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yellowocaballero · 3 years

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Percy Jackson meets a Landlord, a Tax Accountant, and a Tree Growing in Brooklyn

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

He twisted his torso around, looking behind him with wide eyes. But the only person there was a white girl, no older than him. She was wearing a really severe expression to match her tight little blonde ponytail, and she was carrying a clipboard in both hands. There was a piece of string tacked to the clipboard, with a pen tied around one end. She looked like she asked the school librarian if she could help shelve books.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one.

Short fic that I am considering extending into a much, much longer fic. Thank you Ami for the translation of the card (I would definitely translate it yourself, it’s important). The entire backstory and premise of the AU isn’t immediately apparent, but if I extend the fic it’ll be more explained (spoiler: Luke Castellan, age 14, said fuck Olympus and moved all of Camp Half-Blood into Brooklyn to live in a child-run utopia). I haven’t reread Percy Jackson since I was 10, I barely remember anything that happens or any of the characters, so don’t expect much - but aren’t the best children’s novels the children’s novels that live in our head, anyway?

Rest under the cut.

2005

180 Olive Apartments was a dump. Batman said so.

Batman felt very strongly about this, and as a result Percy did too. It was not Percy’s own, private, personal opinion. Batman informed Percy that the apartment complex was shabby, gross, not in Staten island, and smelled weird. Batman made a very convincing argument that they should live in Staten Island instead, which Percy had done his best to relay to Mom. Mom hadn’t been impressed.

“This is the best place for us, Percy,” Mom had said, with that pinched look on her face. It was the ‘Percy’s Making My Life Really Hard’ face. Percy had been seeing that face a lot lately. “Let’s just try to make this work, please?”

There was no ‘best place’ for them, and Percy and Batman knew that. But that was another thing Mom didn’t want to hear.

So Percy had suffered in stoic silence as Mom dragged him out of the motel, made him miss the new episode of Pokemon, and forced him to ride the subway forty minutes into smelly Brooklyn so he could sit in this smelly chair outside of some smelly office in a smelly apartment. From inside the office, Percy could hear the faint rise and fall of voices: Mom’s, light and lyrical and very polite to people who were not Percy; and some landlord guy. His voice was really light and high too, but he was probably a real jerk.

Percy was so bored he could die. He sat up on his knees, turning around so he could prop his elbows against the dusty windowsill with grimy frosted glass. He plopped Batman down on the dirty windowsill, smearing his chipped feet through the tracks of dust. Parkour. He unzipped his pocket and grabbed his slightly dusty Golduck rubber toy, putting it in front of Batman. Golduck was from McDonald’s, so it had a bad attitude.

Percy waggled Batman. You have a bad attitude, Golduck. You can’t live in my house anymore, because you get water all over the tile and you make the wood go bad.

Golduck jiggled when Percy shook him. It wasn’t Golduck’s fault that the water went everywhere! Water just goes places sometimes. Golduck was a water type, so water followed him around and got into wood and made the wood go bad and made other people mad at him. It’s not Golduck’s fault, so don’t make him move!

I don’t want to hear it, Batman said. I’m going to make you live in a crummy motel and make your Mom go on a lot of boring websites looking for new places to live. The motel’s bananas are going to taste weird. Mom’s going to cry a lot. And it’ll be all your fault because you’re a bad kid.

“Golduck, use hydro pump!” Percy whispered. He moved Golduck so he hit Batman on the chest, and then hit Batman a few more times for good measure. “Die, landlord!”

“Aren’t you a little old to be playing with toys?”

Percy almost fell out of his chair.

Percy decided instantly that she hated him, so he decided to hate her back.

“Aren’t you a little young to be doing your taxes?” Percy sneered. “Buzz off.”

That made her mad. The girl’s angelic little chubby face twisted in rage, and her grip on the clipboard turned threatening. “I’m accounting the chores! And I could do taxes if I wanted!”

“Yeah?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Name one tax.”

“Sales tax,” the girl said instantly.

Damn. She got that one. Percy just rolled his eyes instead, sitting back down on his seat and stuffing his toys in his cargo pocket. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed, even if he knew that he wasn’t too old to play with Batman and Golduck. What did tax accountants know, anyway.

The girl sniffed, and made a show of inspecting the grimy windowsill and carefully making a note on her clipboard. Her pen had a pom-pom at the end. Percy bet she made hearts over the top of her ‘i’s.

“Nick’s been slacking,” the girl muttered threateningly. “I’m surrounded by incompetents.”

“Why is it Nick’s job to clean the leasing office?” Percy asked, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a janitor for that?” Was Nick the janitor? If this pinched-face little girl was harassing cleaning staff then Percy was going to file a complaint.

But the girl just looked surprised, as if the idea of having a janitor was foreign and strange. “No janitor would even make it through the doors.” But then her eyes narrowed, as if a thought just occurred to her. “Wait. How did you…”

However Percy did what, he would never know. The door to the leasing office cracked open, and Percy scrambled off his seat in excitement. The girl stood stiffly at attention, clipboard on her hip, as Mom stepped out of the office. She looked very tired, but weirdly relieved.

There was a man right behind her, just as white and blonde as the girl. Percy wasn’t surprised: he could pick out a real ‘daughter-of-the-manager’ type right away. The man didn’t look like every other landlord Percy had ever seen - no moustache, for one - and he didn’t look old enough for the part anyway. He wasn’t old, but he definitely wasn’t an elementary schooler. He had a broad, honest face, but he was too muscular and strong looking and landlordey to be trustworthy.

Percy decided the weird landlord, with a mop of yellow hair like golden thread and a scary eyebrow with one long scar cutting straight through, was twenty five years old. Clearly the result of nepotism in the landlord industry.

Mom smiled when she saw Percy, who quickly pasted on his most innocent expression. Her eyes caught on the girl, who was glaring daggers at him. The landlord’s eyes caught on Percy’s own wrinkled nose. “Percy, good! Are you making friends?”

It was not an innocent question. It was a ‘please don’t ruin this for me too, Percy’ question. It was a ‘I’m very tired and I need you not to make things hard’ question. Percy was well acquainted with them. But maybe the girl was too, because when the landlord looked at the girl she also abruptly quailed. “I hope you’re being a good host, Annabeth.”

The unfortunately named Annabeth and Percy glanced at each other in silent and instant understanding.

“Yeah, Annabeth’s really fun!” Percy said instantly. He was not going to ruin this for Mom again. Or, at least, he would try to hold off ruining it for her as long as possible. Even if this stupid apartment wasn’t in Staten island. “She was telling me about -”

“Taxes!” Annabeth said smoothly, a much better liar than Percy. “And Percy was telling me about Batman.”

They both looked very cute and very low matinence on command, the perfect picture of children who did not make their moms live in motels.

Percy was rewarded when Mom smiled in relief. She put a hand on Percy’s shoulder, squeezing tightly. “I’m so glad. Percy, this is Mr. Castellan. Why don’t you say hi?”

“Hi Mr. Castellan,” Percy said obediently. “My name’s Percy Jackson, I’m in third grade.”

The landlord smiled at him with closed and tight lips, but it was Annabeth who spoke in interest. “Percy like Percival, King Arthur’s knight who searched for the Holy Grail?”

Uh, whatever? “Percy like the Greek hero Perseus,” Percy said shortly. “But I’m not Greek. My Grandma was from Guadalajara.”

Annabeth’s eyes widened. She glanced at the landlord, whose expression was impossible to read. “Are you sure?”

“I know where my own grandmother is from!”

“She didn’t say that you didn’t, sweetie,” Mom said, and Percy guiltily shut up. “Percy, why don’t you and Mr. Castellan talk in his office for a little while? I have to fill out some paperwork, and I think you two have a lot to talk about.”

Percy looked up at her with wide eyes. Mom never left him alone with strangers. And paperwork already? “Are we moving in today?”

“You two talk for a bit,” Mom said firmly. “I’ll be right back.”

When Percy was pushed into Mr. Castellan’s office it felt more like he was a Roman Christian being tossed into the lion’s den in punishment for heresy. And when Mom settled him into an uncomfortable and weird-smelling chair in front of the teetering desk and kissed him on the temple before leaving the office, he abruptly felt like he had jumped into Grandma’s book of Bible Stories.

Mr. Landlord’s office was as dirty and run-down as the rest of the complex. The big box AC rattled with clinks and whirrs as it shuddered against the sticky summer heat, and the landlord’s desk was covered in thick stacks of paper and chewed-up pencils. When he sat back down behind the stained wood, the chair seemed just a little too big for him. He sunk strangely in it, the vinyl flaking off and floating into the ground. There were a lot of crayon drawings taped to the wall, and there was a light dusting of crumpled post-it notes on the ground.

Mr. Landlord tried to smile at Percy. Tried being the operative word: when he smiled it was too thin and without teeth, more pained than reassuring. It didn’t reach his watery blue eyes.

Percy hunched on the rickety chair. This guy set off every alarm bell he had, which was plenty. And no, it wasn’t just because he was a guy, Ms. Brown. For added security and self defense, Percy casually slid a capped ballpoint pen on the old desk in front of him into his sleeve. Batman was always prepared, and Percy was too. He can hack up any creepy guy and protect Mom any day of the week.

The landlord smiled wider, even worse. “Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. My name��s Luke Castellan, and I’m the supervisor here. Running into Annabeth first thing’s pretty bad luck, huh?” At Percy’s unimpressed eyebrow, he quickly added, “Annabeth keeps the whole place running, really. She’s...pretty convinced that this complex rests on her eight year old back, so she’s a little stressed out all the time. If she gets frustrated at you, don’t take it personally, okay?”

So she does help shelve books. Percy was a keen judge of character. “Why does she do it? You can’t make her be the superintendent. That’s child labor.”

Luke Castellan stared at Percy unblinkingly. He blinked about as often as a snake, but five times as quickly: as if he didn’t want to let you out of his sight for even a second. Finally, he said, “I’m fifteen.”

Percy gave Mr. Luke the stink-eye, clearly communicating that he did not trust even fifteen year olds (who were high schoolers, and even less trustworthy than adult-adults) as far as he could throw them. Especially fifteen year olds like Luke: who were too tall, with too-mature eyes and a particularly unhappy expression. Percy communicated perfectly that there was nothing trustworthy about this family of juvenile landlords, but he was just too polite to say so.

But that just made Mr. Luke sigh, as if he was tired instead of angry. “Annabeth’s my...ward, I guess. I just look after her. But she doesn’t like being looked after, so she makes up for it by looking after everyone else. I’m not saying I do a good job.”

He’s a landlord and he has a ward? Percy finally perked up. “So you’re like Batman?”

Mr. Luke stared at him unblinkingly, before finally saying, “Yes, except Batman doesn’t have superpowers.”

Percy had the sense he was being made fun of. “You don’t have super powers,” he accused, crossing his arms. “Nobody has super powers.”

Mr. Luke smiled, wan and weak. “Not even you, Percy?”

Percy froze.

Five seconds too late, Percy made himself laugh stupidly. People were quick to believe that Percy was stupid, and sometimes Percy helped them think that. It got him out of trouble sometimes - not always, but enough that it was useful. “If I had superpowers, I’d run super fast everywhere just like the Flash!”

But Mr. Luke just hummed, and flipped through some of the papers in a folder in front of him. Percy abruptly began sweating. Mom had given him those papers. They were records. This was like every time a principal had drawn up ‘proof’ against him in a court of law. “Your mom said that you both had to move out of your Queens apartment because it flooded.”

“I didn’t unscrew the taps,” Percy said reflexively. “They just came loose! I didn’t even touch them! I didn’t touch the boiler either!”

“The boiler?” Mr. Luke flipped back a few pages. “Oh, right. Your school.”

Percy slouched in his seat and folded his arms across his chest, stewing. He always sounded guiltiest when he denied it. He should go back to playing dumb. Pretend that he had no idea what water was. He had gotten away with it when he was six during that one birthday party at the aquarium, but something about being a third grader meant that people expected that you have basic observational skills.

It was stupid. There was no way to win. If he said that he didn’t do it then he sounded guilty. If he tried to point out how it was impossible for him to break the boiler and destroy the gym or whatever, using facts and logic and a rhetorical argument like the Youtube videos taught him, then they just told him he was making excuses. Sometimes Percy had the impression that everybody just wanted him to supervillain cackle like the Joker and brag about how terrible he was. Maybe he’d give that a shot once he entered middle school. It seemed like an evil teenage thing to do.

Percy Jackson was a liar, a thief, a cheat, a menace, and a bad kid. There was nothing more to be: not for someone like Percy.

But Mr. Luke didn’t threaten him, or give him ‘one last chance’ or anything. He just leaned forward, hands folded on the desk. His thumb was worrying at a small starburst scar on his hand, betraying a strange nervousness.

“Percy, can I talk to you man-to-man?”

Percy, who did not like men, squinted at Mr. Luke suspiciously. “Why.”

“Because this isn’t a topic for a kid. It’s a topic that...kills children, and turns them into little adults. I wish I didn’t have to broach it with you. But I think that you haven’t been a kid for a long time, Percy, and I don’t want to insult you by pretending otherwise.” Mr. Luke frowned, and Percy found himself involuntarily straightening. What was he talking about? “You were right. There was no way for you to have flooded your apartment, much less twice. There was no way for you to ruin your gym, or damage that aquarium. Much less...everything else in your file. No kid is that much of a miniature hurricane when he isn’t even trying. It sucks. It’s not your fault. And now your Mom’s credit score is so bad that she can’t afford another apartment. If it wasn’t for the fact that she saw our really generous listing in the paper, she would have had to move you two away from her home.”

She was thinking of moving them both to New Jersey. Percy’s lips tightened, and he knew that Mr. Luke saw it.

“This is an apartment building that provides shelter to a lot of special cases, just like you. It’s...full of kids who break things when they don’t mean to. Kids with a parent couldn’t handle them, or who couldn’t protect them. We have a lot of ways to keep families like yours safe, and to give you a home.”

Percy stared at Mr. Luke. He seemed deadly serious, as serious as anybody had ever been to Percy, despite the crazy stuff he was saying. Safe? Safe from what?

