#i fucking love (hate. despise loath /j) this game

[randygrim]

The rainworld brainrot has hit once again

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Unspoken: Chapter One - Oikawa Tooru x f!reader

Oikawa has been in love with you since you became a manager for the university’s volleyball team, but keeps it to himself in fear of what his fan club might do to you if they found out

genre(s): college!au, mutual pining (mostly Oikawa), friends to lovers, angst, eventual smut  words: 3k+

a/n: don’t worry folks, i just got carried away with this fic and felt it would be better to split it up. chapter 2 is complete and will be up tomorrow 💖 with a bonus smut ending if you are a heathen like me. enjoy ~ J ✨ i am also sorry i made the fan club so bitchy

taglist: @takingyouruwus @kurosarium @apollochjld @afterglowkuroo  (lmk if you’d like to be added to my general or a specific taglist!)

Chapter 2 

The Oikawa fan club is definitely not a fan of you, and you certainly aren’t of them. Not because you have a crush on him too but because they’re obnoxious and take the best seats at volleyball games. It also doesn’t help that they outright despise you. They don’t even try to hide it. Snickering in the hallways at school or passing quick remarks whispered amongst them at games. You really aren’t a fan of that. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care—you chant to yourself to keep your tongue locked behind your teeth. It isn’t worth your time or the effort.

Not until you hear one of them hiss today at the game, “What is she even doing up here? I thought she’s the manager,” a scoff. “Guess the team likes Miko better.”

Your fists ball instinctively. You can’t sit down there, as much as you’d like to. If they knew anything deeper about volleyball beyond Oikawa’s killer serve and being obsessed with his ‘pretty hair’ they’d know that you might be a manager but there is a senior manager who outranks you and only one is allowed on the bench down on the court.  

Though you have to admit, sitting up here in the bleachers with the Oikawa ogling brigade in front of you—the manager—fawning over his every move is degrading. You don’t necessarily have to sit directly behind them, but god dammit you want to see the game too and are willing to grin and bear it for the sake of the team. You can’t sit in the normal cheering section crowded with students either since you arrive late and would have to sit at the back of the stands. So, this is the better of two options, even if today the fan club is being particularly petty.

“Or maybe she’s just a wannabe,” another snickers, loud enough that you know she is intending you to hear it.

That pushes you over the edge, making you abruptly stand up. You’re wearing a university volleyball club jacket for fucks sake! Are they really so shallow as to start slinging rumors like that around? They jolt at your sudden movement, glaring back at you, clearly with no intention of apologizing. They so obviously just want you to leave.

You want to watch the game, support the boys you watch work so hard and work hard for yourself, but you don’t want to be around for this bullshit. You know shouldn’t care, but you do, and it fucking ruins the game for you.

Instead of giving them some mean remark like you’re itching to throw at them, you just turn on a heel and go. You stride up the steps and towards the exit right as you hear the crowd gear up for Oikawa’s serve. You stop once you reach the doorway, fists clenched and trembling with anger, furious at yourself for letting them get under your skin. Exactly like they wanted to. You should have stayed as a silent ‘fuck you’ to them, but you can’t stomach going back either. Not like they even care anyways, probably too wrapped up in Oikawa’s serve. Now a sigh escapes you; forcing your hands to unfurl and stretch the ache that formed from how tightly you had them clenched.

You need to take a breath and move on. You have nothing to prove to them, all the matters is that you know where you stand. It also makes you feel better that the team actually knows you, they can pretend it isn’t true all they want but that doesn’t change that you get to spend time with the team, and inevitably, Oikawa. A fact they loathe.

You end up lingering in the hallway near the entrance to the gym, waiting for the game to finish. Usually you can be a part of the between game meetings if you want to, sometimes you can’t get down there fast enough but sitting here in the hallway, you’ll make it today. While you wait, you slide down the wall to sit, leaning against it and pulling your legs close to rest your chin on.

You like to think that you have tough skin and their words can’t hurt you, but they do. And while you may not put the same about of blood, sweat, and tears the boys do into the sport—you put in your fair share for them, and it’s hard to be met with scoffs and sideways glances purely because of jealousy. You’re appreciated enough by those who matter, so why are you so bothered by the fan club?  Shaking your head at the fleeting thought that it has anything to do with Oikawa, you convince yourself it’s just annoyance that you can’t enjoy games like you’d like to.

