light. Unfortunately my room doesn’t get a whole lot of really great lighting. And the extra light just makes it easier to work on smaller detailed things.

I’m lucky enough to have a big, full sized mirror for my own cosplay work.

I have two dress forms currently, which has really helped with my commission work (also enjoy a bit of a project I’m working on currently!). I’m also lucky enough to have two decently sized closets in this room. The right one is where I store all my personal cosplay work (and could probably use a good cleaning). The left one is for my cosplay supplies. Enjoy my figure collection in the center.

Here’s the inside of the cosplay supply closet! I labeled things for how I sort them. I recently upgraded into 4 totes for fabric. I’m still trying to find a better way to store my fabric, but with the space I have, I don’t think I’ll be able to do much more until I go into a new space. I ended up with a whole tote of fleece because at one point I used to make a lot of plushies. I don’t make them as much anymore, but I’ll have a use for it eventually! I keep my duplicate thread in this space, as well as any tools that I don’t need immediately.

I have a TON of patterns currently. I’ve been collecting patterns for years now, so that’s about 10+ years worth of patterns currently. I organized my patters by: tops, bottoms, separates & dresses. The left most drawer is all labeled by the type of supply. You’d be surprised how many different types of glues and interface’s you end up collecting.

And now my cutting table, featuring the best/worst little helper. She loves to look out that window. I like keeping the table covered because I end up storing a lot underneath, and it just looks so much clearing with all that stuff covered. The table is just a normal plastic fold out table.

The bin here is where I keep all the fabric/supplies for my current projects. Each one is separated by bags. I find it really helpful to have it all out where I can easily access it.

I have 2 cutting mats spread across, which makes it easy for cutting. My serger is on this table, so it doesn’t take up too much room on my main desk. And enjoy my work apron I use while working on commissions.

And here’s the last corner of the room. It’s where my ironing board is, as well as my TV. I have my PS3 hooked up to it, where I mostly have youtube videos playing while I’m working.

This probably wouldn’t be common for anyone else, but I keep a big box of shipping boxes for when I send out a commission. Its an easy way to keep them all with me, since I go through a bunch of boxes. I also have a dry erase board up of all the current projects & commissions. I like having an easy visual reminder while I’m working. I’ll update it as I work by the end of the day.

And that’s the full tour of my work-space! I’ll leave this post with my little helper looking rather cute.

She’s bad, but she’s adorable.

#blog post #weekly update #sewing room #sewing #cosplay

21 notes · View notes

redvsvblue · 8 years ago

Text

Paint and Metal and Everything in Between (4/4)

Hey-o, here’s part four. More Jeremwood set in the FAHC AU. There’s a NSFW scene. Some light descriptions of blood and injury, but nothing graphic.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, general tag)

The cold stare of the detective is piercing and unsettling, but not nearly as unsettling as the Vagabond's grin.

Ryan looks far too comfortable in handcuffs, legs sprawled out in from of him as he leans back in the uncomfortable metal chair, his hands tied tight behind it. The face paint is smeared on one side, dragged all the way down to his neck in wide streaks of red/white/black/grey and his hair falls in his eyes when he laughs.

Jeremy and Jack are bound similarly, except Jack just looks mostly annoyed and Jeremy – well, Jeremy's trying to project an air of Michael-like confidence but inside he's shitting himself because this is the first time he's been arrested with the crew.

Okay, well, technically his first crew arrest was a few months after some light vandalism with Gavin, but they escaped before they even got in the cruiser.

So it's his first time in custody during his association with the Fakes. And now he can definitely see why the news portrays them all wrong – it's because they present themselves all wrong.

Ryan really plays up the mad mercenary moniker, grinning almost manically and replying with quick, flippant answers that aren't answers at all, casually shrugs off the accusations and merely says that if I had done it there wouldn't have been any of him left to find. Officer.

And Jack – god, Jack. She's steely and silent, glaring at the detective and sneering when spoken to. She doesn't answer anything save for a snappy go fuck yourself and now Jeremy knows why she's known as the Bitch over the police radios. It's such a complete turnaround that it nearly gives Jeremy whiplash, and he's left over here wondering what the fuck to do with himself. He doesn't want to put up a front he can't hold, doesn't want to seem like the weakest link at the same time. He's fucked, he's boned, he's absolutely -

“Oh, he can tell you all about her,” Ryan says, head lolling over to look at Jeremy. Jeremy leans forward to see around Jack and Ryan grins, his tongue poking out of his mouth. “Can't you, 'Dozer?”

Dozer?

“What?” He asks flatly, feigning boredom. Jack sighs irritably, loudly in her chair and one of the officers shoots her a warning glare.

“All about that nice lady whose throat you ripped out,” Ryan says sweetly. “Fucked up your paintjob, didn't she?” What the fuck, he's never ripped out anyone's throat!

“I think that's enough, Haywood,” the detective snarls, holding a hand palm-out to him and turning to Jeremy.

“What kinda name is Dozer?” An officer asks quietly.

“I dunno, always sleepin' on the job?” The other replies, and the detective snaps a shut up to them as well.

“'Dozer, as in Bulldozer,” Jack says, rolling her eyes. “Y'know, 'cause he's yella’ like one.” She shoots him a snide glance and Ryan laughs loudly – forcibly – at her insult. Jeremy scoffs.

The detective glances back at the files on the table behind her, levels Jeremy with an unreadable stare.

“Boston kid, huh?” She asks, crosses her arms and perches on the edge of table like she has all the time in the world. “Long way to come.”

“Hm, none of your business,” Jeremy says – Ryan laughs again, this time more genuine, and one of the officers steps forward, hand on his gun. They have a little stare-down while the detective narrows her eyes at Jeremy.

“The docks,” she says, tilting her head. “Why'd you blow them?”

“I didn't.”

She scoffs.

“Mr. Dooley,” she says slowly, condescension dripping from her voice like honey. “We have security footage of you and your friends setting military grades detonation charges at the west harbour docks at midnight yesterday.”

“The only thing he's blowing here is me,” Ryan jokes, and Jeremy looks over just in time to see him get tased, juddering violently in the chair as he screams and doubles over – Jeremy's heart kicks up into doubletime and sudden fury rises in him, raced along by Jack's infuriatingly blank face, her blasé shrug as the tase stops and Ryan pants, drool leaking from his mouth, swallowing a few times before laughing quietly, madly.

Jeremy tamps it down when the detective raises a cool eyebrow, clearly expecting him to break and babble but he won't.

“I plead the fifth,” he says simply, and sits back in the chair. “I'm not speaking until I see a lawyer.”

Jack snickers and Ryan giggles again, glancing over at him.

“Oh, that's how you want to play it?” The detective asks. “Why, I'm sure we can organise a suitable...arrangement for you, Mr. Dooley.”

“She means jail!” Ryan hollers, and the officer tases him again – this time a large corner of the ceiling blows up and alarms blare as Michael and Geoff drop in amidst dust and plaster, cocking their guns and disabling the officers by shooting their kneecaps out – Michael slams the butt of his shotgun across the detective's face and knocks her out before striding over to Jack.

“Man, thought you'd never get here,” she says calmly as Michael jimmies open the cuffs, rubbing her reddened wrists and slipping the pistol out of Michael's jeans for herself – at the same time Geoff free Ryan, and when Jack's standing Michael goes to Jeremy.

“You didn't crack, that's good,” he says, and Jeremy casts a worried look over at Ryan, who's half-slumped against Geoff, wiping spit from his mouth and keeping up surprisingly well for someone who just got tased twice.