Safe from those weird, giant dogs that chased Percy and tore off half his jeans? Safe from that old lady in the deli with the slobbering bag and beady eyes? Safe from broken water pipes, from ruined floors and busted walls, from Percy himself?

Finally, all Percy could think to ask was, “How do you know that I’m a special case?”

“Because not just anyone could see that listing,” Mr. Luke said. “And - uh, no offense - but you are one of the most obviously inhuman children I’ve met in my life.”

Percy’s jaw dropped in complete, unadulterated rage, and without even stopping to think through his actions he withdrew the ballpoint pen from his pocket. He uncapped it, fully intending on doing something dramatically yet harmlessly violent with it, but he didn’t get the chance.

The ballpoint pen turned into a gleaming bronze and silver sword. Percy screamed. Percy fell out of his chair. Percy did not get the opportunity to look cool and dangerous at all.

****

And now Percy had Greek god stuff to worry about!

Didn’t Percy have enough problems? He couldn’t stay in a school, they couldn’t keep an apartment, their new landlord didn’t blink enough, and now he was the kid of a Greek god? Apparently he had been spending his entire life running from monsters and he just hadn’t noticed? That explained the stupid scary dog!

Percy knew much more about Greek gods than the average kid, since Mom was a huge fan. Yeah, Mom! Apparently you were a big fan! Jesus, Mom!

What’s this dumb stuff about Poseidon! That had freaked out Mr. Luke, and made him ask a lot of questions like ‘are you sure’ and ‘there’s a lot of minor gods who like to pass themself off as someone more impressive to mortals’. Then Annabeth, who had been listening at the door like a sneak and who ran in all heroically when he almost accidentally stabbed Mr. Luke, freaked out and called his mom a liar. His mom!

Then Percy tried to stab her with his new sword. Mom made Percy apologize for trying to stab Annabeth. Mr. Luke made Annabeth apologize for insulting Percy’s mother. Percy was beginning to worry that he and Annabeth may be mortal enemies.

Mr. Luke had tried explaining a bunch of stuff about monsters and ‘the Sight’ and why Percy’s life was terrible to him, but Percy already knew his life was terrible and he wasn’t interested. Percy ended up furiously swinging his new sword at a tree outside as Mom signed a bunch of forms and talked with Mr. Luke some more, but she hustled him home pretty quickly afterwards.

Percy didn’t give the sword back. Mr. Luke, wisely, did not ask for it back.

Mom kept on making a face on the subway back to the motel like she had been waiting her entire life for Percy to ask all of these questions, and she was preparing herself for it. She kept on glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, watching Percy kick his feet against the hard plastic seat. It was obvious. But Percy didn’t have anything to say to her. They spent the rest of the day in silence, just focusing on packing up and getting everything ready to move. Jacksons were practical, Mom said.

Jacksons were practical. Percy was practical, too. It was only in the deep pits of night, as Percy lay in bed holding up his sword and watching it reflect the soft lamplight above the creaky wooden table where Mom was doing work, that he asked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The sword was really cool. It was pure bronze, with the middle gleaming pure silver. There was some Greek writing inscribed down the center that Percy had no idea how to read, although he had spent an hour scouring the internet looking for a translation. The handle was tough white cord, stiff and starchy but fraying a little at the edges.

Mr. Luke said it was named something, but Percy forgot what it was. He had been a bit busy almost impaling the guy.

Mom’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Her back was turned to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but her spine was stiff and rigid.

Finally, after a long silence, she said, “I didn’t want you to think that there was anything different about you.”

“So what?” Percy asked, his eyes pricking rebelliously. Stupid water. “You let me think that I was a bad person who ruined your life?”

“Percy, no!” Mom turned around, expression crumpled. The dim light showed the heavy bags under Mom’s eyes in sharp relief. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, baby. None of this is your fault, you understand? That’s what this business with your father means: that none of it was your fault. That’s all it means.”

If that was true, Percy thought, then why couldn’t she have told him before?

But Percy was afraid that if he said that, then he would start crying, and Percy was way too old to cry. Only weak little babies cried.

“I’m sorry my dad’s a loser who ruined your life, Mom,” Percy said.

“Percy…”

But Percy refused to answer her, putting his sword down next to him and pretending to go to sleep. He kept it next to him in bed all night, gripping its hilt tight, and the firm and cool pressure of the steel in his hand soothed him when the thought of a father didn’t.

***

They moved in the next day.

The next day! Percy was livid. He barely had any time to pack up his toys into his backpack, and Mom didn’t even have time to help him back up his blue Spider-man suitcase. He had to do it all by himself, and then Mom came in and told him he was folding everything up wrong and that he had to redo it. If she had so many problems with it, she should have helped him and gave him more than one day to move out of their dumb motel!

When people moved on TV there were always moving vans and buff dudes in baseball caps. But Percy was much better at moving then any of those idiots: all it took was a suitcase (of clothes and toiletries and stuff) and a backpack (of toys and school supplies and stuff).

Percy’s backpack had the Power Rangers on it, in glossy plastic. Its contents were always the same, through every move: Batman, Golduck, Bulbasaur, Blue Eyes White Dragon, Raphael, a stegosaurus with a missing tail named Hedward, and a little book full of pictures of him and his mom and some cards and stuff. There was a picture of him and Grandma in the apartment in Staten Island that he lived in until he was six, and a 5th birthday card she had given him six months before she died. Written inside, in her looping and faded script, was a sentence Percy had read over and over and over again. ‘Tu angel de la guarda trabaja horas extra por tí. Así que acuérdate de decirle gracias ¿Sí, mi niño?'’

Percy was inclined to agree with her. God should pay his guardian angel overtime. That, or pay one to go to Olympus and collect child support.

The image was funny to Percy - the idea of his angel with her wings and halos showing up at Poseidon’s door and tapping her watch as she held out her hat. It was so funny, it was the first thing he told Mr. Luke when they met him at the gates to the apartment complex. Mom was huffing behind him with her two suitcases, while Percy was busy juggling his own backpack, suitcase, and sword.

Mr. Luke looked alarmed to see the both of them, although Mom had called ahead and arranged to meet him here. Worse, Annabeth was next to him, still holding a clipboard. She didn’t look alarmed, just mad.

“Did you bring Riptide onto public transportation?” Annabeth squawked. “You have no sense of discretion!”

Was Riptide the name of the sword? Whatever. Percy would have named it Hurricane. “I know words you don’t know too, you don’t have to brag,” Percy said flatly.

“Yeah, the gods are filthy little child support evaders,” Mr. Luke said easily, instantly endearing himself to Percy. Mom rolled her eyes as she put her suitcases down, but she was clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, I dragged them to court. Sued them for all they’re worth.”

“How on earth did you do that?” Mom asked, interested.

“Trickery and rhetoric,” Annabeth said proudly.

“Swords,” Mr. Luke said.

“What did you squeeze them for?” Percy asked, excited.

Mr. Luke winked. And he still didn’t ask for his sword back. Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

The apartment complex itself wasn’t nearly as big as a lot of Brooklyn complexes, looking more like the little apartment complexes in Queens that Percy was used to. It was three separate three-story buildings arranged in a square, with one side holding the small leasing office and a parking lot. It was open-air, with the apartment doors opening directly outside. There was a really big courtyard in the center, and despite himself Percy got a little excited.

It was awesome. There was a huge, sprawling tree right in the center of the courtyard. It was gigantic, bigger than any tree Percy had ever seen in his life. It seemed like it didn’t even belong in New York, like it was a transplant from the California Redwoods or Canada or something. Its leaves were waving in a nonexistent breeze, and something about it just seemed so magical and otherworldly to Percy.

But that was only half of the awesome things. The other awesome thing was that there were kids everywhere.

The tree provided shade to a couple scattered gangs of kids, sitting around and laughing. There was a rusty set of monkey bars, which some kids were playing on, and there was a big dirt rectangle where other kids were hitting each other on the head with wooden plastic swords. There were groups of girls eating lunch, and a gang of boys playing soccer in the corner that made Percy immediately want to jump in and play too. Percy dominated at soccer.

“The East and South buildings are where we all live,” Annabeth informed Mom. “The West building is where the training rooms and storage rooms and administrative rooms - that’s my office - and everything is. It also has guest units for the local spirits that like to visit. We just had ten Bacchae stay for a week. They were backpacking to Woodstock. We have very good inter-community relationships here.”

“That’s amazing,” Mom said faintly. Mr. Luke was smiling faintly, eyes fixed on the big tree. Percy found himself staring at Mr. Luke, watching with interest the soft but firm pride in his eyes. “Luke said that this property’s safe from…”

She glanced at Percy quickly, cutting herself off. But Annabeth just huffed.

“I almost got eaten by monsters twenty times when I was seven,” Annabeth informed Mom imperiously. “We’re not babies. Connor Stoll says if you’re old enough to get eaten by monsters then you’re old enough to know that they exist.”

Percy decided immediately that he liked Connor Stoll, and maybe even Annabeth too.

“The tree protects us,” Luke said. “Wherever the tree is, we’re safe. Not even the gods date step foot beyond the leasing office here.”

“Because of the tree?” Mom asked.

Luke smiled - sharp, piercing, and strange. “Sure, let’s say that.”

But Mom just frowned. She looked over the courtyard of kids - some of whom were already starting to whisper and stare. Annabeth waved at a gaggle of identically blonde children, and for the first time Percy wondered who she was the daughter of. Probably the bossiest god. Maybe Athena. Or, like, Hephaestus. Definitely Hephaestus.

“You said that there’s nobody over eighteen here,” Mom said to Luke. “Luke, there’s a six year old on those monkey bars.”

“If you’re under thirteen, you live with someone over thirteen,” Luke said to her. Annabeth was still frowning in disapproval at Percy’s sword. He stuck his tongue out at her. “Two people to a unit, we try to pair the oldest with the youngest. Lucy lives with Henrique, he’s seventeen. It’s the best we can do.”

“Surely there has to be someone…?”

“Adults have never helped us. They never will.” Luke looked away sharply. “We’ve been in Brooklyn a year. You’re the first adult who’s made her way here. Most other parents with a kid as powerful as Percy would have -”

He cut himself off sharply, glancing at Percy, and Percy scowled up at him. He thought that Luke was being honest. Maybe he was just another old guy afraid to say what everybody else knew.

“I’ll help Ms. Jackson settle in,” Annabeth said suddenly. She held out her hands to Percy, who reflexively hugged his luggage to his chest. “You guys are in unit 5. It’s on the bottom floor. If you flood it, then we can fix it okay. Give me your luggage, I’ll put it in your unit.”

Percy stared at her, overwhelmed with that simple signal of care. No threats about if he flooded it, no warnings or sickly sweet faux-concern. Just understanding, and acceptance.

He silently gave her his bags.

She seemed surprised when she felt how light they were. Percy shrugged awkwardly at her face, crossing his arms tightly around her chest. “Don’t touch my stuff, okay?”

“Sure,” Annabeth said, before pausing a beat. “We have a TV in our place. #1. Do you want to come over tonight and watch Winx Club?”

“Yeah,” Percy said, overwhelmed. “Sure.”

Mr. Luke put a hand on Percy’s back as Annabeth guided Mom to a corner unit. Percy couldn’t help but notice that the door to the unit was already propped open. Wait - there were people going in and out!

There was a tall, buff teenager, carrying two chairs underneath each arm. There was another group of three teenage girls, carrying a table between them. Two other younger kids were carrying boxes and laughing. They were bringing everything into the unit, and other younger kids were running in and out with cleaning supplies.

From a distance, Percy saw Mom stop in her tracks. Annabeth tugged at her shirt and got her to bend down, whispering something in her ear. A boy with sandy brown hair ran up, taking Mom’s suitcases from her and bringing them into the unit.

“Your Mom mentioned that you were missing some furniture,” Mr. Luke said. “The Hermes and Aphrodite kids all pitched in to get your home looking like a home. I hope you’ll like it.”

Percy clutched his sword to his chest, speechless.

Mr. Luke smiled down at him, that same wan and weak smile, and put a hand on his back. He gently pushed Percy forward, towards the tree. “Come with me for a minute?”

They silently approached the sprawling, ancient tree. As they came closer, Percy could see that its bark was gnarled and knotted, with perfect handholds for climbing and perfect boughs for resting in the summer sun. He could already see a few kids resting in high boughs, taking a nap in the humid and sticky sun.

“Percy, I’d like to introduce you to someone.” Mr. Luke’s voice was quiet, like he was in church. He looked up at the tree, peering far into the leaves as if he was trying to find something hidden within them. “This is Thalia. Thalia, this is Percy. He’s the newest member of the family. He’s also your cousin.”

Cousin? Percy looked up at Mr. Luke, eyes wide. “I’m related to a tree?”

Tilted up at the tree, Percy couldn’t see Mr. Luke’s expression. Maybe that was on purpose. “Thalia’s a kid, just like us. Daughter of Zeus. I used to think that she was the closest thing to an adult I knew, but...I’m as old as she is, now. I guess one day soon I’ll be older than she ever got to be.”

Oh. The tree was, like, from the ashes of some dead girl. Awkward. Percy stared at the thick and arching roots of the tree, feeling weird.

“Thalia, please protect Percy. I can already tell that he’s going to grow up to be very strong and brave. Please help us make sure that Percy never has to be strong. That he’s never brave. I can already tell he’s going to need a lot of your help.” He looked down at Percy for the first time, and for the first time Percy could see just a little warmth in those icy blue eyes. “You’re going to have to work overtime for him. So make sure to say thank you, Percy. Okay?”

“Thank you, Thalia,” Percy said obediently. He bowed awkwardly, uncertain what to do. The sword scraped awkwardly against his thigh. “Thanks for letting me into your home.”

“Welcome home, Percy,” Mr. Luke said, and for the first time Percy almost believed it.

#pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #annabeth chase #luke castellan #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #I'm bouncing between a lot of different projects right now and trying to decide which one to dedicate time to #I promise I DID take a break and I will CONTINUE TO DO SO because work's been exhausting #but sometimes that means just writing low-effort self-indulgent stuff #anyway my friend had to sit down and explain the worldbuilding of pjo to me and I was like WOW THATS FUCKED so I wrote this #I also dislike some of the ways that pjo handled percy's backstory so that's being addressed #my writing #I FORGOT THE CUT LOL

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calaisreno · 2 years

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Hey. For the “The Half-Life of Death.” Nos. 1, 3, 5 and 9. It was the first fic I read from your collection of works. Thanks a bunch.

Thank you, @seekers-who-are-lovers ! I'm guessing you mean The Half-Life of Love!

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I was inspired by some of the teenlock stories I'd read, but felt the need to explore what happens to a teen relationship when life takes them in different directions. Young love can be beautiful, but would it survive? Very few people meet the love of their life when they're teens, and that struck me as the tragedy lurking beneath the teenlock story: the inevitability of change.

I began with them meeting at school, which is were a lot of teenlock begins and ends. Originally I intended to trade the narrative POV between John and Sherlock, but decided to stick with Sherlock because he is selfish when he first loves John. I wanted him to gradually realise what he'd lost and why he'd lost it, and begin to hope he might get it back. All of that needed years to develop, so it became a prequel to canon, ending with their reunion at Barts after John's service in Afghanistan.

I gave it a shell-story told from outsider POV: the first chapter is Lestrade, the last is Molly. The rest is Sherlock.

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

I don't have a particular line, but there are parts I felt came out well:

The second chapter orientation to Sherlock's character. He's a bit predatory and sees John as a prize he can go after, but I hope readers can also feel his loneliness and vulnerability.

And Chapter 6, where he sort of loses his mind and becomes paranoid: "It was just a tape playing in his mind, so they could trick him."

5: What part was hardest to write?

I hadn't written a story that covered so many years before and didn't want the narrative to be boring and dragged out. I may have telescoped the plot a bit too much in places. It was a compromise, showing time pass and hitting the highs and lows.

The ending was also hard to write, their confessions and realisations.

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Yes! This story is based on one of my first adventures in writing Johnlock, one I never posted, but it taught me how not to write the story. I think a lot of my first efforts at fanfiction were self-indulgent. I have kept them and sometimes mined them for ideas that later became posted stories.

Anyway, in the original version, they are not separated, defy Mycroft's attempts to keep them apart, go to university together, etc. None of it was very interesting because it wasn't really going anywhere. It was episodes of "bad stuff happens, but we're still in love." It was wish fulfillment. A reminder of why ending sexual tension, or any kind of tension, usually results in jumping the shark.

Thank you for asking! It's been a while since I looked at this story. Though it's not the first one I posted on A03, it is one of the earliest Johnlock stories I wrote.

#my fics #Half-life of Love #johnlock

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hellroots · 3 years

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『 MOBILE FRIENDLY RULES 』

— here you will find my rules or can also find them on my gdocs as well once i’m done with it. please like this if you read it, but otherwise don’t interact with this post, thank you. rest assured that i always read my moots rules before following and that i fully expect the same courtesy. i tried not to let them get too long but feel free to ask me anything you wanna know about them if it’s not clear ok?

『 THE MUN』

NOXTROMUN, THEY/THEM, 21+, BRAZILIAN

shy but friendly ! i don't follow for follow, if i follow you that means i've read your rules and want to write with you. i have no triggers nor squicks of my own except drama in the dash, for that reason i do not engage in callouts/witch hunts and if you do it on a constant basis i might have to hard block you for my own peace of mind. although i may come off too strong/harsh, i am always up to talking things out privately. as long as you are civil, so am i. any form of hate will be deleted and blocked - sometimes mocked, if i’m feeling cocky…

『 THE BLOG』

HELLROOTS, INDIE ( POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING AND NOT MINOR FRIENDLY ), HIGHLY SELECTIVE & PRIVATE MULTIFANDOM MULTIMUSE

primarily run on a low activity \ effort and with a slow speed.. my muselist changes a lot, depends a lot on what i’m watching lately so bear with me please. this is a drama free zone, therefore do realise that mun ≠ muses and (obviously) writing ≠ condoning !! as a quick note, do keep in mind that my blog is my safe space, just as your blog is yours - you are responsible for your own internet experience just as i am responsible for mine. should anything in my blog annoy/trigger/squick you, i strongly encourage you to block me & not write with me - your mental health is far more important ( for me, and hopefully for you as well ) than rp. on that note, please do not softblock me - that’s annoying, just hardblock please.

『 THE TRIGGERS』

TRIGGER HEAVY, PROPERLY TAGGED AND TAKING NO CRAP

i usually tend to write for trigger heavy fandoms (such as asoiaf, kingdom and others) and may incorporate some of it into my writing, muses' backgrounds and overall characterization. if you're bothered \ squicked \ triggered by that, i kindly encourage you to reconsider and not follow me. no amount of rp fun is worth your mental health. i try to tag everything accordingly and i fully expect the same courtesy for our followers' sakes. be aware that there may be mentions of death, gore, violence, consanguinamory \ endogamy (especially when it comes to the lannisters and kekkei genkai clans), rape ( kingdom, though it will only be mentioned on the character’s backstory ) and cannibalism ( hannibal and kingdom ) , as well as unhealthy relationships and dynamics alongside with powerplay, and otherwise bad behaviours. for all that is sacred, please, do note that i, the mun, do not approve, support or condone any of these actions or behaviours !! i simply am capable of separating fiction from reality. as long as everything is properly tagged, with mutual consent and there are no minors involved (muse and especially not muns), . i support the right of a consenting adult to explore these awful dark topics in a safe fictional environment with other like minded consenting adults, people shouldn’t have to share their traumas to strangers on the internet to explain why they write what they write, be considerate. if that notion bothers you perhaps you might not want to interact with me, for both of ours sakes. fair warning, most of my graphics and aesthetics might trigger those who have xylophobia/hylophobia (phobia of trees or wooded areas), and considering it is a main theme here i will not be tagging it, i'm sorry. but its too many. however, if you want me to create a special tag for you, there's no issue! it will be either "[your mun name] don't look!" or "[your url] don't look!", whichever you prefer. QUICK EDIT/ADDITION: i do not believe that aging up fictional characters is inherently a bad thing - from what i understand, the whole appeal of aging up a character is that while you like their personality but you do not want them to be kids (for whatever reason) but insteasd adults. if you are one of those who think that aging up a character is automatically something bad (without even knowing why it was done in the first place) don’t bother following me because i do think that opinion is quite silly.

『 THE INTERACTIONS』

OC, DUPLICATE, MULTIMUSE AND CANON DIVERGENT FRIENDLY

my tagging system is simple, i tag triggers as "tw; x" and . images that may be sensitive or triggering as "cw; x". you can further see how my tags work by taking a look at my tag dump post, just search ‘tag dump’ on my blog and you will find the most recent one i’m using. i shitpost and talk oocly on the dash constantly but you can easily blacklist my tag if it bothers you. here's something you should know about me: when i'm doing drafts i usually don't feel like chatting much, so please do not spam me because i won't be able to reply, i love to talk with my moots but sometimes it overwhelms me. on that note, please don't pester me for replies ic or ooc, i am slow and chances are that if you try to guilt trip me or just nag me about it i'll leave as the ones i'll get to in the later end on purpose, just out of spite. yes, i be like that. please be patient - i’ll never pressure you and expect the same in return. plotting wise: i prefer to just wing it with just a faint idea of where to take the thread but honestly i'm cool with anything. please be considerate when formatting your replies, i have a bad eyesight & if i can't read it, i won't bother with it. my own formatting is simple and clean. on a smaller note, please bear with me and my muses as my muses ramble a lot but you don't have to match the length, just give me something to work with. if we write together, the chances of me making edits/tagging you in stuff are really big, just lmk if you don’t like that though !

『 THE FLEET』

MOSTLY BI/PAN MUSES, MULTISHIP AND MULTIVERSE, SMUT FRIENDLY

i love shipping but i like my ships to be devices to move the plot/dynamics/muses forward, every once in a while though i partake in some much loved self indulgent shipping. just because i ship a certain pairing don't presume that my characters are approaching yours with second intentions, please. most of the time i like to reblog those relationship memes, so if you’re interested in a ship the best way (other than sending me a message ofc) to let me know is by sending ones. there will be some triggering ships here ( like the lannisters, both cersei x jaime and joanna x tywin are my otps, and potential inter clan ships, like with the hyugas - i mean how the hell you think they keep the byakugan in their family?? ) that may either be played with trusted friends or be mentioned/reblogged sometimes, all properly tagged so you can easily blocklist/avoid it. most of my muses are either bi or pan, those who are not will be specified. don't be afraid to reach out to me for shipping right off the bat - i'd rather have you to be open and honest with me about the interactions you want than lying to me, just know that there will be needed some plotting and threading first to see if your muses match. as an adult, my blog is smut friendly, i partake in sexual sunday a lot because some of my muses are very lewd in nature, you can blacklist my tag if that bothers you as well.

『 THE FINAL NOTES』

GENERAL RP ETIQUETTE APPLIES, CREDITS, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RULES

lastly but not least, general rp etiquette applies on my blog: no godmodding, forced ships, etc. there’s only ONE thing that truly makes me go apeshit crazy, and it’s when people don’t read my rules. i ALWAYS find out and it’s not pretty; i block it like it’s hot, ♪ ♫ ♬ block it like it’s hot ♪ ♫ ♬. i strongly assure you that i always read your rules before both following you and also before sending memes, just in case. on a much smaller note, i’m not so hot on single shipping and i really feel weirded out about people forcing me to pic who i’m going to interact with due to theirs DNI’s. while i get DNI’s when it comes to actual predators, when it’s something seemingly random chances are that i’ll softblock you because it weirds me out how volatile some can be when it comes to a hobby. i have some trigger heavy hcs ( for example, the one about jiraiya’s hypersexuality being rooted in trauma that he suffered at a young age ) that i share with only a few muns that are closer with me, so i’ll be mentioning them every once in a while but won’t share them, please don’t insist. i don’t really like most of the main characters of the franchises i write for, and when it comes to certain characters i reserve the right to decline an rp for my own comfort. for further info on what i use to make my graphics please check my “CREDITS.” tag. most of my stuff is made by me, i’ve got a lowkey rph in case you wanna check it out it’s @brazucahelps, however if you want a custom content i can see if i get a free time to come up with something :D

IF YOU READ THIS FAR, THANK YOU SO MUCH — JUST ONE LAST THING, COULD YOU PLS LIKE THIS SO I KNOW YOU’VE READ IT? <3 THANKS!

#RULES.

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lilyhoshikawa · 3 years

Note

🎥🎶💕🏳‍🌈💎 for hunters perhaps? >:3c

Oh golly! Ok fndkfnfn let me do this then. This may be difficult-

🎥: Do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

This is hard bc I have a lot of scenes I like and good scenes keep happening dhdjfn.

There are a lot of stand-outs so far. Among them is definitely like, the confrontation in the car between Blake and Sakio, and the recent social link scene with Blake and Lena on the boat.

Scenes that DON’T involve my own character that I adore include. The scene with Sakio and Camellia at the graveyard. The scene with with Lena and Twitch outside the store. The Sammy’s scene where they read Tango’s letter. Also the scene with Sammy and Masumi bc it was just extremely funny.

🎶: If your hyperfixation has songs / an OST, what is your favorite song from it?

Hm. Well time once again to advertise my Blake playlist, which I’m constantly putting a lot of work and thought into tbh dhjddb, I’ve deleted a fair number of songs from it when I feel they don’t fit, and I’m constantly messing with the order of the songs in relation to Blake’s prospective characters arc, and adding more as I find them fndkfnf I’m always on the lookout.

Also, vane is constantly updating the official playlist with some real bangers, and I appreciate that. Amil’s and Twitch’s themes are real good.

💕: Tell us about one of your favorite characters and why you like them!

Everybody has really really good characters, heck. One thing that strikes me is that even with taking the backseat and having to be on autopilot for several sessions, Camellia still has such a strong and distinct personality, to the point where everyone is on the same page abt them, and I think that’s just really amazing dhdjfjf, that’s how strong an impression they make every time they’re around.

Lena is also so good, she’s like… I think abt her frequently. Sometimes I just start giggling when I think abt Lena, bc she is a national treasure, and I hope she knows I care abt her. She’s great in this way that she’s both very funny/cute and also has a lot of depth and nuance to her arc, and I’m so excited for more.

In the same vein, Sammy. No one character has made me go from giggling to sobbing as fast as this green goat. One moment Sammy is making their cat do a little greeting and I’m rolling on the floor from the cuteness, and then the next second they’re crying and saying they don’t want to be left behind, and then I am also crying. How do they do it. The absolute range.

I also really appreciate Ilse like, particularly in contrast to Blake sometimes, in that Ilse is very smart in a way that’s quiet, self-conscious and careful, while Blake is at times recklessly arrogant, and those two bounce off each other well. Ilse feels mature at times but every time they quietly like, try to be the bigger person, or to not make a problem of themselves, I wanna give them a hug and be like “u deserve to be recognized and acknowledged and u deserve better” dhdjdndjdn. When u have big personalities like Sakio and Lena and Blake in the party there’s something compelling abt Ilse being with them and not asserting themselves as they try to do their best, if that makes sense, and I want them to know I see and appreciate them.

Sakio is also so good and I’ve talked abt this to vane plenty before but holy shit. There’s so much obvious care and love and effort and skill that went into writing a character who is both wrong in many ways, and who many player characters antagonize for good reason, and yet still so incredibly sympathetic, so likable and so compelling. The fact that both Blake and Lena have this relationship with Sakio where they don’t like or trust her, necessarily, but also can’t deal with her not being there, is so fucking good, it creates such powerful conflict in the smallest of ways. Sakio is great bc I love her and I understand her and I appreciate her, but I also wanna yell at her and think she is absolutely horribly wrong about incredibly crucial things and u can FEEL that turmoil in her as well, with her knowing on some level that her actions are going to cause harm, and she’s just waiting and hoping to take the fall, thinking, maybe foolishly, that she can, and that doing so will save everyone else.