Interrupting your thoughts, the whistle blows to signal the end of the game and you perk your head up. You’re grateful for the distraction, not really wanting to delve deeper into your thoughts about Oikawa, and peek into the gym. Miko notices your head in the doorway and waves you in to join the huddle.

Ha, take that fan club. Wannabe my ass.

Miko’s movement catches Oikawa’s attention. He looks to where her attention is drawn and watches you beam before throwing the door wide and joining the huddle by Miko’s side. He wonders what you were doing waiting by the door, normally you wait until the last possible moment before bolting from your seat in the bleachers to join the huddle. You never want to miss a single second of the game, which he finds rather endearing. And he can’t remember the last time you skipped out on a game early.

He stares at you, trying to get your attention, but you’re fixated on the coach, no doubt trying to soak up as much information as possible. It makes his mouth curve ever so slightly at how eagerly you listen during these huddles. When you do briefly slide your gaze over to him, he gives you a questioning look to which you just shake your head at and point discretely at the coach.

Ah. Your way of saying, ‘shut up and listen’.

He supposes he likes that about you. Your bluntness.

So, with an eyeroll, he fixes his eyes on the coach, fully intending on pestering you later about it. He tries to grab you before the next game, but you hurry away as soon as the whistle is blown, and his fingers grasp empty air.

The team wins the next set, winning the match without going to the 3rd set. As customary, he lines up with the team to thank the spectators and Oikawa gets the chance to pick you out in the crowd. He spots you off to the side, and he’s noted since meeting you that you don’t sit with the cheering crowd, but rather on your own. It’s never too hard to find you, your face split in two by a smile as you clap for them. It’s then that he notices who is sitting directly in front of you.

He fights the urge to frown. He likes to think he’s a polite guy, having always given attention to his so called ‘fan club’. He got used to it in high school, the constant barrage of placating a group of fans, but had been secretly looking forward to hopefully leaving it behind. Only to have a new one re-emerge within the first few months of school. The other guys on the team weren’t too keen about him for a while after that. It took him forever to convince them to tolerate him again.

And he hates that they give you trouble. Ever since they discovered you interact with him outside of school, it seems they deemed you an enemy. He tries to stay away from you during regular school hours, keeping it limited to volleyball only, but lately the two have started bleeding together. He simply can’t help himself, however selfish that may be. Gathering his things, he wonders if they’re the cause for your weird behavior earlier.

He glances at you helping Miko put away the chairs, a tight feeling constricting his chest. God—if he ever told you how he actually feels about you, what would his fan club do then? How miserable would they make you? But damn him to hell, he’s selfish, and it doesn’t stop him from striding over to you cooing your name.

Without hesitation you reply, “Oikawa-san~,” in the same sing-song voice he uses for you. You don’t even bother to look over your shoulder at him, continuing your task.

“What was with the little peeping tom imitation earlier?”

You’re glad to be facing away from him, your skin prickling with the thought of having to explain to him that his fan club was pissing you off. Surely earning yourself a more prying follow-up question that you definitely do not want to answer. So instead you shrug, brushing off his question, “You guys were so far ahead, and I was sure your serves would end it, so I figured I’d actually be a part of the entire huddle.”

He squints, finding that to be rather out of character for you. “You missed my serves though!” He pouts, deciding it’s better for him to let you off the hook than continue to pry. He doesn’t think you’d tell him anyways, no matter how much he pesters you.

“Oh, big baby. I missed what? Two?”

“What if they were my best yet!” He protests, leaning around you so you can see his impressive pout. It delights him that he elicits a smile from you, peering at him from the corner of your eye, clearly finding his antics amusing. “Guess you’ll have to help me with serving practice to make up for it.”

You stick your tongue out at him, which he hates to admit he watches very closely as you answer, “Fine.” Though, truthfully, he’s not really pulling your leg too much. You like helping him practice.

He can’t help how his mouth turns downward into a frown as another member of the team, a bold freshman, butts into the conversation. “Need any help?”