“Don't worry, he's fine,” Michael says, following Jeremy's gaze. “Happens all the time. Now come on, we've only got about thirty seconds before that door busts in.” As if on cue, voices rise outside the room and Michael and Geoff usher them all to the ladder now dangling through the hole in the ceiling – Jeremy sighs but climbs up after Jack, and the moment Geoff's feet are on the bottom rung Gavin lifts up and flies away.

It's a bumpy as fuck ride, all of them groaning when they eventually haul themselves into the body of the chopper, collapsing on the floor of it as Geoff closes the hatch.

“Hello and welcome to Fake airlines. This is your captain speaking!” Gavin chirps over the PA, and half of them laugh and the other half groan. “We've got a good tail wind up here, looks to be smooth sailing. Oh, except maybe for the missiles!” Screaming erupts as the chopper pitches sideways, a missile roaring right past them and exploding among clouds, the blast rocking them back the other way and they all scramble to get up so they're not sliding all over the hard metal floor.

“Gavin!” Michael snaps, coughing into his elbow as he sinks into a seat – he grabs the little mic for the intercom and shouts into it, “Gavin, you fuck!”

In response, Gavin just screams again and they dodge a few more missiles, holding tight onto their seats as the chopper spins.

“Okay, okay, we're clear,” Gavin announces, relief clear in his voice. “They've given up on us.”

“You fuck!” Michael screams, and gets up to storm into the cockpit – Geoff follows and the sounds of a brief scuffle ensue. Jack gets up and closes the door.

Ryan trudges over to sit down beside Jeremy, stretching his legs out and resting his hands on his chest as he tips his head back and closes his eyes. Jeremy doesn't quite know what to do with his hands, unsure if it's okay to touch yet, so he just keeps them on his thighs even though he desperately wants to touch.

“Are you okay?” Jeremy asks, gesturing to Ryan's shirt where the taser burnt through.

“What? Oh, yeah, it's fine, just stings a bit,” Ryan says. He cracks an eye open and holds a hand out to Jack, beckoning. “Jack, medkit?”

“Please?” She sing-songs, handing it over nonetheless.

“Please and thank you,” Ryan replies with a grin, popping open the kit and taking out a few packets of alcohol wipes and a tube of cream.

Jeremy watches silently while Ryan hikes his shirt up to expose his chest, cleaning the taser wounds before smearing cream on them. He tugs his shirt down and puts the kit on the next seat over, butts his head against Jeremy's before resting his head on Jeremy's shoulder and closing his eyes. Jeremy rests a hand on Ryan's thigh and Ryan covers it with his own.

“Bulldozer?” Jeremy asks a few minutes later, looking at Jack. She shrugs and brings a leg up to rest her knee on it.

“I don't know, I was just goin' along,” she says. “Ryan's the one who said it.” She gestures to the guy currently dozing on Jeremy's shoulder and Ryan hums noncommittally.

“Improv usually works,” he mumbles.

“I feel like someone should have told me how this would work,” Jeremy deadpans. “Y'know, the cackling and the tasing and shit? Fuckin' creepy.”

“That's the point,” Jack replies. “Anyway, smooth recovery, I plead the fifth,” she teases, grinning at him.

“Hey, I panicked!” Jeremy protests, holding his free hand up in surrender.

“It was good,” Jack says. She grins and rests her head against the window. “Nice fuckin' job down there, Lil J.”

Jeremy considers the variety of painkillers on the shelf – debates gelcaps vs. plain pills – and after he's shifted the basket to his other hand for the fifth time he ends up just grabbing a few bulk packs and dropping them in next to the handful of surgical scissors.

He and Michael are doing a full safehouse restock today – Geoff's orders. Once they were in the store, Michael sent him to get basic medkit supplies while he himself wandered off for other things – although he had tasked Jeremy with finding Bengay for Geoff's aching neck.

Jeremy's just double-checking the contents of his basket – bandages, scissors, alcohol, needle, thread – when Michael returns to him, putting his own basket down on the floor between them and grunting out a greeting as he pulls out his phone. He rubs the back of his neck while he brings up a list – Jeremy can't read it from this angle, but Michael's focused intently on it, muttering quietly to himself.

Michael's basket is filled with heavier-duty items, like joint braces and splints, and sitting on top of it all is a paper pharmacy bag. With lack of anything better to do, Jeremy curiously picks up the bag and peers inside, expecting maybe morphine or heavy painkillers, but as he paws through the contents he finds numerous bottles of testosterone – he glances down and spies a pack of disposable needles in Michael's basket, just under the wrist brace.

“That's a lot,” Jeremy comments, folding the bag back down. Michael glances up at him.

“What?” His eyes flick down to the bag in Jeremy's hands. “Oh, that's Ryan's. We put one in every safehouse.” He shrugs. “Just in case we get stuck for a while.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, feeling a little intrusive all of a sudden.

“Yeah, when, uh – oh, it was before you were with us, yeah - “ Michael shifts on his feet and glances down at his phone before looking back up at Jeremy, “ - this heist went bad and we had to hide and Ryan and I were stuck in the south dock house.”

“The blue, like, fisherman one?”

Michael nods and pockets his phone.

“Yeah. Anyway, he fucked up his leg and we were trapped there for, like, a month. And he didn't have any of his – hormones and shit and we couldn't get any, so. Kinda emotionally fucked him up a little. Ever since that Geoff's made sure we stock all the hideouts with it.”

“Shit, I didn't even know,” Jeremy says, setting the bag back down in Michael's basket.

“Learn somethin' new every day, Lil J,” Michael says with a grin, clapping a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. “Now help me pick out some shit for Gavin.”

Suddenly he picks up his basket and strides down the aisle and Jeremy scrambles to catch up, his basket banging against his knee as he half-jogs to Michael.

“Pick out? What are we picking out?” He asks.

Michael stops in front of the plaster section and grins conspiratorially at Jeremy before pointing to a bright box of Cars-themed Band-Aids.

“Four-for-two deal,” he says, and plucks out the box. “Gav usually needs them more than we do, so. Hand me that Barbie one?”

A dinner date turns into a lot more when they accidentally stumble into nightclub row and, well, Jeremy's not saying they may have ended up at a strip club but they've definitely ended up behind one.

Ryan groans gutturally and his fingers flex on Jeremy's head, pressing him in further as he rocks up into his mouth. Jeremy flicks his tongue over the barbell and Ryan spits out a curse, head tipped back against the wall and eyes closed while Jeremy blows him.

His jeans are only pulled down enough for Jeremy to get here, the buckle of his belt bumping against Jeremy's collarbone when he bucks up. Jeremy curls his tongue around Ryan's cock again and sucks noisily, his teeth clicking against warm metal.

“Oh, Jeremy, fuck,” Ryan moans, shuddering at the slight scrape of Jeremy's teeth. He's all soft and hot against Jeremy's tongue, flushed a dark, attractive pink, and Jeremy closes his eyes to focus on dragging out all the little reactions he can, from the low groans to the twitch of his thighs under Jeremy's palms.

The quiet chant of Jeremy's name is addictive, heady in all the best ways and he swirls his tongue around the wet nub of Ryan's dick to hear it more, Ryan's satisfied groans accompanied with urgent rolls of his hips. Jeremy pulls back for a breather, brushing his lips over where Ryan's swollen and slick while he pants.