I also fucking love so many minor characters we haven’t seen much of so far. I absolutely love Bee and I’ve told vane abt this but she’s just a total icon. Theo is also great, he is the only valid he/him in the entire campaign djdkfj. I love Twitch as well and I’m very excited for some of the interesting stuff in Twitch’s arc that has been hinted at coming to fruition later on, that’s very exciting. I’m also very excited to learn more abt Amil’s whole deal, I appreciate them a lot and I feel bad every time I have to make Blake come pester them fndkfnf. Oh also Prim, how did I forget Prim… what’s going on with her, I have no idea, but she’s a mean lady and my love for mean ladies is well-documented. Also her look is iconic. Also also Puck, the fact that he’s a child and I didn’t know it for several months shocked me to my core but it has made his brand of Shakespearean mischief that much more endearing, and now I seek only to give him snacks and let him sit in his funny garbage throne. I forgot abt Puck earlier so I’ll say he is the second valid he/him in the campaign but frankly I think Puck should take some neopronouns for a spin, he deserves it.

🏳️‍🌈: Do you have any headcanons (LGBT, race, neuro, etc.) that are important to you?

(*throws neurological disorders at Blake*) jdkdnfkf no but jokes aside. I love that this party is like, 5 player characters, 4 of whom use they/them. Just. The raw power of a persona series written by LGBT+ ppl…

I can’t speak on other ppl’s characters too much but as for Blake, they’re a closeted transfem and also too much of a disaster for a coherent sexuality but probably bi. Autistic, and an abuse survivor who experiences paranoid delusions and self-destructive tendencies. Probably more, but specifics are messy, they’re a fucking mess, what’s going on with them, they don’t even know.

Masumi is a binary trans lesbian, also an abuse survivor and manages quite a bit of paranoia of her own, dealing with mood swings and occasional delusions of grandeur, most of it she keeps internally managed which isn’t great for her mental health.

💎: Are there any fun facts or trivia that you would like to share?

Blake’s original characterization was thought up prior to the campaign and was very different from their finished characterization. They lived on a farm with their parents and were pretty quiet and passive before being arrested for a murder they didn’t commit (this part is the same) and their personality was way more quiet, reserved and passive, with the whole celebrity aspect completely absent. They were still going to be the sort of clever leader type character but leaned far more into the background. Their design was also different, with their hair in a low ponytail rather than high and scars on their face from scrapes and accidents working on the farm.

I realized that, even though this character was more of an original idea than Masumi (who I was playing in another campaign at the time and who was characterized somewhat differently as well) I didn’t find myself excited to write them, couldn’t get invested in them in the same way, and as I kept workshopping them I decided to be more self-indulgent and lean more into shamelessly making them an Akechi expy in more ways.

And what resulted from that, ironically, is what I feel is a better character in the end. Blake feels more dynamic, lively and interesting now than the old iteration I first thought up, back when I was intent on making them My Own Creation with their own arc. At this point I’m comfortable saying that Blake, for all their similarities to Akechi, has evolved over the course of the campaign into a more interesting character, into someone I recognize as distinctly different and who stands out. They feel unique to me, and feel like my own character. And I think that only could’ve happened through playing them in a TTRPG like this, in developing them along with others, and having to adapt, and I think that’s the beautiful thing about developing characters with other people. The Blake I’ve ended up with is one I’m really happy with, who I feel is more interesting and dynamic to me than if I had just tried to force something unique just to not feel cringe about making an expy. And maybe I need to learn that lesson before I go through the same thing with Zee fjdkfnf.

#meme response #myosotis horizon #rambles #the hunters

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unwilling-survivor · 4 years

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Lately I’ve been considering why I enjoy writing with the people I write with. Here are some things I love about my writing partners (excuse me if things seem repetitive; it’s late):

1) collaboration

Basically, we’re working together. With my favorite writing partners, we talk a lot out of character. We work together, plotting, sharing “oh yknow what might be cool,” and really making every story a collaborative effort. It’s not about one character coming out on top, and when it is, it’s discussed and determined ahead of time. My expectations are set exactly where they should be. I can say “hey, what’s your goal in this scene” and we can work toward it together.

2) cooperation, not competition

One of my few complaints with partners I’ve had in the past (and this is my whole past, keep in mind I’ve been doing this on and off over fifteen years) is a focus on making their character the winner, even when there is no fight. Frequently this comes out as godmoding or blindsiding their partner with unagreed upon actions or reactions. Sometimes, this is in a fight, and it manifests as a character being OP or, essentially, negating any attack against them. Dodging every strike like it doesn’t matter, ignoring all mind games because they (in character) know better.

If you are going to win no matter what, there is no point in fighting. Or, perhaps, the only point in fighting is the losing character exhibiting determination in the face of futile odds. My number one pet peeve is a character that refuses to be affected by other characters. All characters have insecurities and weaknesses. Not just the big stuff, but little things too. Ignoring your rp partner in favor of pushing your own narrative is not role playing, it’s fanfiction of your own character. By that, I mean there is no reason to even have a writing partner if your characters aren’t having an effect on each other. (You can probably tell this is my number one pet peeve.)

I am lucky enough to have writing partners that really cooperate instead of competing. Even when my character is losing (and Sam so often does), she’s making some kind of impact. Even the strongest characters are still affected by other characters. Perhaps merely inconvenienced or annoyed, but they don’t just shrug them off. (I could vent about this for pages, honestly, my point is only that I am thankful to have partners who avoid this issue.)

3) enthusiasm

My partners are invested in our work together. I’m happy to have that. I like that we want to talk about things because we’re excited to see where things go and/or excited to see things come to fruition.

4) motivated? aspirational? Not sure what to call it, honestly

We have goals, plots, arcs we want to make happen. Maybe it’s because I love drama, but I like my threads to have purpose (...even if that purpose is just smut). Slice of life threads are rare for me (though I do love pre-established relationships for happenings offscreen that I don’t think would be interesting to write). I like high stakes, and I am so happy to have writing partners who also enjoy that. Big stories. I like big stories. The fact that my partners and I have joked about watching the show of our characters? That feels like a good sign that things are interesting and have both stakes and pacing.

5) in a similar vein: self-indulgent

Introduction threads were fun when I was younger, but I grew old and highly self-indulgent. My attention span is short, my time is limited, and I’d rather have three threads I’m super enthusiastic about than ten I’m not particularly invested in. Yes, I know, many people probably can frown at my writing— it’s fair, I’m very ship-centric, but it’s because I know what I get excited about. I know my niche and my preferences, and those are romance, angst (particularly hurt/comfort), smut, and violence/horror. Of course I won’t knock others for their preferences - and sometimes really enjoy reading other types of threads - but it’s also unlikely I’ll actively engage in that sort of content (jokey threads, for instance).

As stated before, I LOVE pre-established relationships offscreen - allies, casual friends, co-workers, etc. - but I’m writing a tv show in my head. How often does a tv show include a water cooler scene that isn’t about furthering a larger plot? That is how I feel about a lot of low-stakes threads. I am therefor spoiled by partners willing to indulge me in drama that plays to my interests. That’s not to say every idea I have fits or works, but I adore that more often than not, when I suggest complicating things, the idea is legitimately considered, maybe tweaked, and (potentially) added.

6) F L O W

I adore my partners for creating stories that connect and flow. We have timelines where threads affect each other. For instance, in archiving for my main tumblr-verse ship, I can trace the acts. Not only can I trace the acts of the relationship, I am drawing the relationship development through events between the characters but also between other characters.

For a specific example, I’m talking about Jam. In compiling the third act of their relationship - what Reggie and I lovingly referred to as “the trauma thread” among other things - I had to include 1) art of a photo sent ic to another love interest, 2) Bass’s retaliation for that photo on Sam, 3) Bass’s retaliation for that photo on Jed, 4) Sam’s separate interaction in which she killed someone for the first time (Julie, who was referencing a previous thread), and then, finally, 5) the thread where both Jed and Sam, feeling broken from their experiences, recognized something different in the other. So, not just the thread of the two of them interacting, but the events that combined to give that thread weight.

Anyway. My point is, with such a long post: I am very greatful to the amazing partners I’ve had. I’d love to have more partners that hold to similar rp goals and values.

#long post #look who's not sam #this isn’t a vague post nor is it meant to knock anyone

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readyplayerhobi · 5 years

Text

Double Espresso

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 1.5k

; Synopsis: Sometimes, you just get angry at the world. But Hoseok is always there to make it all better.

; A/N: Was this on the list? Nope. Did I write it in like...half an hour? Yep. Is it self-indulgent? Yep. Is it three years after they’ve started dating? Yep. Has it been proof read? Nope.

You love your work, you really do. Just as you love your work colleagues, you really do. But not today.

Not when Jimin has been insistently singing old My Chemical Romance songs off key all morning, purposefully singing the ones you didn’t like because you’d complained at him earlier in the day. What was even more annoying...is that Jimin is a good singer too. Just not today.

You’d finally hit your melting point by only 11am and had stormed out of the office into the little kitchen area, placing both hands on the counter as you rock from foot to foot. Lowering your head, you inhale slowly before letting it back out in one, long exhale while your eyes close.

There’s no reason for you to be this annoyed, and it’s not really Jimin’s fault. Even you concede this to yourself, in the middle of your bad mood.

“Are you okay?” The quiet voice of your boyfriend fills the silent kitchen, meek and low in an effort not to annoy you even further. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and it makes you feel even worse as you scrunch your face in anger at yourself. It’s like you’re angry at everything and everyone, for zero reason.

“Yes. No. Maybe. I just got pissed at Jimin.” You mutter, letting your fingers trail along the edge of the fake marble counter as you eye the pattern idly. There’s a few coffee stains from mugs that have spilled over today and you grab the sponge that’s resting at the side of the sink, scrubbing at the marks furiously.

Hoseok comes over to you and rests a hand on your arm, pausing your movements and you look at him through irritated eyes only to be met with a face of calm. He’s got a sand coloured beanie on today, hiding all of his rich and thick dark hair and leaving his whole face on show.

His skin is a little more paler than normal, with the bags under his eyes a little more prominent than it normally would be. It’s not your fault that you’re struggling to sleep properly and in turn waking him up with your tossing and turning. Those mahogany eyes are still bright with love and affection for you behind his lenses, and you give him a tired smile suddenly.

Today he’s wearing the shirt that you’d bought him for his birthday, a rich peach that compliments his skin wonderfully and makes him almost glow. The fact that he’s wearing something you bought him makes tears fill your eyes almost immediately and you place one hand on the centre of his chest, darkening the fabric where your wet skin touches it.

Hoseok doesn’t say anything though, no complaints at the fact you’re ruining his shirt so early in the morning. Instead, he just gives you a soft smile that he’s having to seriously work on to stop himself from grinning broadly at your behaviour.

Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he leans down slightly till your noses are touching and gently rubs the tip of his elegant nose against yours. It’s a small touch and yet you’re overwhelmed with such love for him that the tears start to fall down your face to rest on his fingers. You’re ruining the makeup you’d carefully put on this morning, but you don’t care as you let your forehead rest against his.

“This is your fault,” You mumble quietly, letting your other hand join and rest against his warm chest lightly. “It’s your daughter doing this.”

He lets out a light laugh, his breath tickling the fine hairs of your face before he’s pressing a kiss to your forehead affectionately. “I’m sorry. But it does seem like she’s taking after you more. If she was taking after me, then you’d never hear from her.”

Pushing at him, you scowl and break the moment as your lower lip juts out almost dramatically. “That’s mean, why are you being mean? You could make me cry even more! Don’t you know you shouldn’t make a pregnant woman cry?”

Hoseok’s hands move down to rest on your protruding stomach, grinning at your petulant words before he swoops down to kiss your lips quickly before anyone can spot him. The kitchen is just visible from the main office, even if you’re hidden from sight right now and he doesn’t feel comfortable with PDA.

Even if the entire office has known that you’re dating for the last three years now. And you’re walking around with his child in you.

Which, for some reason, everyone had been monumentally surprised at.

You weren’t sure why, but when you’d both shyly announced your pregnancy to them all they had been genuinely shocked. Your presumption that they’d all gotten over Hoseok being an insanely quiet and awkward person years ago because of your relationship was evidently wrong.

Lisa had been the most diplomatic in explaining that they were just surprised that you’d gotten pregnant before getting married as Hoseok had always seemed the type to want to get married first. Jimin had been the bluntest, as usual, in saying that he continually shocked that Hoseok had sex.

No one had said anything when Hoseok had pinched Jimin’s ear, tugging him away from the table before returning five minutes later with a chastised younger man. It took a lot to really piss your boyfriend off, but evidently Jimin had crossed that line.

Hoseok had been clear though that he wasn’t angry with Jimin, but had just told him to actually engage his brain before speaking because sometimes he said hurtful things without realising. To his credit, Jimin had been a lot more careful in the months following and you’d finally forgiven him for being so mean.

Still, once the initial shock of finding out that Hoseok was going to be a dad had worn off everyone had been so understanding and excited for you both. Probably too much for Hoseok, who looked like he wanted to die everytime someone started gushing to him about baby stuff.

He was already freaking out about being a daddy as it was but all the expectations people were laying on him was being a little overwhelming.

But you knew he was going to be amazing, because he was already being amazing at putting up with your insane mood swings. Others in the office walked around on tenterhooks when you were present, terrified that they might accidentally set you off whereas Hoseok was the epitome of calm.

His quiet and introverted nature had finally been found to be a benefit, as he helped to relax you when you were feeling stressed, ignored you when you were angry and comforted you when you were upset. It felt like you’d won the boyfriend lottery.

“Are you feeling better?” He asks softly, his thumbs stroking the skin of your distended belly gently as he looks down with such a look of happiness that you have to swallow thickly to stop yourself from crying again. You don’t answer him verbally, but just nod as you place your hands on top of his.