Though he does find immense delight at the way your face falls to a neutral expression, giving him a curt, “I’m alright, thank you.” You don’t even turn to him, instead tilting your head to look at Oikawa continuing, “Oikawa-san is more than enough help here. Why don’t you see if they need help putting away the net?”

The freshman slinks away and Oikawa has to physically restrain himself from doing a victory lap as you shove a chair into his hands grumbling to yourself. The muttering continues as you move to put away more chairs, loud enough that he catches you say, “Is he ever going to get the hint?”

“What?”

You almost drop the chair you’re holding, turning wide-eyed at Oikawa, not realizing you’d been talking out loud to yourself. “It’s nothing.”

He frowns. “Is he bothering you?”

God he’s talking so loudly, making you nervous that the underclassman might hear him. “Can you talk any louder?” You hiss. Oikawa’s expression doesn’t change, however, and you groan really not wanting to get into this right now. “He’s been at it for a couple weeks now,” you say, trying to play off the situation as best you can. You’ve never had someone as persistent in pursuing you as he is, or someone as oblivious to your subtle rejections either.

You vaguely wonder if this is how Oikawa feels all the time with his fan club.

“Wanna pretend to date for a while?” He suggests harmlessly in your opinion, but very selfishly in his. And while he knows he isn’t joking in the slightest—you certainly think he is and bark out a laugh at the idea of fake dating him to get the underclassman off your back. “What?” He pouts. “Is it so crazy of an idea?”

You’re laughing even harder now, enough that people are beginning to look your way, so you swallow you remaining laughter and wipe your eyes dramatically. “It just don’t want to be murdered in the dead of night by your fan club, that’s all.”

You go back to collapsing chairs and don’t notice Oikawa stiffen. He doesn’t like being reminded that his fan club will literally rip apart any girl he is even remotely interested in. And he isn’t just interested in you. He likes you. A lot.

Clearly not thinking anything of this conversation, you say over your shoulder, “What are all those muscles for if you’re not going to carry more chairs than me?” He blinks back to reality and makes a show of picking up way more chairs than you and putting them away faster too. That only earns him a scowl in response, but he knows it’s only for show.

~

“Oh, pleeeeeease?” Oikawa almost gets on his knees begging you. Practice is done but he wants to stay late and hammer in more serves before the night is over. And sue him if he thinks it’s way more enjoyable if you stay to help him. “You promised last week!” You groan, scrunching your eyes tight, not wanting to look at his stupidly adorable pouting face that usually breaks you. It doesn’t help that you can feel he is standing very close to you. “You’re going to have to open your eyes sometime.”

“Nope, I’ll walk all the way home like this.”

He pleads your name again. “You’re going to miss the rare sight of Oikawa Tooru on his knees for you!”

You don’t budge. “Nice try.”

“I’m serious!” Now he really does get on his knees, dramatically putting his hands together to beg you. “This is a once in a lifetime chance!”

He keeps it to himself that you could definitely get him on his knees for many different reasons.

He’s sure that he’s broken you when you groan loudly and peek an eye open at him. Upon seeing that he is being serious, both of your eyes widen, and you have the audacity to start giggling at him. “I should take a picture.”

That makes him scramble to his feet, sticking his tongue out at you. “You better not.” It just makes you grin and his heart soars at the sight. He can’t help that your smile makes his stomach do somersaults. He takes you by the arm and drags you further into the gym before jogging over to the other side of the court and grabbing a ball from the cart.

He loves that he doesn’t have to tell you what to do. You’re already digging through your bag to find objects to place around the opposite side of the net for him to aim for. He notices that you’ve placed some of them very meanly—some sitting just barely on the outside line, others in spots that he has a record of having trouble hitting. And while it makes his chest swell with pride you even notice his performance, the scowl across his face betrays his annoyance that you aren’t making this easy.

If you’re going to help him—he’s going to have to work for it.

And hell, if that doesn’t drive him wild.