Ryan tugs him back in a moment later and Jeremy goes easily, narrowing his tongue to a point and running it up the underside to make Ryan jerk and tremble, fingers tightening on Jeremy's neck. Jeremy squeezes his thighs and works more deliberately to get Ryan off, licking and sucking and finding all the sensitive spots he can while Ryan's groans pitch rough above him.

He's rewarded, a few breathless moments later, by Ryan's ragged moan and the slight buckle of his knees as he comes over Jeremy's mouth and chin, hot and wet - his moan wavers into a surprised whimper when Jeremy dives in to lick it up. Jeremy swallows thickly and rolls his tongue over the piercing, keeps sucking until Ryan's pushing him away. He pulls Ryan's thighs open a little more to clean him up with his tongue, drops a kiss over his cock before settling back on his knees.

Jeremy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as Ryan tugs up his jeans and urges Jeremy to standing with the hand on his neck, dragging him in for a clumsy kiss. A warm hand cups Jeremy's jaw as Ryan's tongue curls into his mouth and a thigh shoves up between Jeremy's legs, giving him something to grind against.

Ryan's hand slips down the back of Jeremy's jeans to his ass, squeezing slowly and grinning at Jeremy's gasp. He uses that hand to guide Jeremy into a rough rhythm, drops his other to knead at Jeremy's dick through his jeans.

Jeremy presses his cheek to Ryan's as Ryan unzips him, spitting crudely into his palm before wrapping thick fingers around Jeremy's cock and stroking. He presses a kiss to Jeremy's jaw and then suddenly sinks to his knees, wasting no time getting his mouth on Jeremy and hollowing out his cheeks to suck sloppily, dragging his tongue over the slit. Jeremy groans and braces a hand against the wall and threads the other in Ryan's hair, shallowly rolling his hips in time with Ryan's bobbing and panting out his name as his toes curl in his boots.

When Jeremy's close, swearing and moaning and tense all over, Ryan pops off and presses a kiss to the spit-slicked head, raking a hand through his hair and clumsily pushing himself back up to standing to kiss Jeremy full-on, muffling his frustrated grunt with his mouth. He resumes his fast stroking and Jeremy breaks the kiss to pant, hips twisting up into Ryan's pattern and his hands fisting Ryan's shirt. Ryan's arm wraps around his shoulders to keep him steady.

The fire door to Jeremy's right abruptly bangs open and footsteps pound out – they stop shortly along with the voices and Jeremy buries his burning face in Ryan's neck as Ryan glares at the people – Jeremy flushes hot all over knowing they've essentially been caught, and the adrenaline push launches him right over the edge and he comes messily over Ryan's fist, embarrassed and hot and desperately wishing he could have waited until the people left.

The footsteps hurry back inside and the door slams firmly shut and Jeremy trembles, sure he's blushing straight down to his chest while Ryan finishes him off and drops a kiss to Jeremy's head, panting raggedly into his ear. Jeremy whines in the back of his throat and twitches pathetically in Ryan's fingers.

Soon after Jeremy's settled, Ryan takes his hand away and Jeremy straightens again, tucking himself in while Ryan slumps against the wall. When he glances shyly up, Ryan grins and lifts his hand to lick the come off of it – the image sends a hot shiver through Jeremy.

“Didn't realise you had an exhibitionist thing,” Ryan teases, sucking pointedly on a knuckle and wiping his spit-wet fingers on his shirt.

“What, the blowjob didn't give it away?” Jeremy retorts automatically.

“Mm, 's hot,” Ryan says, pulling Jeremy in with a strong grip on his arms and kissing him. “Should do it more often.”

“You're just shameless, you know that?”

“About you, yeah.”

“Hey!” Ryan barks, tossing a shotgun over to Michael – Michael catches it neatly and turns to blast the guy charging him with a knife, downing him in one easy shot and cocking his gun to hit the next one while Ryan snaps in a new ammo clip and fires again, a bright spray of blood painting the wall.

“How's it goin'?” Geoff asks in Jeremy's ear.

“I think we're winning,” Jeremy gasps, pressing down on his bleeding side with a grunt. “Aw, fuck,” he mutters when he realises the wad of cloth he's holding is completely soaked through.

“We're gonna need the ambulance,” Michael shouts over the cracks of gunfire, him and Ryan moving in a slow circle around Jeremy as they pick off the last of the other gang.

“We've got a chopper right here,” Gavin says, and Jeremy groans at the thought of it. Ryan glances back at him.

“He can't handle that right now,” Michael replies. “Get the ambulance.”

“We're right here - “

“I don't care, Geoff! Get the fucking ambulance!”

“Michael, look, we can airlift him to -

“Ambulance!” Michael insists, and Jeremy groans weakly to indicate his agreement.

“Mi - “

“Ambulance!”

“Okay, okay!” Geoff says, and relays the orders to Jack. “Give us fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Ryan snaps.

“All right, ten, Jesus.”

Jeremy's really not hurt too badly – the scariest thing is the bleeding, and that's only because it was a long cut, deep enough for stitches but not deep enough to nick anything important – although he is incredibly dizzy from the pain and he really doesn't like the feel of his own blood seeping between his fingers.

He loses track of time, a little, surrounded by occasional gunshots – or maybe they finally fall silent, he's not sure – and Michael's and Ryan's movements and urgent chatter over the comms – next thing he knows Ryan's slapping his cheek and telling him to stay awake, stay awake, eyes on me, okay? and scooping him up in his arms, grunting with the effort. Jeremy's head lolls against his arm and Ryan looks down again – Jeremy notices the blood on his cheek is only a few shades darker than the paint.

Jeremy makes another pained noise and his injured side presses up against Ryan's front, jostled painfully with each step and he isn't quite sure anymore why it's important he stays awake but Ryan's repeating it every few seconds so Jeremy tries if only to shut him up.

Suddenly there's noise and sirens and a dangerous screech of tyres and Michael's screaming something while Ryan holds Jeremy tighter and -

The world goes up, and down, and Jeremy only barely registers the slam of the van doors behind them – the world jolts into motion again and Jeremy's so dizzy it hurts, his pulse pounding in time with his bleeding out and everything blurs and swims as he's laid down on a rough cot.

His shirt's torn away. Alcohol stings.

Oh my god, he's bleeding everywhere!

I fucking told you we needed the ambulance, Gavin!

A hand lands on his cheek, slapping a bit roughly and Jeremy forces his eyes open to see Michael's face above him upside down. He lets out a slurred gah sound and Michael pinches his cheek – the twinge of pain hardly compares to the agony blistering down his side.

“Hey, asshole, stay awake,” Michael orders. “Ryan's sewing you up.”

“Eurgh, that's bloody nasty, that is.”

“Then don't fucking look!” Michael says, exasperation tight in his tone. “Jeremy, keep looking at me, okay?” He leans in a little more and pulls a series of funny faces – a bubble of laughter rises in Jeremy's chest and all he offers is a wheeze, but Michael smiles at him, sticks his tongue out almost close enough to lick Jeremy's nose.

Jeremy hates the sensation of his skin closing up and the slight pinch of the needle he can feel every second, but he focuses on the twist of Michael's mouth when the van bumps over something and the sound of Gavin falling down on a sharp turn – Ryan yells something and Jack replies and Jeremy starts drifting away again, in no way pleasantly lulled into a doze but rather just pained enough he doesn't really give a shit about the rough ride.

“Stay awake,” someone says, and slaps him again.

“I'm done, I'm done,” Ryan says all in a rush – Jeremy turns into the hand on his cheek and Michael grumbles something but curls his fingers under Jeremy's jaw nonetheless, holding him steady.