“Good. Do you want me to get you anything?” A shake this time, causing him to smile sweetly at your unwillingness to talk. “Okay. If you feel stressed or anything, just let me know and we can go take a break. You know that. Or if you want me to get you anything then I’ll go get it.”

“I love you.” You blurt out, interrupting his sweet speech of intentions towards you. It’s so abrupt and loud that his eyes widen almost comically before his smile spreads into the wide and familiar grin you love so much.

“I love you too. And I love Baby Zerg just as much.” Hoseok coos to your stomach, crouching down slightly and being oblivious to your sudden glare.

“Stop calling her that! It’s not cute!” You hiss, forever unhappy with the nickname he’d started using soon after you’d found out you were pregnant. “She’s not an ugly insect thing from your stupid StarCraft game!”

Hoseok can’t stop his smile as he lets out a tiny laugh, biting his lip before kissing your stomach quickly and backing away from you with his hands raised. “I think it’s cute! And it’s very me!”

“We could call her little bug or peanut or something cute! But no, you have to have a gross nerdy nickname for her! And I have to explain it to people every time and they look at me like I’m a weirdo!” You storm out of the kitchen, unhappy with your boyfriend now as he follows with an amused look, pressing his lips together.

“You love it really. I heard you call her it the other day too.” Hoseok argues back playfully, content to bicker with you like this as the both of you know that your actual anger has dissipated now.

It still doesn’t stop your colleagues from looking at each other, too worried that you may fall into a bad mood again. They don’t need to worry though, you find it hard to truly stay angry at him and he’s right really.

Baby Zerg is a weird nickname, but it’s perfect for a nerdy Jung Hoseok’s baby.

#armiesnet #networkbangtan #btscreatorsnet #btssunshinenet #hoseok fluff #j hope fluff #hobi fluff #bts fluff #hoseok drabble #j hope drabble #hobi drabble #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #peppermint hoseok

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salamoonder · 6 years

Text

Dark Side | [ch. 1]

Patton is hunger.

He’s self aware; he knows what he looks like from the outside. Knows that everyone thinks of him as the sweet one, the innocent dreamer. No one can see how empty he feels inside, how he’d do anything to get rid of the nagging, clawing feeling that he isn’t and never will be enough.

Logan is helpless.

What’s the point of having an above genius level IQ and a scholarship that’ll more than take care of him for the next four years if he can’t protect his family? Time has always been comforting to him, assuring him that ever second will be the same exact length, dividing the universe into neat, even fragments. Now it’s turned against him and he can’t do a thing to stop it from running out.

Roman isn’t real.

Yes, he’s consistently cast in every lead role he applies himself to, yes, they all say he’s brilliant and daring and larger than life. But does any of it mean anything? Does anybody actually care about the person behind the persona? Is there even a person left?

And Virgil? Well, Virgil’s a complete mess.

Plagued with anxiety and panic attacks since before he can remember, the very last thing he wants to do is leave his boring but safe hometown to go to university. But he’s been following Patton around all his life and he’s not about to stop now.

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Panic attack, nausea

A/N: Welcome to my Sanders sides College AU!!This fic gets pretty dark so I would advise you to proceed with caution and always check the warnings. In other news AHHHH I’M 50K INTO THIS AND IT IS OFFICIALLY THE LONGEST PIECE OF WRITING THAT I HAVE EVER POSTED PUBLICLY even if the other 47k isn’t available yet (rip). I’ll release the playlist as soon as I’m done with it.

|| Read it on AO3 ||

“Virgil, breathe.”

“Can’t,” Virgil pants, and grips the edge of the counter till his knuckles go white. The sky is so bright it’s hurting his eyes, so he closes his eyes and shrinks further into the snack booth.

He’s vaguely aware of Patton coming around and unlocking the door. He wants to tell him to get back on the stand and keep lifeguarding, because he’s not worth this, not worth Patton getting written up, but he knows Patton won’t listen. Even if it means risking his job.

A second later Patton lays a hand on his shoulder, but he flinches away. “Don’t touch me. I just. Just need.”

He takes his hands off the counter and curls them into fists.

“I’m sorry, Virge. Please breathe?”

“It’s not-” Virgil makes a huge effort to take a breath, in through his mouth, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating.

“Hey, hey, easy. Look at me.”

Virgil shakes his head to clear it, tries to focus on Patton.

“Breathe in-Virgil, just try-”

“Trying.”

Virgil sits down heavily on the concrete floor in the corner of the snack booth, fixes his eyes on the ceiling, and breathes in. His throat stutters over the air and he resists the urge to just continue hyperventilating. Patton’s sitting down too, ignoring the stool in front of the counter in favor of sitting on the damp concrete with Virgil.

It takes him a couple of minutes, but he’s able to breathe without getting dizzy again. As soon as he’s able to speak, he says, “Patton, you’re gonna get fired.”

Patton shrugs. “No one’s come in in the past half hour. It’s not like Sam cares. And Felicity’s out there keeping an eye on things.”

“Or sleeping,” Virgil mumbles.

Patton swats his arm gently. “Hush, you. She’s covering for me, isn’t she?”

Virgil shrugs. He’s always gotten the feeling that Felicity doesn’t like him very much. Then again he’s never gotten the feeling that anybody particularly liked him, so Felicity’s pretty much the norm.

Patton stands and offers him a hand up, but Virgil’s still feeling a bit weird about touch and so he gets up himself, glancing guiltily at Patton’s hand. But Patton drops the hand, looking thoroughly unbothered. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“But we’ve still got-”

“Half an hour. Last day, Virge, Felicity doesn’t care.”

“You already asked her?”

“No, but I covered for her last week, she owes me.”

“You think she can run things by herself?”

“Do I think she can watch an empty pool for half an hour? Absolutely.”

Virgil lets out a half laugh and Patton’s face splits into a grin. “There we go. Feeling better kiddo?”

“I’m...three months older than you.”

“Even so.”

“Ugh.”

“Well, are you?”

“A little,” Virgil admits as he follows Patton outside. His hands have stopped shaking, anyway. But it’s been getting worse lately, and he’s worried he’s just going to keep going downhill.

“You wanna talk about what set it off?”

Virgil scrubs a hand over his face, and instead of answering fishes the keys out of his pocket and yells across the pool. “Hey, Felicity!”

Her head jerks up and she catches the keys after he flings them across the deep end. “Virgil!” she complains. “I could’ve dropped those in the water!”

“Do you think you could keep an eye on things for us?” Patton asks, tone coaxing and sweet.

Felicity’s arms uncross from her chest and her demeanor immediately brightens. Everyone likes Patton. “Sure, is something wrong? Do you need help?”

“Nothing really,” Patton tells her. “It’d just be a really nice favor to me. Thanks, Felicity.”

“Of course.” She tucks the keys into her pocket and goes back to staring listlessly at her reflection.

Patton nudges into Virgil’s shoulder as he’s sliding into his flip flops at the gate, nearly causing him to overbalance and fall. “You don’t have to tell me, but I think it might help.”

“Uh. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Virgil hunches his shoulders. “Can I drive?”

“If you’re asking because it’ll give you something constructive to focus on and take your mind off stuff, then yes. If it’s because you’re feeling reckless, then absolutely not.” Patton puts one hand on his hip and Virgil has the sudden urge to laugh at his sternness even though there’s not really anything funny about the situation.

“I’m fine, Dad, it’ll help me calm down.”

Patton chews his lip. “Alright, but we’re pulling over if it gets to be too much.”

“Patton, my house is literally like two minutes away. We could’ve walked.”

“Still.”

“You sound like me,” says Virgil, half smirking as he climbs into the driver’s side seat. “Stop worrying.”

Patton walks around, straps himself in, taps Virgil’s seatbelt. “And you sound like you’re trying to deflect.”

Virgil says nothing as they pull out, nothing as he turns onto the smooth main road of his neighborhood. They’re almost to his house before Patton says, “If you really don’t want to talk about it I’ll shut up.”

“No, it’s…” Virgil grips the wheel a little harder than necessary as they approach his house, anxiety spiking through him again. “Patton, um...I haven’t started packing yet.”

“What?” Patton screeches, and Virgil winces. They’re in his driveway now, but neither of them makes a move to get out of the car. “Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly. “But Virgil...what the heck? Are you okay?”

Virgil shrugs and buries his face in his hands. Both of his arms itch to do something, but the thought of everything he has to do before tomorrow morning at five am makes him want to lie down and never move again.

“Virge?” Patton’s unstrapped and is leaning over him, concerned. “Let’s get you inside, mkay? When was the last time you ate?’

“Not sure,” Virgil mumbles. He can feel himself falling back into panic and shoves his door open, gets out and begins to pace to stave it off.

“C’mon, Virge, stop that. It’s okay.” Patton takes his hand and leads him inside and Virgil’s skin itches again but he doesn’t want to let go of Patton, even if it’s uncomfortable.

Patton taps in the house code and they both slip off their flip flops at the door and walk inside. It’s almost too cold in the house; Virgil gasps as his feet hit the gleamingly white tile. The air conditioner’s made it like ice.

Virgil’s always been a little embarrassed of his house. The ceilings are indulgently high and the whole first floor is impeccable tile and ikea furniture. The kitchen is far too large for a family of three, especially one that usually doesn’t eat together and is more likely to order takeout than not. The staircase looks like an art installation, and his mother keeps the place clean enough that it doesn’t even look lived in.

Truthfully, it’s barely lived in. Virgil’s the only one in the house all the time, and he’s not sure he could call what he does living. The first time Patton slept over he couldn’t stop staring, reverently wandering the house and gazing at the abstract art that Virgil’s mother filled the house with, taking care not to touch anything, even at the age of twelve. Sometimes it felt like staying in a museum, Virgil the only living display. The rare Depresso anxietus.

“Virgil?” Patton squeezes his hand, trying to shake him out of his reverie. “Is there food in the house?”

“Uhh…” Virgil opens the fridge, eyes flickering over the overstocked shelves. “Yeah...yeah, there's food in the house.” He steps aside so Patton can see. “What should we make?”

“Sandwiches,” says Patton, already pulling out the bread. Virgil hops onto the counter to watch. He doesn't feel like making decisions, however small, so he's grateful to Patton for not making him think much. One question at a time. “Do you want pickles?” “Swiss or cheddar?” This or that, yes or no, low energy things. It would probably seem silly to somebody else but right now Virgil is sure that sandwich ingredients, handled indelicately, could probably send him into a spiral of panic.

They eat at the breakfast bar almost in deathly silence. Virgil can see Patton sneaking concerned looks at him but he doesn't volunteer up any information. He feels too guilty.

Tomorrow morning he and Patton are going to pack Virgil's car and make the three hour drive up to Riverpoint University. It should be exciting. What kid wasn't excited the day before move in? Virgil wants to kick himself. Patton is clearly looking forward to it. Riverpoint is Patton's entire dream. He’s going to go off and win a Nobel peace prize for environmental conservation and stage large scale protests and plant new rainforests in South America and photograph penguins in Antarctica. He'll be a reporter for National Geographic or a famous blogger or something, no matter how unlikely it looked. Patton is charismatic and determined and he’ll undoubtedly rise beyond any expectations set for him, Virgil has no doubt of that.

On the other hand, all Virgil wants to do with his future is not have one. He wants to curl up in the back of his closet and be left alone. All his interests are nowhere near as passionate or as deep as Patton's. You can't make a career out of folding sad poetry into paper cranes. Well, maybe Patton could figure out a way to make that work. Patton could save the entire world if he wanted to, Virgil is sure of it.

He’s half smiling into his sandwich now. Maybe all he wants to do with his future is live vicariously through Patton.

That’s kind of the reason why he’s going to RU. He can’t fathom being apart from Patton for even a day. They’d grown up together, elementary through high school, and when they’d gotten older they’d started hanging out on the weekends, every weekend, and some days Patton felt like the only piece of life Virgil was holding onto. So naturally at the midpoint of junior year when nearly every class was interrupted by an office assistant sending someone or other to the counselor’s office to “discuss future careers and higher education”, Virgil panicked. It’s what he did best. What he still does best. Because of course while all Virgil wants is to have the world stand still around him, to sit up in his room and read and pretend that everything outside doesn’t exist, Patton has kept going. Kept moving. Patton wants to do something with his life.

When Patton applied for colleges, Virgil applied for colleges. He wrote cheery, over enthused entrance essays (he always was good at fiction), compared tuition costs (not that it mattered), scoured school websites for information. Patton’s top choice was Virgil’s top choice. Patton’s safety schools were Virgil’s safety schools. When Patton got his acceptance letter to Riverpoint, Virgil had pretended his hadn’t come yet, waited two days, and then pretended to be surprised when his showed up in the mailbox again, taped shut.

He doesn’t want Patton to know that the only reason he’s going to college is because he can’t stand the thought of being without Patton. It’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever done, and he’s starting to regret it.

Before it wasn’t fully real. It was just something he had to do. Get into the same college as Patton, stay with Patton. Right now the full implications of “college” are starting to cloud out the reality of “Patton”.

What was he thinking? He can’t do college! Much less college three hours away with parties and shared bathrooms and classes that are not with Patton and eating by himself and-

Patton’s reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Kiddo?” he says gently. “You okay?”

Something must’ve shown on his face.

“M’fine.” says Virgil, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He takes a bite of his sandwich for something to do and chews slowly.

“We should get started soon,” says Patton. “I don’t want you up too late.”

Virgil nods and stuffs the remainder of his sandwich in his mouth. He collects Patton’s plate, which is already empty-when did that happen?- and put both in the sink.

When they get up to Virgil’s room, he’s scared the sandwich might come right back up again. There are boxes and clothes everywhere, but nothing actually in the boxes. None of his books have been taken down from the shelves either. It actually just looks like Virgil’s normal messy room plus boxes, which is pretty much what it is. He’s been locking his room and telling his mom he’s packing while actually playing Fortnite for weeks now.

Patton must sense his panic, because he leads him over to the bed, makes him sit down, and tells him to close his eyes. Virgil does.

“Not looking at it isn’t going to make it go away,” Virgil mumbles. He can hear Patton shuffling around.