“Look at me,” Michael says. Jeremy does. “If we give you painkillers you have to promise not to pass out.”

Jeremy mumbles something garbled and Michael sighs, patting his cheek.

“Give 'em here, Ryan.”

Something goes in his mouth and Jeremy swallows reflexively – someone's hand pets over his throat and helps him swallow the pills, going back to his cheek when he's done that.

“Stay awake,” Michael reminds him, and Jeremy promptly passes out.

“Hey, dipshit, I told you to stay awake.”

Jeremy groans and immediately coughs, then falls into a violent coughing fit that makes his side sear with pain. Someone sighs and rolls him a little onto his side and liquid wells up in Jeremy's mouth – he spits automatically into the tissue someone holds out for him and a little tremour of panic runs through him when he sees that it's red.

“Don't worry,” the person says as they ball up the tissue and push Jeremy back onto his back. “'S just a bitten tongue. Managed to do it while you were unconscious.”

Jeremy grunts noncommittally and opens his eyes properly to see Michael above him, his split lip cleaned up and a prupling bruise blossoming over his jaw.

Jeremy tries to ask a question but it comes out as ahh ooooh? and Michael just shakes his head and laughs, patting Jeremy's shoulder. He's in a bed – the guest room at the penthouse, he realises.

“You've been out for just over two hours,” Michael says. “You're good. We stitched the gash and cleaned you up and the rest of us are okay.” He glances back where Jeremy can't see and his mouth twists.

Jeremy huhs questioningly and Michael urges him up a little so he can see Ryan, slumped in a chair in the corner and sleeping, his head propped up with a hand and his chest rising and falling with his soft breathing. There's a butterfly bandage over his cheek, gauze wrapped around his knuckles. His clothes are clean.

“He's been here for a bit,” Michael says, plumping up a few pillows and shoving them behind Jeremy so he's at a slight angle. “Poor fuck passed out right in the chair.” He finishes with rearranging Jeremy and crosses his arms, glancing back at Ryan again.

“There's dinner for you if you want it,” Michael says, turning his gaze back to Jeremy. “I'll get some water for you first.”

With that he leaves the room - a few moments later the sound of socked feet on hardwood approaches the door and Gavin steps in, grinning wide when he sees Jeremy.

“Lil J!” He says, bounding up to Jeremy's side. “How're you feeling?”

Terrible, Jeremy wants to say. Instead he gets errgh. Gavin laughs and pulls up a chair from the wall, plopping down in it to Jeremy's right and rest his arms on Jeremy's bed.

“Hey, I got – Gav, I told you to leave him alone!” Michael hisses when he walks in, holding a tray with two plates and balancing multiple glasses of water on it while he glares at Gavin.

“I'm not botherin' him,” Gavin protests with an easy smile, looking at Jeremy. “Am I, Lil J?”

Jeremy lifts his eyes to Michael's and offers a faint shrug with one shoulder. Michael sighs and rolls his eyes before walking over to the chair on Jeremy's left, setting the tray down on the free space on the bed and handing him a glass.

Gavin reaches over to try and pluck a piece of bread from the plate and Michael slaps his wrist away, breaks into fond laughter when Gavin tries again – Jeremy smiles and drinks and Michael and Gavin fall into friendly banter while Jeremy slowly works his way through dinner.

The next time Jeremy wakes up, Geoff's in the chair, reading a book with his feet propped up lazily on Jeremy's bed, and there's early, early morning light streaming through the curtains. Jeremy grunts and Geoff smiles at him.

“Need anything?” He asks, and Jeremy shakes his head. He'd woken up a few hours ago because he needed to piss, and Michael helped him with that. His throat's a little dry, but he wants to see if he'll stay awake this time or if he'll just pass out again. Geoff hums in acknowledgement and turns back to his book.

Jeremy wiggles all the parts of him that he can, sighing as feeling rushes back to his curled toes, his stiff fingers. His shoulders ache and the agony in his side is dulled by painkillers, thick bandage swathed over the wound under his shirt and his ribs taped up.

“Geoff, breakfast's ready,” someone says through a yawn as they open the door – it's Ryan, two mugs of steaming coffee in his hands and his hair still mussed up from sleep. When he sees Jeremy's awake he perks up a little, a relieved smile breaking out across his face as Geoff stands up.

Ryan hands Geoff a mug and Geoff thanks him with a pat to his shoulder before slipping out behind him, his footsteps soft as they fade away. Ryan comes over to Jeremy's side and sets the mug down on the bedside table while he drags the chair closer and sits.

“Ow,” Jeremy whispers dramatically. Ryan laughs and carefully threads his fingers through Jeremy's, grinning a little goofily.

“You think you can stay awake this time?” Ryan teases.

“Fuck you,” Jeremy rasps. Ryan leans in to press a kiss to Jeremy's knuckles, chuckles when Jeremy flexes his fingers to try and slap Ryan's cheek.

“Hm, you stink,” Ryan murmurs, brushing another soft kiss over Jeremy's fingers. Jeremy can't help his little wheezing, painful laugh, and Ryan gently squeezes his hand with a pleased huff.

“Love you,” he says. Jeremy sighs loudly and Ryan laughs again, a relieved, happy noise that makes Jeremy smile.

“Yeah, love you, too,” he says quietly.

“He's gonna miss!” Geoff crows, handing the binoculars to Jeremy and clapping as he laughs – Jeremy lifts the binoculars to focus on the bright rainbow spot in the distance – Gavin's parachute, drifting down and missing the ship by a fucking mile. Michael's jet circles around again and Jack's laughter erupts through the phone laying between Geoff and Jeremy when he sees Gavin in front of her boat instead of on it.

Gavin spirals down to the ocean and underwater – when he comes back up and starts swimming to shore, Jeremy can only imagine the raucous laughter from inside the cockpit, the bickering going on between Michael's and Gavin's comms as Gavin hauls himself onto the sand. Jack's broken into wheezing over the phone, giggling madly to herself at nearly the same pitch Geoff is, taking the binoculars again to peer at Gavin.

Jeremy joins in on Geoff's laughter, loudly cracking up all over again when Michael's jet comes around once more and Ryan jumps from it, missing the boat by just as much as Gavin and Jack literally cannot form words anymore, gone silent with laughter, and Geoff's fucking losing it, cackling as Ryan crashes into the water.

Geoff puts the binoculars down while Michael and Gavin and Ryan go about setting up again – Jack talks to them on the comms and Geoff lowers the volume on the phone as he passes a can to Jeremy, who can't stop snickering enough to actually pop it open.

“Oh man, this is the stupidest thing we've ever done,” Geoff breathes, giggling again as he clinks his Coke with Jeremy's. “Oh, I love you guys.”

“Wait until Michael wrecks your jet,” Jeremy says through his laughter – his side hurts from it, but when he pulls his shirt up to check there's no new blood on the bandage. “Or when Ryan tries to blow the boat up.”

“Ah, that's Jack's problem,” Geoff sighs. They're sitting on the edge of the penthouse roof, their legs dangling off the edge and their sodas perilously close to it. Jeremy is resolutely not looking down.

It's only been a few days since he's been up and moving, and if he were able to he'd probably be one of the crazy ones jumping out of high speed jets and trying to land on a boat, but instead Geoff stayed back with him and helped him up to the roof to watch.

Michael does a barrel roll and Jeremy's quickly relieved that he's not in there with Gavin and Ryan right now – accepts the binoculars to watch as Gavin jumps from the plane.

Gavin misses.

On the morning of Jeremy's birthday, Ryan rolls over in bed and lays a small, silver key on his chest. Jeremy frowns at it and Ryan presses up to his side again, his chin against Jeremy's shoulder and his breath puffing out hot over his neck.

“What's this?” Jeremy asks, picking up the key and inspecting it in the sunshine pouring in through the window.

“Your key,” Ryan says, already halfway back to sleep.

“Huh?”

“You practically live here anyway,” Ryan mumbles, and sighs as he curls an arm around Jeremy's waist. Jeremy's dumbstruck for a solid five seconds before he manages to process that Ryan basically just asked him to move in – in the most roundabout, casual way he could, and Jeremy rubs his thumb over the shiny key, a smile growing on his face.

“Shit, Ry,” he whispers, but Ryan's already asleep again.

Jeremy rolls his eyes and reaches over to drop the key on his bedside table before settling his hand over Ryan's forearm and closing his eyes.

#ragehappy #jeremwood #fanfic #mine #trans ah #paint and metal

36 notes · View notes

toolsvenue-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Stacking Tool Caddy

A simple-to-build tote, excellent for tool and provides transport.

by Toolsvenue

I designed this stacking tool caddy to carry little components and some tools. It’s comprised of 3 tool trays that stack and interlock along to make one unit that may be carried where required. better of all, it stores my screws, nails and tiny tools therefore they’re o.k. at hand. It’s additionally handy for transporting different items: stitching provides, gear and no matter else you'll hatch.

The trays are joined with half-laps secured by dowels. The dowels not solely add strength however additionally add a pleasant ornamental detail to the project. To lock the trays along, the most handle pivots, permitting access to the individual trays. A depressor acts as an easy spring latch.

Trays 1st The sides for every receptacle are 1⁄2” x 3-1⁄2” poplar (dimensional 1⁄2“x4 lumber from the large box store). to start the development, cut the facet and finish items. It’s very important they're the identical length – if they aren’t, the trays won’t be sq. and won’t stack and interlock properly. A stop-block will aid in creating the repeat cuts accurately. Cut the short receptacle sides, then reset the stop-block to chop the long receptacle sides – you ought to have six of every.

miter saw setup Matching lengths. For clean cuts and an honest registration surface, attach Associate in Nursing auxiliary fence to the stock fence of the miter saw. Also, guarantee consistent lengths by employing a stop-block. With the saw off, live from the blade to the block, and clamp it in situ. begin by cutting the top of the board sq., then place that finish against the stop and build your cuts.

Next, rout a 1⁄4” x 1⁄4” rabbet on each finish of every of the receptacle items for the half-lap joinery. be careful – the router bit encompasses a tendency to fracture and tear out the fibers as you exit the cut, departure a jagged corner. a straightforward thanks to eliminate the blowout is to 1st build atiny low cut with a saw to outline the exit purpose of the bit.

trim router setup Router setup. Use a 1⁄4″ rabbet bit for the joinery. The bit can mechanically build a 1⁄4″ cut wide thanks to the bearing size, however the bit still has got to be set therefore it’s cutting 1⁄4″ down from the bottom plate.

trim router rabbet Rabbet. Rout the rabbets on the ends of each receptacle half. i take advantage of a bench hook to carry the add place and off of the bench.

Next, glue up the trays. It may be tough to carry the receptacle along and glue either side at the identical time. to create it less of a juggling act, use some painter’s tape to quickly hold the joint along whereas you apply glue to the opposite corners.

Before the glue dries, place the receptacle in clamps snugly, however not totally tightened, therefore you'll check for sq.. live diagonally from corner to corner a technique, then the opposite – the measurements ought to be the identical. If they’re off, meaning the receptacle is slightly racked and has got to be adjusted. Once you’ve got it wherever you would like it, slowly and equally tighten the clamps. Check for state of affairs longer before permitting the glue to line up.

With the glue dry, confirm the highest and bottom edges are all flat and flush. If necessary, use a woodworking plane to true them up. Then cut a 1⁄4” rabbet on the highest and bottom edges – you'll use the identical router setup as you probably did for the joinery.

rout receptacle A-one Rout again. Cut a 1⁄4″ x 1⁄4″ rabbet on the within of the highest and bottom of the trays, once the glue dries. The router bit and setting are the identical as for the joints. once routing on the within of a chunk, confirm to maneuver the router dextral – you ought to forever move the router therefore the rotation of its bit is against the direction you’re moving.

The corners of the rabbets are going to be spherical. Use a chisel to stand these in order that the bottoms’ corners can seat totally then the trays nest along during a stack.

Next, cut the 1⁄2” plyboard bottoms to length and breadth. as a result of the rabbets are solely 1⁄4” deep, the plyboard sits below the perimeters by 1⁄4” – this lets the underside register into the highest of the receptacle below. However, rock bottom tray’s bottom mustn't project – it ought to be flush with the facet items. Use the router with the identical bit and depth setting to chop a 1⁄4” rabbet on all four edges of the underside for the bottom receptacle. The rabbets on the receptacle bottom and tray sides can nest along, permitting the underside to sit down flush with the perimeters. confirm once routing the skin of the piece of work that you’re moving dextral round the work. currently glue within the plyboard bottoms.

Next, reinforce the joinery with some 1⁄4” dowels by drilling 3 holes in from the perimeters through every joint. check with the drawings for layout – they're 1⁄4” from the ends, and will be equally spaced. the top grain can wish to blow out throughout this operation – there are some ways that to forestall that from happening. First, place some tape over the corner to bolster the fibers whereas drilling. Also, rigorously live and draw the lines wherever the dowels ought to be placed to avoid obtaining too near the perimeters of the boards. Lastly, confirm the drill is up to full speed before pushing down into the wood, or it'll tend to tear at the fibers rather than cutting them cleanly.

flush cut dowels Dowels. Keeping the holdfast long assures you’ll bottom out on every hole. once applying glue and sound it home, discontinue the surplus with a flush-cut saw.

After drilling all the holes, glue within the dowels. to create positive you've got the proper length of holdfast for every hole, keep the holdfast long and glue it in one hole at a time. place glue within the hole and on the top of the holdfast rod, then faucet the holdfast till it’s seated . With a flush-cut saw, flush the holdfast to the receptacle surface. Repeat the method for all the receptacle sides.

Get a Handle on that The top divider encompasses a tall handle, and therefore the middle divider encompasses a low handle that sits below its walls. From the drawing below, build full-sized templates for the 2 dividers and trace them onto the wood. Use a jigsaw or different applicable saw (such as a bowsaw or band saw) to rough the form.

Start the finger holds by drilling the outer holes, then drill many holes during a line between them. Place a killing piece of wood beneath to forestall drilling into your benchtop. Also, clamp the piece of work to the scrap once drilling – this can forestall blowout on the opposite facet of the workpiece because the bit exits the wood.

Chisel to your layout lines, removing the waste left from drilling. Chop concerning halfway into the work, then flip the board over and end the work. this can offer you higher results as a result of by acting from each side the rear side won’t blow out. File and sand to create the divider’s curves and finger holds swish and cozy to the bit.

To mount the dividers within the receptacle, notice the centers of the receptacle sides and, with the divider clamped in situ, drill 1⁄4” holes from the skin of the receptacle into the divider. Use 1⁄4” holdfast and glue to secure the divider. each dividers are pasted within the same manner.