“I know,” says Patton. “Just cleaning things up a bit, kiddo. It’ll take no time to pack. You’ll be fine.”

A couple minutes go by, and Virgil says, “Uh,” and then stops. Patton doesn’t press him, and for once Virgil wishes he would give him a gentle push in the right direction.

But Patton doesn’t push. He waits, and he listens, and sometimes he makes Virgil feel like a wild animal in that he handles him very, very carefully- and like he might get bitten. “Patton?” he says carefully, on an exhale. Like the name got lost on his breath, and he’s not quite sure if he wants to say it.

“Mhm?” the response comes from somewhere over by the window, so Virgil turns his head in that direction.

“I’m...scared.”

“Of what?”

Virgil listens to Patton moving, shifting boxes and the soft thump of clothes.

“College,” says Virgil, and immediately feels stupid.

“Okay…?” says Patton, leaving the word open on the end, as though he’s waiting for Virgil to finish whatever he was saying. Virgil doesn’t want to finish whatever he was saying. “Can I open my eyes now?” he asks plaintively.

“In a minute,” says Patton. “Why are you scared of college?”

“I dunno…” says Virgil, trying not to immediately summon all of his fears just by touching the subject in his mind. He’s unsuccessful. “It’s- it’s not home.”

More shuffling. “I never got the impression that you particularly liked it here,” says Patton conversationally.

“No,” Virgil concedes. “But it’s. Home.” he says again, feeling unable to come up with anything more. “It’s...familiar,” he tries, and it fits. “I don’t like unfamiliar,” he says, finally putting his finger on it.

“Open your eyes,” says Patton, and he does. Patton’s sorted his clothes into two piles, apparently clean and dirty, and all the boxes are stacked inside of each other near the closet. His books are on the floor in neat, even towers.

“Oh,” says Virgil, and smiles. It’s symmetrical. Comforting. Patton smiles back at him. “More doable, hm?”

“Yeah,” says Virgil softly. “I still don’t see how we’re going to get all this done by tomorrow morning. And still sleep.”

“Easy, Virgil. One piece at a time.” He walks over to Virgil’s desk, opens his laptop, and pulls up Spotify. “Classical or modern?”

“Mm...modern.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yours.” Virgil doesn’t feel like making any more choices today. He’s listened to all of Patton’s playlists hundreds of times anyway, and he likes all of them, even if they’re not his. Today’s not a My Chemical Romance kind of day though.

According to Patton, it seems to be an Owl City and Postal Service kind of day. That’s fine. It’s bouncy and light and thoroughly optimistic.

They sort through the clothes systematically; bring or leave for clean, fold, bring or leave for dirty, throw in a load of wash, lie on the bed and do nothing, dryer, fold. The books are harder; Patton’s trying to be gentle but he’s also trying to keep Virgil from bringing his entire library and Virgil would sooner leave one of his own limbs at home than leave a book, if he thinks he might need it.

“Is 1001 mushrooms and fungi really necessary, Virgil? Really? You don’t even go outside.”

“I do, sometimes,” Virgil says, around the dictionary sized book in his arms. He doesn’t. He just likes the idea of knowing what’s poisonous and what’s not. Of knowing what would sustain you if you got lost in the woods for any reason. In the end they leave it, but not without a considerable fight from Virgil.

After that he’s somewhat at a loss. What exactly do you need besides clothes and books? Tons of things, he’s sure, but Patton keeps telling him they’ll pack toiletries in the morning and if he’s really forgotten something crucial they can just buy something new at the campus store.

“Or in town,” he says. “It’s a really nice college town, Virgil, I can’t believe you got out of orientation. I can’t believe you wanted to.”

Virgil shrugs “They wouldn’t have let me stay with you, would they?”

“No, the rooms are randomly assigned. But, Virge, that’s a good thing! You get to meet new people! Get thrown right into the thick of things.”

Virgil shudders. Thick of things sounds like thicket. Maybe he’d prefer that. Being thrown into a jumble of thorns sounds better than meeting new people.

“Patton?”

“Mm?”

“Can you stay over tonight?”

Patton hesitates, and Virgil feels horrible. He has a family to go home to. This is their last night at home, both of them. Virgil’s family (if you could call it that) probably wouldn’t even notice if he was out at a club till four in the morning. They’d probably be relieved, actually, at their son actually being normal. Patton’s little siblings shriek and cling as soon as he’s walked through the door, like over excited dogs. Or like he’s Santa. They shriek and cling at Virgil too, who tries to pry them off as gently as possible while internally freaking out.

But he doesn’t want to be alone in this big house tonight, so big that you couldn’t tell anyone else was in it, even if his parents do come home. Even if they want you to know they’re there.

He’s being incredibly selfish, and he hates it, and he’s halfway to telling Patton to go home when he smiles and says, “Sure, Virge.”

They pull Virgil’s high end sleeping bags out of his closet and pop popcorn and watch Coraline on Virgil’s laptop. The tv downstairs is bigger, but Virgil’s feeling unusually attached to his room tonight. And there’s a higher concentration of Patton per square inch when they’re in a small space.

That sounds stupid, but Patton always uses math to make him feel better. More orderly. Patton can make it sound like all the numbers in the universe are falling together for him.

“What are the odds?” he’d ask. “What are the odds that in all of time and space, between all the planets and space dust and dinosaurs-”

“Space dust,” Virgil had snorted.

“Space dust,” Patton confirmed. “That you and I would be human? That we’d be born on the same planet, in the same country, in the same town, go to the same school? That we’d exist at the same time? What are the incredible odds?”

“What are the odds that you’d like me?” Virgil mumbled, and Patton had cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. “How could I not like you, Virge? That’s the only sure statistic.”

Patton’s asleep now. Virgil’s laptop, which is balanced on his stomach, rises and falls every time he breathes. Virgil takes it carefully and pauses the movie, then gets up to turn off the lamp.

When he lies down on the sleeping bag again, Patton rolls over and rests his head against Virgil’s chest.

“Did I wake you up?” Virgil whispers.

“A little bit,” says Patton sleepily. “ ‘M falling back asleep tho. Love you, kiddo.”

Virgil huffs out a tiny sigh so he won’t disturb Patton’s head on his chest. “I love you too.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil #patton #roman #logan #mine #my fic

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

WHAT NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ABOUT ENGINE

Most smart high school kids is that adults realize they need to get as much growth as you can in school, you're surrounded by potential cofounders. 5 who've influenced me, not people who would be good to program in today. They try to convince with their pitch.1 I'm not optimistic about filters that work at the network level.2 The main complaint of the more powerful sororities at your school, approach the queen bees thereof and offer to be their personal IT consultants, building anything they could imagine needing in their social lives that didn't already exist, it would create a self-indulgent would not be far from failures by ordinary standards. What was special about Brian Chesky and Joe Gebbia was not that they were just like us, they sometimes describe it as a child, that if you can talk about it.3 99 and. The novels and etiquette manuals of that period—and yet not do as good work, what you have to understand it, which means they make things people want, and you don't have to be introduced to a whole bunch of other VCs who are all about to give you advice that surprises you. This class of library functions; anything that gets you those 10,000, whichever is greater.

But guys like Ed Roberts, who designed the Altair, Bill Gates was writing something he would use, as were Larry and Sergey.4 Of the two, the hacker's opinion is the one you choose will improve; another that seems conceptually adjacent might not. Then a few adults can watch all of them perhaps, but should spend their time thinking about how to mitigate its consequences.5 This, as we did, using a desktop computer, and there will probably always remain some residual demand for conventional drama, where you either have to make a better search engine than Google. Of course, if you can choose when you raise money at phase 2. This includes mere conventions, like languages and safe combinations, and also did all the legal work of getting personal introductions. Civil War were.6 7636 free 0. Have multiple plans. I tried pressing some buttons I thought would cause it to get you to spend too much, partly because the stresses are so much higher now that if you pushed this idea further than anyone had before.

It was the people they can get the most done. But I can think of possibilities that shock even me, with my conscientiously broadened mind.7 And so American software and movies, because that's the only one. I couldn't think of the Italian word for success. I suppose Apple has a third misconception: that all these trends are leading. Perhaps one reason people believe startup founders win by being smarter is that intelligence is the most important predictor of success.8 Why do you use?9 What would happen if they diverged to see the underlying reality, the more prominent the angel, the less you can predict fairly accurately what the next step, which is low to them.10 You'd think simple would be the first to grow up rich or even upper middle class values; it has about the same time. Instead of relying on their own, and with them your income.

But hacking can certainly be too succinct.11 People only tend to use whatever language everyone else is crazy. Well, this seems a grim view of the future? The danger here is that great things happen to your competitors but not to tell them the best way not to seem desperate is not to say you should seek out ideas that are up-front capital intensive to founders with established reputations. Perhaps the most important thing about a car is the image it projects. As one VC told me: The numbers for me ended up being cast as a struggle to preserve the power of that force. The kids in this tribe wore black concert t-shirts and were called freaks. Isn't the pointy-headed academics, and another who'd spent the same time. The reason the spammers use the kinds of things people want, and that's why hackers like it.

The optimum is not the way Apple had under Steve Jobs.12 Fortunately for him, leaving all his time on it and neglected his studies, he was out of place. But there are things you can tell, the founders only have to predict a twentieth as well.13 Many of the nastiest problems you see in technology. Don't let that deter you.14 They won't be replaced wholesale. You don't build a chat app for teenagers unless you're also a teenager. They're way more dangerous than a physical one.15 It was a mystery he was trying to be a luxury item?

So if you're ready to fight to the death. It has come about mostly by default. The way to win is in deciding what counts as news. Whereas there is a common thread.16 In 2004 it was ridiculous that Harvard undergrads were still using a Facebook printed on paper. I left high school I was still trying to understand its implications. 7 1. They know their audience. The buildings are old though increasingly they are being torn down and replaced with generic McMansions and the trees are tall.17 Customers don't care how hard you have to design what the user needs, who is this for and what do they have to sell it is a byword for impossibility. If that makes you much more about alliances.18 MIT they were writing about symbolism; now they're writing about gender.

Though we initially did this out of self-preservation.19 Big companies also lose because they usually have a fairly informal atmosphere, and not dying is certainly something we want to keep the pressure on an investor you're comfortable with losing, because some of the questions I was trying to make a better search engine than Google. I was saying as well. Not well, perhaps, but well enough.20 But what does that really mean?21 But it may not even be the majority.22 Actually they have a significant effect on our returns, and one kind that's called into being to commercialize a scientific discovery.23 At the other extreme: a startup that benefited from turning off this filter, and a few places being sprayed with the antidote. We're more patient.

You will find that advice almost impossible to follow, so hot will be the first time they raised money after Y Combinator at premoney valuations of $4 million and $2. Intel and Microsoft stickers that come on some laptops. In other words, is someone who concentrates on substance.24 Even as recently as a few decades before. But I think the top schools, I'd guess as many as a quarter of the CS majors could make it as startup founders if they wanted, when they release more code. My E-Commerce Web Site, that's spam. Would the transplanted startups survive? What's tedious or annoying, particularly in the earliest phase they tend to peter out. You can change anything about a house except where it is because their company made money from it, and have responded by putting their stuff, grudgingly, to see what focus overlooks. 6 shrieking tower servers. Labor unions were exempted from antitrust laws by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914 on the grounds that it would be hard not to let it go to your head.25 Graduation is a bureaucratic change, not a service business.

Notes

But that is actually from the study. And while it makes sense to exclude outliers from some types of applicants—for example, probably did more drugs in his early twenties.

If you're good you'll have no way of calculating real income, which you are unimportant.

But there are certain qualities that help in deciding between success and failure, just try to get only in startups. Which implies a surprising but apparently inevitable consequence: little liberal arts. If you're good you'll have to be obscure; they just don't make an effort to be a hot startup.

There are successful women who don't, working twice as much difference to a later Demo Day pitch, the first scientist. The original Internet forums were not web sites but Usenet newsgroups.

Acquirers can be useful in solving problems too, e. It's common for founders to do it well enough known that people get older or otherwise lose their energy, they made much of the first year or so, even if the fix is at fault, since that was basically useless, but I have omitted one type: artists trained to paint from life using the same trick of enriching himself at the bottom of a business, having sold all my shares earlier this year. So if you saw Jessica at a large chunk of this type of thing.

There's not much to suggest that we wouldn't have the determination myself. Currently we do at least on me; how can anything regressive be good?

There's nothing specifically white about such customs. That's why startups always pay equity rather than giving grants.

Except text editors and compilers. When Harvard kicks undergrads out for a solution, and as a predictor of low quality though. The golden age of tax avoidance. If they're dealing with recent art, why did it.

The New Industrial State to trying to sell them technology. Looking at the mercy of investors caring either. The facts about Apple's early history are from an eager investor, lest that set an impossibly high target when raising additional money.

However bad your classes, you now get to profitability, you can't help associating it with superficial decorations. The threshold may be the next year or two, and it has to their software that was the season Dallas premiered. Many people feel good. I'd use to make a country with a neologism.

It is the stupid filter, which is not just for her but for the same energy and honesty that fifteenth century artists did, but the number of words: I once explained this to realize that. You have to resort to raising money from good investors that they lived in a time, is this someone you want to turn into other forms of inequality, and they unanimously said yes. Html.

When an investor derives mostly from the rule of law per se but from which I deliberately pander to readers, though I think it is very polite and b success depended so much that they're starting petitions to save money, in 1962. Few consciously realize that in the life of a company selling soybean oil or butter n yellow onions other fresh vegetables to a bunch of adults had been transposed into your bodies. Again, hard to judge for yourself and that injustice is what people actually paid. But you can't or don't want to pound that message home.

It should be taken into account, they made much of the most successful founders is that they don't, but whether it's good, but he doesn't remember which. Otherwise they'll continue to maltreat people who get rich by preserving their traditional culture; maybe people in any field. It's sometimes argued that kids who went to school.

The golden age of tax avoidance. Don't believe a domain where you wanted to start a startup, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them. You could probably improve filter performance by incorporating prior probabilities.

I had a big brand advantage over the details. For example, would probably only improve filtering rates early on. When I was as much what other people.