Before you create the larger exterior handle, build the spring latches and handle stops. The spring latches are made of tongue depressors, that flex to secure the handle vertically. The stops are items of holdfast that forestall the handle from rotating too so much.

chisel out mortise

tongue depressor latch Spring latches. The mortises that hold the spring latches are pared with a chisel command at Associate in Nursing angle to make a ramp, that causes them to face proud. A depressor is simply the proper size and thickness, however any skinny piece of wood can work.

From the plans, lay out the lines for the spring latches on the highest tray’s sides and use a knife to attain deep lines to outline every latch’s mortise.

With a chisel, pare away the wood between the knife cuts at a gradual slope, in order that the mortise angles upward. confirm to check every latch as you chisel its slot – it ought to be proud enough to carry the handle back however straightforward enough to move so much enough to permit the handle to miss. Use glue and tiny brads to secure the spring latches in situ.

The handle stops are 3⁄8” dowels trained and affixed in situ. they must be put in in order that the handle stops vertically, once passing over the latches.

Now, whereas the glue for the spring latches and stops is drying, build the most handle. This handle is mounted to rock bottom receptacle by a nut and bolt through the arm and into the tray. the 2 arms of the handles on either facet are connected by a 3⁄4” holdfast on top of the stacking trays.

Cut the arms to length and drill a 7⁄8“ hole a part of the manner through the underside of every arm. this can enable the bolt heads to sit down below the surface. On the identical centers, drill through the arms with a 3⁄8” bit, and drill a corresponding 3⁄8” hole into the perimeters on rock bottom receptacle.

Then drill a 3⁄4” hole all the manner through the highest of every arm, through that the 3⁄4” holdfast can pass to attach the 2 arms along. spherical over and swish the corners of the arms with a file or sandpaper.

Place a 1-1⁄2“-long x 1⁄4“-20 bolt and washer through the handle arm on either side. Sandwich another washer between the arms and therefore the sides of the receptacle, then a washer and nut on the within of the receptacle. The around the bend may need a bent to come back loose throughout use, therefore use Loctite on the bolts before threading the around the bend on.

apply loctite Hardware. Attach the handle with the 11⁄2″-long x 1⁄4″-20 bolts. I’m victimisation Loctite to stay the around the bend from loosening – once dry, it acts as a light glue, however may be reversed with some persuasion.

With the bolts tightened and in situ, assemble the stacking trays and move the most handle into place. Glue within the 3⁄4” holdfast for the most handle. Leave it a bit long at now.

With the holdfast in situ, however before the glue dries, build the ultimate changes on the handle. The arms ought to be bolted in situ by the spring latches however still ready to miss them once they’re depressed. regulate the clearance by moving the arms nearer or spreading them other than each other. Once the clearance is correct, let the glue dry, then cut the ends of the holdfast flush to the arms. A nail may be driven through the arm into the holdfast to additional reinforce the joint between the 2.

Lastly, sand and end the components. I used an easy oil/varnish mix – it applies simply with a rag and provides a soft lustre and a protecting end that isn’t too thick. the skinny film prevents the end from breaking or projecting once the trays are stacked along. PWM

Chad is that the host of the “I will Do That” video series, on the market at fasteninghouseatlantic.com

#fasteninghouseatlantic #Stacking Tool Caddy #tools #cadddy #low price

0 notes

konekorambles · 8 years ago

Text

Fluff Week Day 1: Friendship Bracelets

For @voltronprompts fluff week! OT5 poly-paladins, each day will focus on one relationship more than others. First up, Pidge/Lance. Rated T purely for Pidge’s potty mouth

Day 1: Flower Crowns/Friendship Bracelets

In which Pidge is bad at feelings and Lance is marginally better.

AO3 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

~~~~~~~~~~

A year into their space voyage there are still rooms in the castle that haven’t been explored. It’s in one of those that Coran locates several balls of thread. “Space yarn?” Lance proposes, wrapping a deep blue strand around his finger. “It’s smoother than yarn, I guess, but it’s not like string.” He stretches it between spread hands, and his eyes light up. “Can I have it?”

Pidge is the one who happens to be hanging out with Keith in the lounge the next day when Lance bounds into the room. He doesn’t bother to explain as he vaults the couch and grabs the red paladin’s arm, rapidly tying off his handiwork. “What are you doing?” Keith asks, even as he stretches his arm out to allow better access. “Is this going to hit me with electric shocks whenever I try to fly or something?”

“You wound me.” Lance finishes his adjustments and leans back. “It’s a bracelet. People give them to people they like.”

Keith grunts, inspecting the bright red loop around his wrist. “Yeah, middle schoolers do.”

“If you don’t want it—“ Lance begins, reaching for his arm, which Keith immediately snatches back out of his reach.

“No, it’s mine! You gave it to me!”

Pidge can’t help the snort they let out from across the room. “I can’t believe you’re an actual literal meme.”

They receive a confused look from Keith, but Lance laughs out loud. “Oh don’t you worry, Pidgeon, I have one for you too.”

Evidently the fact that they don’t remove their hands from the keyboard is no deterrent. He simply wraps his fingers around their wrist to set the bracelet and ties it efficiently in place. They pause and look down to see a complex knotted cord of green string, sized perfectly and glowing the same exact shade as their lion and armor. “It’s soft.”

“Of course it is, I’m good at these things.” Lance looks incredibly pleased with himself. “I had to try it on Keith first to make sure I hadn’t lost my touch.”

The “hey” from Keith is warm with good humor, and Pidge glances between the two of them. Oh. So that’s where the wind is blowing now. If there was wind on a spaceship.

***

They all know that Lance is the glue that holds them together. There are some bonds that may be stronger, like Keith and Shiro connecting over physical training or Hunk and Pidge over technology, but Lance is the one that brings them all together as a team. The one who finds Pidge in whatever corner they fell asleep in and shoos them off to bed, or realizes that Shiro is working himself to exhaustion and starts a food fight over dinner.

That’s definitely why the bottom seems to drop out of Pidge’s stomach when Keith and Lance turn up to breakfast hand in hand, sporting matching red and blue striped bracelets on their left wrists. It’s not jealousy; they could swear it’s not jealousy. Something more like…disappointment?

Keith looks defiant and Lance is sporting his usual easy grin, but there’s tension in his shoulders. Pidge is the first to comment. “Matching bracelets, really? You two are gross.”

“I knew we could count on your support, Pidge.” Lance ruffles their hair on his way by, and they growl and jam an elbow backwards into his thigh, and everything is normal.

***

“I hate crushes,” Pidge grumbles at the drone currently spread out across their work bench. “I don’t like feeling things that I can’t control, and that I don’t want in the first place.”

“I don’t think anyone really likes having a crush,” Hunk points out reasonably, shoulders-deep in his own project across Green’s hangar. “Okay, no, there is Lance. He loves having crushes. But he’s weird like that.”

A wire sparks and they flinch away, dropping their pliers on the floor. “Typical,” they mutter, hanging off their stool to retrieve the tool. “This is so stupid. The last time I had a crush was Alysha in the ninth grade! How do people deal with this when they’re supposed to be adults?”

Hunk makes a noncommittal noise, poking at a box within his tangle of cables. “I’m sure it’ll work out fine. It must have worked out okay with that girl in high school, right?”

The only response they can make is an inelegant snrk. “Yeah, right. I accidentally touched her hand in Chemistry once and my palms were sweaty all day. But if that counts then sure, it worked out great.”

“…Oh.” That’s really all there is to say, and Hunk turns back to his own work. For about thirty seconds. “Wait, do you have a crush on an alien? Because that makes it a lot more complicated.”

Their face is burning, so they’re definitely blushing furiously, and they don’t correct Hunk’s delighted, “oooohhhh,” because technically he’s not wrong. They just grunt and turn back to Rover 2.0, and swear when another spark bites their finger.

***

Has Lance always been this…flirtatious? With Keith, of course he was, but suddenly it feels like he’s using about half his charm on Keith (to great effect) and has decided to turn the rest on Pidge. Which can’t possibly be right, because they’re Pidge. They’re the team’s tech geek, the little sibling tagging along (despite the single year age difference), the sarcastic asshole who makes fun of his cheesy lines. And they brush it off the first few times, because that’s just Lance’s default mode of socialization.

“Hey, babe, are you the sky? ‘Cause I see stars in your eyes!” They groan and throw a wrench in his general direction, which he catches and flings precisely into the bin next to them. Jerk.

“Are you an overdue library book? ‘Cause you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.” That one is delivered in a whisper at the breakfast table, and they inhale a mouthful of goo.

“Are you an astronaut? ‘Cause your ass is—“

They point a vengeful screwdriver in his direction. “Before you finish that sentence, Keith better be right out of my sight.”

“What?” Keith pops his head in the door to the lounge. “Did someone say my name?”

Lance waves a lazy hand at him from where he’s leaning against the opposite wall. “Sorry babe, just Pidge being Pidge.”

Keith glances between the two of them, nods as if this explains everything, and walks away like his terrible boyfriend isn’t currently freaking Pidge right the fuck out.

***

“Okay, I am done.” They finally lose it during training, when Lance shoots down a drone that had been hovering over their head and then winks. They fling down their bayard, the effect rather diminished by the way it dematerializes before it hits the floor, and ignore the strained noise Keith makes as he blocks another shot aimed at their back. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I am done with it!”

There’s a long silence, broken only when Shiro quietly shuts down the training sequence. Everyone stares at Pidge. Except for Hunk, who is squinting suspiciously at Lance. “Okay, clearly you guys need to sort something out,” Shiro says slowly, backing gingerly out of the line of fire. “You go outside and work it out before we restart.”

Pidge stalks out of the room, shoulders hunched defensively, curling in on themself even more when they see the way Lance reaches out to touch Keith’s hand on the way by. They don’t say anything as the doors slide shut, folding their arms and watching Lance out of the corner of their eyes. He actually looks contrite.

“Look, Pidge, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

They flinch, and in that instant their temper flares. “Making me uncomfortable?” they snarl, jabbing one finger into his stomach. “What about—what about Keith? What about…you’re…I don’t know what’s going on!” Their voice rises to a wail, and Lance looks a little bit panicked. “No, wait, Pidge, I’m sorry, I thought you were interested too so I—“

“You.” They poke him again. “You are dating Keith, so it doesn’t matter what I do—wait. Interested? I don’t…” They trail off, processing what he said, and he reaches out gingerly.

“I’m sorry, Pidge, I’ll stop. I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Generally speaking, Lance is surprisingly good at hiding his emotions, but for a split second the mask slips and they can see genuine hurt in his eyes, and there’s a twinge of pain in their chest.

“I didn’t mean I’m not…interested,” they gesture helplessly, completely wrong-footed. “I mean, I might be, I’m not saying I am or I’m not but it doesn’t matter because you and Keith are together and you’re both happy and we’re a team so I don’t want to do anything that could hurt either of you and now I’m just babbling and—“ they pause, inhale shakily, “and I’m going to my room. Tell Shiro we worked it out, I’m just tired.”

He doesn’t try to stop them as they walk away, and they can hear him sigh before he heads back into the training deck.

***

A week later and they’ve successfully managed to avoid ever being in a room alone with Lance, mainly by attaching themself to Hunk or Shiro whenever they have downtime. He seems to be avoiding them too, which is just fine by Pidge. It’s lucky they’re not called on to form Voltron in that time, because they’re not sure if any of them could concentrate well enough right now.

And then one morning Shiro and Keith wander into breakfast together, and Keith’s acquired another bracelet, this one with blue and red and black braided together. Pidge freezes mid-bite, and they can tell there’s goo dribbling from the corner of their mouth when Keith greets Lance with an affectionate shoulder bump before sitting down next to Shiro. Lance distractedly leans over to kiss his cheek before he returns to the discussion he’s been having with Hunk.

It’s obvious that nothing has changed between them, and Pidge drops their spork as they finally connect the dots. The clatter is what finally draws everyone’s attention, and they flush under four curious gazes.

“Is something wrong?” Shiro asks, and they’re a little offended by the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“No. Nope, everything’s just fine,” they mumble, retrieving their silverware and returning to their breakfast. “Everything’s great.”

They’re grateful when Lance wanders into Green’s hangar later that morning. They’ve been trying to come up with a way to apologize but they have no idea where to even begin. But they suppose it’s only fair when he doesn’t say anything, instead just leaning up against their workbench and waiting for them to lay down their pliers.

“So, Keith and Shiro?” they mutter, finally. They can’t look him in the eyes, instead focusing at a point above his right ear. They can still see the small smile on his face.

“Yep.”

They pick up a wire, tie it into a complex knot. “And, you and Keith?”

“Still yep.”

They’re shaking, which is ridiculous, they’ve been in much more dangerous situations than this without this kind of agitated buzzing in their nerves. “So you guys aren’t, like, exclusive then?”

“Nope.” He sounds even more cheerful than usual, and they wrinkle their nose at him.