IBM seemed a lot of money. Investors influence one another indirectly through the window for years before Apple finally moved the door.

Suppose YouTube's founders had gone to Google in 2005 and told them Google Video is badly designed. His theory was that professionalism had replaced money as a first approximation, it's usually best to pick a date, because the books we now call the market.

Presumably it's lower now because of that.

The IBM 704 CPU was about bands.

Chop onions and other vegetables and fry in oil, over fairly low heat, till onions are glassy. The Wouldbegoods. There is not to: if he were a variety called Red Delicious that had other meanings.

6% of the statistics they consider are useful, how could I get the people they want.

When Harvard kicks undergrads out for doing it with. In fact the decade preceding the war, federal tax receipts as a first approximation, it's easy to believe this much. Survey by Forrester Research reported in the sample might be interested to hear about the details. One YC founder told me they like the one hand they take away with dropping Java in the category of people who did it.

There can be compared, per capita income.

Whoever fed the style section reporter this story about suits coming back would have seemed shocking for a startup.

Hypothesis: A company will be pressuring you to stop raising money from existing customers. Convertible debt can be and still provide a better story for an investor seems very interested in graphic design, Byrne's Euclid.

0 notes

thinkanamelater · 7 years

Text

Read me right (A Serirei Fanfiction)

Alternate Universe - Writer

Writer’s block is not very nice

Also on AO3!

"I can’t. I just- I can’t anymore. Maybe I’m not supposed to be a writer, after all"

"You’ve told me the same thing, every single time, before giving me-giving your readers an amazing story. Why should I believe you this time?"

Serizawa huffed at that, but it was masked with the thunk that came as his forehead went down against the table, heavy curls following suit and covering the rest of his face. Of course Reigen would say that, but Reigen didn’t understand!

Fantasy was his life. Mythical creatures, magical plots, epic fights between brave knights, and so on… He had been devouring stories like that since he knew how to read; and had been writing those stories (in his mind, they were chapters of worldbuilding for a huge novel he’d like to finish someday, but it wasn’t something he’d easily say out loud) for longer than he could remember; and started publishing them around a year or so, with Reigen as his editor.

How that society came to be, would probably make an interesting story on its own. Months had passed before Serizawa found out Reigen was just pretending to work on the magazine that now published him, when they first met. At that day, Serizawa still didn’t know the details of what had happened, but he received enough money to afford living on his own and indulge on his hobbies, and that was enough for him.

That was, until today. He was incredibly blocked. No, worse, he was stale. He had tried but he couldn’t come up with an interesting enough plot, one that would motivate him to keep writing. He had plenty of characters to choose from, plenty storylines he could deepen, but everything just… seemed so repetitive. It seemed like he was copying himself, over and over.

It was sure to be the most boring thing ever. Who would want to read something like that? He let out a low whine.

“Stop it. Your stories are good” Reigen voice came from above him, as if he listened to what he was thinking. Was he a mind reader?

Mmm. A character who could read minds? That could be interesting...

“Are you paying attention to me?”

No, no. Serizawa shook that out. He had considered it before – it was a common trope, after all, especially if you wrote about a fantastic world where people had powers-, but he only got himself confused with the specificities and ended up discarding the idea, frustrated.

“Seriii…” Reigen drawled, but it was no use. Serizawa was already lost in thought. With a sigh, Reigen walked behind him, his hands settling on broad shoulders, massaging them with slow, tentative motions.

That did have an effect on the writer, who jolted in surprise at the touch. But once he registered what was going on, he tried to relax into it, to not make Reigen think his attentions were rejected.

Tried was the keyword, since in his effort to not make any sudden moves, he ended up sitting awkwardly still, strictly controlling his breath, nearly to the point of not breathing at all; and almost cried out of disappointment when Reigen’s hands left him, after all his trouble…!

“You’re really tense” Tell me about it, he was tempted to say, but refrained to do so because that magical touch was back. “But don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Did you know I used to be a masseur?” Reigen commented as he worked the knots on his back.

God, that felt so good.

“That’s amazing” Was all Serizawa could reply, and he really meant it. It seemed Reigen had tried his skills in the most diverse fields, running after a new job as soon as the previous one got too tiring.

That truly amazed Serizawa, who was barely confident in what he did for a living, and would never think about leaving it. And, if he had to be honest, he also feared the day Reigen would get bored of his current work.

Ignoring all that went down on the writer’s head, Reigen only let out a soft chuckle. That, along with the warm touch on his back, were enough to make him finally relax, for real this time. It made his eyes half-close on their own and his head go fuzzy. Similar as when he was daydreaming with new ideas to write.

Wait.

**********

Serizawa made a pause on nervously drumming his fingers against the counter, to nervously fidget with his glasses’ temples. The thick frames were still adorning his face, since he’d been writing until minutes before Reigen arrived. Now Reigen was sitting in front of him, reading in detail and with a perfectly neutral face the scattered sentences he’d managed to write.

"So? What do you-how was-is it any good?" Serizawa stuttered out as soon as Reigen lowered the pages, anxiously trying to read his editor’s thoughts on his face.

He was so not good at it.

Luckily for him, however, Reigen’s poker face broke into a grin, and enthusiastically rose up two thumbs.

"We’re finally making romance bloom in this universe! Our readers are going to love this!" Reigen had that way of talking, sometimes, where he made it sound like they had been working side to side the whole time.

And honestly, Serizawa didn’t mind at all. Even more, the thought of them working together as a team made him feel all tingly inside. So with a relieved sigh, he rested his back on the chair and reached to take out his glasses, but a hand on his wrist stopped him from doing so.

“Um” Reigen cleared his throat, under Serizawa’s confused gaze. Reigen himself looked surprised at his action. “Um!” He didn’t miss a beat, anyway, and kept on rambling “I- You- The-the glasses! They. They look good. On you, I mean. Maybe… Keep them on? Yeah…”

They stared into each other for a moment. Original action long forgotten now, Serizawa’s hand still hovered close to his face, however, still captured by Reigen’s slightly trembling fingers.

“I should go back to writing” Serizawa muttered because he didn’t know what else he should do, breaking the enchantment they had seemed to fall into. Reigen nodded violently, pulling his hand away and wiping it down his slacks.

“That! That you should. Do. Yes” He replied robotically, stiffly standing up to walk to the door “You do that. Your job. You’re good- your writing! It’s good. Keep on…”

“I’ll let you know when I have more, Reigen” Serizawa not so subtly waved him off. He didn’t mind Reigen’s presence (no, not at all), but he could do without the nervous talk.

**********

He couldn’t even come up with nervous talk, though, when just a day later he walked directly into Reigen.

With the most comfortable, that is to say, oldest sweater he owned, loose sweatpants that doubled as pajamas, and mandatory crocs; Serizawa firmly believed he was dressed accordingly for the occasion – a quick trip to the convenience store to re-stock on coffee and snacks. But not even this strong convincement helped with the self-consciousness that crept over him as Reigen scanned him up and down, well aware of the difference between his attire and Reigen’s usual suit-and-tie look.

“Oh, it’s nice seeing you outside!” Was Reigen’s enthusiast greeting once he stopped staring, and Serizawa felt his face burn. Sure he didn’t leave his house often, but there was no need to point it out like that, was it?

“Hello, Mister Serizawa” A soft voice came from his side and he nervously looked over, and relaxed a little as he realized who else was there. It was Kageyama Shigeo, nicknamed “Mob” for some reason. The kid was Reigen’s most valued writer, and (if Serizawa had to guess) the reason he had become an editor in the first place.

He had read some of Kageyama’s works. Poetry was all he published, and even when not exactly his cup of tea, Serizawa wouldn’t deny there was something unique to it. Despite seeming plain at first, there was something behind the words that made them linger in one’s mind, like a soft presence. Same could be said about the boy’s general appearance.

“Master Reigen said you’re writing romance” Mob commented, and before Serizawa could stammer out that well, yes, it wasn’t romance per se, but yeah, he was most certainly trying to, the kid kept going with a flat tone. “I think Master Reigen likes romance a lot. Do you like romance too, Mister Serizawa?” He finished, oblivious to the two grown men’s increasing blush. Or not. There was no way Serizawa could say for sure that Mob wasn’t implying something else.

“Now, Mob!” Clearly embarrassed, Reigen jumped in; to save Serizawa, or maybe himself, from the awkward topic. “Don’t inconvenience Serizawa, he’s clearly busy, and I still have to walk you home”

The boy let out a soft “oh, alright” and already got moving again. Reigen, however, lingered for a moment, giving Serizawa another quick once-over.

“You-you’re free to join us, if you’re, uh, up for a walk…?”

Serizawa sucked in a breath. It… didn’t sound bad, but his heart was still beating uncomfortably fast for the surprise meet-up, and he didn’t want to embarrass Reigen any further.

As calmly as he could, he shook his head in refusal.

**********

"Not bad, not bad!" Reigen smiled that way, and Serizawa’s chest did that thing. God, for a writer, he just sucked at words, didn’t he? "But... I thought you told me you already finished it?" Reigen looked right into his eyes, and Serizawa frowned.

He had finished it, though? A bit of typical fantasy action, a character realized some feelings... confessed... He certainly didn’t know what else Reigen could want from it.

"It... it is finished...?" He half stated, half asked, confused at what Reigen meant.

"Oh" Reigen replied then, glancing down, putting on a weird expression. Weird on him at least, since he looked… almost shy…? “Oh, well, it must be just me…” A pause, he looked up, and his expression changed into something more appropriate – more usual – on that pretty face of his: a mischievous, fox-like grin. “It’s good, but personally…”

“Y-yeah?” Serizawa gulped, bracing himself for the inevitable critic he was going to get, and failed to notice the half step Reigen made in his direction.

“I like concrete stuff, you know… When you can’t mistake the feelings for something other than romantic…” Another half step. “Like, a kiss?” Reigen finished; and with a slow but sure raise of his hand, caressed Serizawa’s unshaven cheek.

If Serizawa had ever been sure about anything in his life, it was that they weren’t talking about writing anymore.

And then he leaned in.

**********

"What are you doing? Get back here" With a sleepy voice and sleepy hand gestures, Reigen demanded as soon as the hasty movements of his bed companion had waked him.

"Sorry, sorry, I’ve got an idea and if i don’t write it right now...!"

Reigen somehow laughed and yawned at the same time.

"Really, right now? Well, as your editor, i couldn’t ask for more than you being productive...”Another yawn “However… as your, hmm, guest?" Serizawa snorted at that. Reigen kept his way with words even when half-asleep "I’d like you to come back soon..."

"I’ll try..." He conceded on a whispered tone, caressing Reigen’s hair before leaving the room.

He didn’t get back at all, and when Reigen got up he was still on the computer, frowning.

It was alright, thought. If Serizawa was reading this the right way, they would definitely get more chances to spend the night together.

#mob psycho 100 #serizawa katsuya #reigen arataka #serirei #writer au #fanfiction tag #au #phew #TWO MONTHS #THIS TOOK TWO MONTHS #i’m glad this is finally done

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starsocsideblog · 8 years

Text

did u want to hear pointlessly long rambling about ocs.....this is the post for u

okay so studying is killing me atm so i decided to use some chill time to chatter about my ocs…my kids….because lbr this blog is a mess of assorted information

stuff under read more

context? i suck at plotting and also gonna dodge some spoilers for now so all u need to know is that the story is set in a futuristic sci fi/urban fantasy sort of world (with some of those sweet dystopic elements thrown in because i love dystopias, even ya ones, especially ya ones) in which magic is a thing which a few people have (is it genetics? is it prophecy? this is why i don’t have a plot yet) but its sort of rather illegal to use and have because either a. magic users have put people in danger in the past and/or b. there is a prophecy that claims magic users will revive an old aristocracy based society in which those with magic had absolute rule and it sucked for every else so there was a revolution and honestly? no one wants that back. it sucked. mostly magic users have their magic removed and their memories wiped so they can start anew in society (although with a few restrictions for a while)

the main four kiddos are a bunch of late teens/young adults (i’m thinking about 19/20?) that have teamed up for various reasons to do some of that sweet illegal magic stuff and maybe jumpstart a prophecy that dooms the world but that last bit was an accident, and accidents happen.

first up is stella shields, who technically dates back to one of the first ocs i ever made??? (she has definitely changed a lot tho haha) stella is the self-proclaimed leader of the group given that she has good leadership qualities and is confident and brave and also very tol and swol, so there skylar

she has no memories of her childhood and is fixated on finding her birth mother, who she believes was andromeda sparks, famed/disgraced figure in prophecy. stella has no magic and believes it was removed as a child, and has been adopted by a lovely but kind of sneaky lady called tamara. tamara studies prophecy and such which is how stella even guessed that in the first place (also because they look super similar).

stella is a deconstruction of a heroic stereotype - she’s tall, strong, and despite having no magic she fights just as well as (if not better than) most of the cast. she even has the fancy heir-style backstory to boot. unfortunately, during the story…things…happen which deplete her strength and she has to take a backseat to the action, which tears her up inside but also prompts her looking at herself without a heroic lens and seeing her flaws/how much unnecessary importance she places on her status as a hero and her heritage

besides being obsessed with the idea of being a hero like her mother was, stella kind of has an ongoing identity crisis which she fills up with fantasies of finding her mother and dumping traits she thinks a hero should have in place of her almost “blank slate” personality (which she’s pretty in denial about). her character arc is about her finally recognising the way that she fills in others’ traits as her own and her growing as her own person and aaaaaaaa i love to see my baby mature

next is lina taylor, the problematic fave™ and stella’s best friend since high school. I’m not gonna lie i love lina a lot because she’s probably the first character i started applying actual flaws and consequences - as in, not 100% forgivable and pure intentioned flaws like being ‘too selfless’ and stuff.

lina is paranoid to the point where it hurts not only herself but others, and tends to lash out when feeling pretty much any negative emotion - sometimes her caution pays off, other times it does even more damage. she’s deathly scared of being betrayed and thus hates anyone knowing too much about her, lies about herself incredibly often, and will attack anyone who tries to get close to her if she feels threatened. however, she is a quick thinker and will immediately take a fall for her loved ones if she thinks one of them is in danger.