“You know this is probably just about trauma bonding, right?” Their voice is a bit higher than usual, and they can’t seem to bring it down. “There’s only five humans out here and we’ve all been through some pretty fucked up stuff so it’s only natural that we’d start to develop—“

“Pidge.” They shut up, stand up from their chair and shift uneasily back and forth. “I don’t really care if it’s trauma bonding or whatever, but I’d like to hug you now. Is that okay?”

They let out a long breath, and nod. A second later they find themself half-tackled to the floor, laughing as Lance’s arms squeeze them so tight it’s hard to breathe. When they collapse backward with a laugh he lands on top of them, head pillowed on their chest. “Okay, okay, get off, you’re making me all sweaty.”

“Hmm. Don’t care.” He mutters against their shoulder, before he cranes his head back to look at them, smiling widely. “Hello there, pretty brown eyes.”

“Oh my god!” They slap a hand (gently) over his face, turning away as if that’ll hide their blush. “That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting! You disgust me.”

He cocks his head, one eyebrow raised over their fingers. “Stop?”

“No I didn’t…I mean…please don’t?” It comes out as a question, but the way his eyes crinkle in a smile and his lips against the palm of their hand is the perfect answer.

“Does that mean I can finally give you this then?” He wiggles one arm out from underneath them, digs in his pocket and comes up with a green and blue bracelet.

“You’re a sap,” they smile as they hold out their arm.

#VLDWriting #Common Threads #Polydins #voltron: legendary defender #pidgance #fluff week 2017

11 notes · View notes

mwritesink · 8 years ago

Text

NEW AU: Hellion!Jono

Want for a nail AU. the Nail? Jono Starsmore is recruited to Emma Frost’s first team of Hellions. He is 15, and first goes by the code name “Wire”, a reference to wireless radio, and the current expression of his mutant abilities: projection telepathy. Written with @nobiliorpomis

Sneak Preview: That one party where Doug got drunk after Warlock left for space Adventures with Sunspot

Jono pushed Doug into the bathroom before Roulette could intercept him on the dance floor. “Why can’t you just leave me alone!” Said Doug, his mouth contorted into an uncharacteristic grimace. “I don’t want your pity!”

“I am getting you alone. And this isn’t pity, mate, you’re smashed. now shut up before I dunk your head in the toilet.” Jono leaned against the door, his arms cross over his chest, “Where's your side kick that hates me?"

"He left."

"Fuck him, then."

Doug shoved at Jono’s shoulder, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talkign about.”

"My parents practically sold me to Frost." Jono leaned back into Doug’s hands and tried not to cough. "Not the same, but similar enough. Fuck. Him."

They were standing much too close now, and they felt closer than they were from how the alcohol muddle Doug’s senses. “You don't know him. You don't even know me, for all your...your crap."

"My crap? you mean my attempts to get to know you better?"

"Your--" Doug gestured vaguely with both hands, "This act you put on every time, like you're some--”

Jono grabbed one of Doug's hands. "Like I'm some what?"

"Your foreign accent and your sharp clothes and your sad eyes, like you're some moody bad boy. Well I don't care. Doesn't make you deep."

"I am a moody bad boy, thanks. Did you not hear me when I said that my parents sold me to the Hellfire Club?"

Doug’s voice was bitter, "Boohoo. Like mine wouldn't do the same if they knew."

Jono changed his grip on Doug’s hand just enough to thread some of their fingers together "And I do have a foreign accent. Lived in London."

“I. Don’t. Care.” Doug yanked his hand away. “this isn’t a sharing party and I’m not here for pity. So let me go.”

“Not when you're going to take your anger out on someone who can't handle it, you drunk sod."

"Then lock me in here alone." Doug said with a snarl, "Don't have any powers, can't do a darn thing about it."

"But locking you here alone wouldn't fulfill the many american romance tropes I know of" Doug gave Jono a blank look at that out of left field comment. Jono continued, "So I'm staying here, so you don't die of alcohol poisoning."

"In a bathroom."

"We have all the water you'll need. and we're out of the way that everyone will think salacious things about how I'm making you forget your sidekick."

Doug scowled, "Don't joke about stuff like that."

"Why?"

"It's not funny."

"It's not funny that all of my teammates think I've finally taken you away to give you a blow job?"

Doug went very red, a blush starting at the top of his hairline and going all the way down his collar, he went pale just as swiftly.

Jono slid a few steps to the side, making some room between them, “... please don't get sick on me." Doug didn’t move, his expression still slack and wide-eyed at Jono’s audacity. Jono pointed back towards the toilet. "If you're going to be sick, toilet is that way."

Doug took the opportunity to push himself past Jono and back out the door, taking advantage of Jono’s assumption that he needed to puke. He didn’t head back towards the party. So much was goign on in his head that Doug needed air. the gardens, that would be best. There were no people and the air was clean and crisp.

Jono took his time to draw in a breath and rumple his hair and shirt just enough to make it seem like something risque had happened, and plastered a rakish grin to his face. Back in the hall, most of the other Hellions shook their heads, assuming that Jono had tried to take advantage of Doug in his inebriated state. The only two not fooled were Tarot and Jimmy. Illusion set, Jono padded softly after Doug, making his own way out to the gardens and climbing up into a tree near where Doug had sat on a bench.

Doug had his head in his hands, tryign to force his brain to process. A person mentioned ahim and a blowjob in teh same sentence. It was a lot to process for someone who regularly didn’t think that way. After a minute, Jono spoke from his tree branch perch, “Was you runnign because you think people like me are disgusting? Or becuase you don’t know what to do with the offer?”

Doug didn’t move his hands. “People like you, huh.”

“You know. Homos. Though I’m not strictly homo. I’m picky.” Jono’s voice was purposefully light, the Received Pronunciation British accent more stilted than usual, his “act”, as Doug had called it, back in full force. And it was truly an act. Jono forced back bile tinged thoughts about how this rejection or whatever it was just confirmed the worst things he knew about himself. “Frost thinks I have AIDS, you know.”

“Can you get out of the dang tree, please.”

Jono looked down where Doug was now scrubbign his hands over his face and looking up to Jono’s perch. After a beat, Jono jumped down, rolling through the landing in defiance of his expensive tuxedo. He stopped a few steps outside of Doug’s grabbing range.

“I’m sorry,” said Doug. “That I made you feel like that. I like to think that i’d have had a bit more poise if I’d been drinking juice like I ought.”

Jono took one step closer. “I always feel like that. You causing the feeling for once doesn’t change much for me.”

Silence stretched between them like a lake. Jono took another step closer, just to have something to do in the space created. They could easily touch each other now, if either reached out. they didn’t. The silence was too precious to be broken physically. Finally, Doug said, “I don’t... see a people like you adn a people like me. I know that probably sounds hollow. The heck do I know. But that’s my point. I... I don’t know anything about anything. I don’t about it. Boys, girls, whatever. It makes me uncomfortable, if there’s a me involved. Otherwise it’s just... I don’t understand, but I try not to judge.” Doug shook his head, like that would help him find words. “The only thing that ever made sense was Warlock, and he’s gone, and now I’m a massive jerk who can’t stop shoving his foot in his mouth.” Jono carefully took a seat on the bench next to Doug, the outside of their thighs only barely touching. “That’s okay too, mate. I mean, I think about it, but... never really want to act on it. Probably for the best if I actually do have AIDS... And so, okay. Don’t tell your sidekick to fuck off. Want help finding him?”

Doug gave the over a wobbling smile, “He went chasing after ‘Berto to bring him home. He’s just... off being a hero. I know that. I know. But I still... feel like this.” He wiped his eyes. “This is going to end up a as a blow-my-nose job.”

Jono snorted into laughter, his hand coming out to grip Doug’s shoulders as he recovered “I can do that, too.”

The silence between them stretched again, comfortable, even as Doug gnawed his bottom lip. “What did you mean you might have AIDS, though?” He asked after a while. “I don’t know much, but I thought they could diagnose...”

“They can’t explain why my organs are all failing, so the docs give me AZT and hope that works.” Jono rose an eyebrow at the look Doug gave him. “What? You think I look this ill on purpose?”

Doug shook his head, “But you’re not dying.”

“Then what is my body doing? Spontaneously combusting?”

“No, I’m serious. You’re not. Warlock always read something weird on you, but your lifeglow was fine -- that's what starts failing, if you're sick. He can always tell. We just....assumed it was your business, so I told him not to be nosy. I didn't know you didn't know."

"... and here I thought I was always running out of time to tell you that I liked you."

A blush took over Doug’s face again, highlighting his cheeks. "W-well you shouldn't corner boys you like in the bathroom and call it romantic, you know."

“I wasn’t going to call that romantic. That was also me being a shit. And I just... I knew that I kept outliving every date the docs give me, and thought everytime would be the last and...” Jono clammed up on the confession, his hands balling into fists.

Doug looked awed, and said, quietly, “You thought about it that much?”

Jono found the opportunity to be flippant again, "My main activities are training, doctor's visits where they tell me they can't find why i'm dying and haven't died yet, thinking about you, having Jimmy threaten to just tell you to get me to shut up, and playing guitar. So Yes. I have. Ever since the first time Frost brought you and Pryde around the Academy"

"Guess Jimmy will have to find a new threat."

"Yeah. Now he'll threaten my guitar."

A smile, the first one real one Doug made all day, blossomed on his face, and Jono smiled back, returning something real with something real.

#M splatters ink #ink spills #Doug Ramsey #jono starsmore #jono starsmore/doug ramsey #fanfic #AU Preview #starsey ramsmore #long post

7 notes · View notes