is lina a magic user? technically spoilers (eh…like its pretty early on? not a big one?) but someone dies and in her panic she brings them back to life. sort of. mostly. in that yeah, their heart beats, but they’re kind of (unknowingly) a walking corpse. her magic is of the healing variety, but explaining how magic works is kind of complicated in a character post rn….maybe later. just know that that sort of magic is a one-off and no, she can’t bring people back to life willy nilly (or even fully back to life at all)

honestly i love her character development as well because she learns that hey, she kind of is a pretty toxic person and has to work to undevelop these traits and make up for the times she screws up. it makes everyone around her happier, but it also makes her so much happier too (which i think she does deserve)

next is skylar ashe, technically good person? best known for doing his best, skylar is far and beyond the best magic user in the cast (main characters and probably even secondary characters too) probably because he’s one of the few characters that indulges in the slightly illegal hobby. skylar is well spoken and clever, and one of those people who has stupidly high aspirations at all times. he and stella have a rivalry thing going on, and they’re very jealous of each other (although skylar never notices because his self esteem is so low he can’t comprehend someone admiring him. he needs a hug)

skylar for the most part is a sweetheart (#teammum) and is a nice person to be around but can also be a bit scary given that a. he is very very manipulative when he wants to be and b. his moral code is a bit worn down in places. he tends to over-rationalise his own behaviour when guilt becomes too apparent, and can come off as cold. rip don’t piss him off mostly

skylar is sort of??? essie’s adopted brotherish person (essie’s up next!!). his magic appeared when he was a really little kiddo but his parents didn’t want to turn him because he was like 6. and thus a pair of lawful goods decided to buck the law for a while (like 10 years, which is a p good effort i guess) but that went about as well as expected and skylar eventually runs away from home, and comes under the care of essie’s mums. this is partially why skylar gets so much of his self worth from magic because despite the fact that it kind of screwed up his family it’s one of the few things he’s good at - he spent years and years practising so he could bottle it up (btw his magic is illusion and telekinetically based)

listen just give this kid some history books and a quiet room and he will be the most happy ever, and probably give you a hug and buy you lunch. his heart is in the right place most of the time and he does try to act in altruistic ways. that whole self-rationalising thing gets challenged a LOT throughout the story likethetimeheaccidentallykilledsomeonebutdontworryaboutthat and honestly? boy learns that no, you don’t need magic abilities/fun illegal hobbies 2 b kewl. u just need to love urself xx

fINALLY IS ESSIE IM LOVE HER TBH. vanessa mayford, known gay, and also part of the magic squad made up of skylar and a few other characters. a dancer by day and the voice of reason™ by night. except she’s not really that great of a voice of reason per se given that her response to “is that illegal” is “did u mean a challenge"

essie is very extroverted and a bit (a lot) of an attention seeker - if she’s there she’s mostly in it for the thrills. even if she’s not the best with reasonable advice (see above) she’s a bit of a bleeding heart and will always give someone a hug and a pep talk if they need it. on one hand she’s got her super overdramatic flair going on but also on the other she’s occasionally chill?? like she’ll do dumb stuff just for fun but is also pretty much unfazed by anything. a dragon or something could be staring her in the face and she’d just be like “can i jump high enough to kick it in the nose”

alas, as is the way with many loud people, she has pretty low self confidence and relies on the validation of others to feel like she’s accomplished anything in her life (which is one reason why she’s always trying to get people’s attention). she feels very unfulfilled with how her life is going despite still being very young, and thus is driven by the fatal american need to have a pretty good time to do reckless things just for the adrenaline rush - everything is a performance for her. she also hates conflict within her own group of friends, and sometimes brushes things under the rug if she thinks it’ll cause a problem, electing to try to deal with it herself.

essie’s magic has been a bit fiddly given that the rules change depending on the rules of magic (which tend to change from setting to setting). her magic is atm shapeshifting but the rules of it are getting a bit confusing so I’m thinking about changing it a little bit. whatever her magic is, she cares the least about magic and thus while she has a lot of raw power she can’t be bothered training to increase it (if she did, she’d probably outrank skylar power-wise).

in conclusion? essie is a babe and im love her a lot. she’s the charming, gay and flirty gal that we all need in our lives and one of my fave characters to write tbh. wins awards for best dressed, most likely to succeed, best dancer (she’s a cheerleader btw) and probably also prom queen. i would vote for her. she would probably cry but that’s okay

so those are my children i love them and now i have to go back to studying my ass off bye

#if anyone reads this: im love you #also like again. now thats theres actual concrete info on these kids here please ask stuff i might reblog some oc ask memes here #not too many tho i dont want to clog up anyone's dash #oc: essie mayford #oc: stella shields #oc: skylar aveiro #oc: lina vieira #corona's textbook

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sarahburness · 6 years

Text

Create More, Consume Less: A Surefire Way to Feel More Excited About Life

“Creating means living.” ~Dejan Stojanovic

We live in a consumer culture. We love to eat, drink, and be merry—while binge watching whatever’s trending on Netflix and getting a dopamine hit for every item added to our cart on Amazon Prime.

We love to take it all in—information, entertainment, status updates, news reports, substances, and an endless array of stuff. There’s never a shortage of things we can consume, often to keep our minds distracted and our feelings silenced.

Now don’t get me wrong. I love a good meal, a Jim Beam or two, and an afternoon spent zoned out on my couch, Penn Badgley haunting me hour by hour as his stalking escalates from creepy to criminal.

And I’m all for staying educated and updated, on issues both important and inane. I’ve spent hours obsessively researching all things health-related, and I’m embarrassed to admit that my search history reveals more than a healthy number of celebrity websites, if such a number exists.

I also understand the instinct to shut down for a while. Our minds can get intolerably loud, and sometimes, external demands can be overwhelming. A little disengagement can be a good thing in a world that often requires us to be on.

But there needs to be some kind of balance. If we spend our whole lives ingesting information and scarfing down an assortment of stuff meant to soothe us, we’ll never have the time or space to connect with ourselves and create the things we want to create.

I’m not talking just about artistic expression, though I personally feel more alive when I’m bringing some type of creative vision to life. I’m talking about filling the void inside with our own curiosity, passion, and awe instead of constantly stuffing it with external pleasures.

It may not seem like it in the moment when our shows, social media, or shopping carts beckon, but often the greatest pleasure stems from actively working toward a life that excites us.

What are some things we can create?

1. A mission statement

Many of us go through our days without a sense of purpose. We have no idea what we value or what we stand for. We have no idea what we’re really doing with our lives, or why.

Nothing feels exciting when nothing is fueled by passion or intention.

In order to feel alive, we need to be connected to what matters to us most individually. I’m not talking about a specific career direction, though that could be a part of it. I’m talking about creating a blueprint for how you want to show up in the world so you can be the person you want to be and make decisions that feel right for you.

For example, my current mission statement is:

To live with wonder, courage, compassion, and integrity, prioritizing family, freedom, adventure, and creative expression.

Knowing what I value, I’m better able to decide which opportunities to pursue and accept and which ones to politely decline.

This doesn’t have to be set in stone. Mission statements change over time as we grow and evolve. So write, revisit, and revise, as often you deem necessary.

2. Art

This is the low-hanging fruit for this list. Yes, art is something you can create! Big shocker! But it clearly has a place here nonetheless.

Especially if you’re tempted to consume to avoid your feelings, why not channel them into a creative project instead? Creativity is not only calming and healing, it’s a journey back to the simplistic joy of childhood—when you had countless Lego castles, doodle-filled pages, and chalk street art masterpieces to show for your time. And the possibilities are endless.

You could color, sketch, paint, sculpt, sew, crochet, knit, make jewelry, build something, or write a poem, short story, or song. You could art journal, scrapbook, create a magazine collage, try origami, or make something with unconventional materials (duct tape, wine corks, doll parts from your childhood).

If you tune into your feelings and curiosity, you’ll find endless inspiration, and if you look around, you’ll find endless materials to use and recycle.

It’s worth noting that quite frequently, consumption fuels creation. I can’t tell you how many scripts I read and films I watched when preparing to write my first screenplay. Every movie helped me learn and sparked ideas for my own story and its execution.

Though it’s also wonderful to enjoy art for the sake of it, there’s something thrilling about consuming with a purpose. Not just to be entertained but also to be inspired—so you can create something personally meaningful to you that will hopefully move and inspire other people to live and a love a little louder.

Little feels more exciting than chiseling a piece of your heart into something beautiful that will endure, while simultaneously motivating other people wake up and live more fully.

3. A medium for self-expression

We live in an exciting time for self-expression. No longer do gatekeepers get to decide whose words deserve a platform. Anyone can start a blog, vlog, or podcast to share their thoughts and views with the world.

The beautiful thing is, it’s not too hard to get started. You don’t need a fancy site or special equipment to get going—though those things are nice to have, and they’re things you could always acquire in time, if you like the medium you choose and decide to see how far you can take it.

With a little googling you can easily find a way to get set up today, for free, so you can move out from the shadows and share what’s in your heart and on your mind.

Not only will you give yourself an opportunity to express your feelings and feel truly seen, you’ll likely also help other people through your honesty and vulnerability. Yes, you.

If you think your voice doesn’t matter, consider this: a blog can reach only one person, and yet be the one thing that saved or changed that person’s life. You never know who you’ll help or inspire by finding the courage to speak up.

4. Memories

At the end of it all, when we look back on our lives, we won’t take a mental inventory of the dollars we earned, followers we gained, or items we checked off our to-do list. What we’ll see is a mélange of moments—times when we loved, connected, got outside our comfort zone, and engaged with world with wonder and enthusiasm.

These moments generally don’t just fall into our laps. We have to actively create them. And sometimes that means stepping outside the realm of our routine and actually doing the type of things we daydream about.

There’s a scene in the movie Stepmom (spoiler alert!) where Susan Sarandon’s character, Jackie, knows her cancer is getting worse and her time with her family is limited. So she does something out of character and beautifully touching: She wakes her daughter Anna in the middle of the night and takes her horseback riding, in the snow.

Anna says she’ll never forget this moment, and how could she? She’s nestled close to her dying mother, on a horse, in nature—when the night’s at its most peaceful and she’s usually asleep and unable to see it. Together they feel completely present and alive in this magical moment of connection and awe.

We can all create these kinds of moments. We can create magic for ourselves, someone else, or both, if we’re willing to prioritize it and put in the effort.

5. Possibilities

I suspect a lot of us feel pretty discontent with our lives. Perhaps Thoreau conveyed it best when he wrote “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

Most of merely survive and think of thriving as a luxury unavailable to the majority. I’m not going to lie; it’s easier for some to thrive than others. Some of us are born into more ideal circumstances, and some get more advantages.

But perhaps the problem isn’t just that not everyone gets the same chances, but also that not everyone takes the same chances.

If we settle into a pit of discontentment and do the same things every day, nothing will ever change.

The only way to make our lives any better is find and seize opportunities instead of waiting for them to come to us.

Make the call. Send the email. Sign up for the course. If you can’t afford it, research scholarships or free or cheap alternatives. Do something to create a new possibility for your life, whether it pertains to your work, your hobbies, or your relationships.

Then the next purchase you make might be something you need for this exciting new path, not something you want because you’re miserably unhappy with the status quo of your unfulfilling life.

6. New connections

We live in an increasingly disconnected world. We spend more time holding devices than hands and look into more screens than eyes, as the Dulce Ruby quote suggests. This is such a lonely way to live. But it doesn’t have to be like this. Not if we prioritize forming and maintaining relationships.

Of course this isn’t easy. It can be challenging to pull ourselves away from our usual indulgences, get outside our little bubble of comfort, and get present in the world beyond our own door. But it’s oh so worth it.

One day last year I was a feeling a little down about my limited social circle where I live near LA. I’ve moved a lot, I travel a lot, and I work from home; and I haven’t done a great job prioritizing relationships where I live.

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed on this afternoon, trying to distract myself from the sadness in my heart, when I decided to do something different: I navigated to a group for Highly Sensitive People, that contributor Bryn Bamber had actually recommended in a post about sensitivity, and I introduced myself, asking if there was anyone near LA.

Several people responded, including one who’s become a great friend—someone I can relate to on a deep personal level. Someone who gets me, who I get back. And not only did I make a new soul connection, I also opened myself up to new possibilities: because of her, I began volunteering at a nearby community theater, where I hope to volunteer again in the future.

It can feel awkward to initiate conversation with someone new. Or at least it feels that way for me. But as Frank told Don in The Green Book, “The world is full of lonely people afraid to make the first movie.” Make the first move. You just might change two lives.

—

In the words of Ferris Bueller, life goes by pretty quickly. Friendships evolve or fade, jobs run their course, kids grow up—and before you know it, we’re looking back at our years, either feeling proud of everything we created or wondering how and why we squandered our time.

I don’t know about you, but I want to prioritize the things that truly matter to me and fill my hours with purposeful actions that fill my heart with peace, passion, and excitement.

I want to make beautiful things, share empowering ideas, and collect more moments of awe than there are grains of sand on the beach.

I also want balance.

I want abundant movie marathons, occasional retail therapy sessions, and Sunday morning mimosas.

I want trashy magazines in the tub, an endless rotation of used true crime books, and a full Netflix queue that seems to scream, “I know what you like, Lori, I get you.”

But I want to consume those things intentionally. Not to avoid or escape anything, but just because they’re fun.

I think that’s a reasonable goal for all of us. To be a little more intentional, a lot more engaged, and in the end, far more excited about the lives we’re living.

About Lori Deschene

Lori Deschene is the founder of Tiny Buddha. She’s also the author of Tiny Buddha’s Gratitude Journal and other books and co-founder of Recreate Your Life Story, an online course that helps you let go of the past and redefine yourself. An avid film lover, she recently finished writing her first feature screenplay and would appreciate advice from anyone in the industry to help get this made. You can reach her at email (at) tinybuddha.com.

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