“Those good?” You ask, stepping off to the side, a smug smirk splayed across your lips.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

He levels a look at you that you return with a sickeningly sweet yet utterly terrifying smile. “You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

Your smile transforms into something that makes his stupid fucking shorts tighten, holding his gaze steadily as you challenge, “We’ll see.” Then you tear your eyes from his and he feels like you’ve ripped his chest out with it and like he can barely get enough air into his lungs. He knows the challenge is to drive him to do better, to perform the best of his ability, but damn—he’ll give 110% for the rest of his life if you ask him to.

You will never admit how much you love watching Oikawa play volleyball. Watching him shift from his teasing, easy-going smile, to this intensely serious and calculating gaze that while foreign to you—is also so strangely familiar. You feel lucky to be able to watch him up close, someone who has honed their craft, yet is ever looking to be better. When it comes down to it, you truly admire Oikawa and want to be there to watch him grow and see where he goes. Because to you, the sky’s the limit for him.

Where the hell are those thoughts coming from?

The sound of a volleyball slamming onto the court, sending the notebook you placed on the line skittering across the floor, startles you. “Hey! Pay attention!” Oikawa scolds. You quickly apologize, knowing full well how much a stray volleyball can hurt. “And make sure you’re watching! I’m going to hit every single one of those first try.”

You nod, a bit blankly, still reeling from the thoughts tumbling through your head. He tosses another ball up, his powerful thighs straining as he thrusts his body upwards, hand meeting the ball at the perfect point—the sound of his hand cracking against it almost as loud as the sound that reverberates around the gym when it connects with the floor. It all happens in the blink of an eye, but you feel like you’re watching it in slow motion until his feet touch the floor and you’re jolted back to reality.

God, what the fuck is going on with you tonight?

Oikawa isn’t blind. He knows you’re watching him. And it sends such a thrill down his spine he doesn’t know what to do with himself besides channel as his energy into his serves. Otherwise he’s going to do something very stupid tonight.

You’re uncannily quiet for the remainder of the night. Just watching him serve over and over again, and when he’s finished, helping him pick up the balls and set up the targets so he can start again. He is desperate to know what’s going through your head, but he lets you stew, just as interested in what conclusion you might be coming to on your own.

It’s not his fault that his imagination runs absolutely fucking wild that night. He can’t sleep, theorizing what changed today—if anything did. What were you thinking about as you watched him so intently? What flipped the switch? Are you thinking about him right now, lying awake in bed like he is? It torments him even in his dreams.

~

He does keep you awake that night. You can’t get the image of him out of your head. His voice either. It’s infuriating. You try to convince yourself he’s just a friend. That all those late nights in the gym, all the times he’s walked you home, all the bus rides you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, are harmless. He hasn’t wormed his way into your heart, he hasn’t made you fall in love with him slowly and quietly and its only now hitting you like a tidal wave—has he?

Fuck. Has he?

You’re grateful your roommates’ room is down the hall, giving you the freedom to scream into your pillow.

Are you a fucking Oikawa fan girl now?

You don’t know the difference between you and them is that he’s been in love with you a lot longer than you can even imagine.

[oneneverknowstheblog]

My Anxiety Talks Me Out of Living

Uh-oh. Another post about anxiety. I bet the baby boomers are rolling there eyes right now. Well move over boomers unless you deal with anxiety or are my parents then hi mom and dad. This is for the millennials. The ones who can’t get it together to graduate or buy a house, car or diamonds. Those diamonds sure are lonely without us. But we aren’t hear to talk about jewels. It’s the hot topic of anxiety and why it literally kills. This isn’t meant to be depressing because we all have that too. This is meant to be real.

Growing up I feel I had a normal amount of anxiety. Flying cockroach stuck in your bed room on a hot summers night. Anxiety. Trying on new clothes that my mother swears I’ll look good in but its yellow and has sunflowers on it. I’m 16. First days of school and even losing my virginity. Completely wrecked. Those are “good anxieties.” The passions of life and growing up. Fight or flight. And I would like to think of myself as a fighter. But after a traumatic breakup with my boyfriend of five years I was fragile. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and had no desire to do anything.

“Oh pish posh J that’s normal after a breakup.” Yeah I know Karen. It is. I missed him. I was thrown into impossible situations and weeks went by and I overcame that stuff. But even after it feels like I am completely rewired. For example, all of my favorite things that I love to eat repulse me. Cheesecake, bagels, cereal, pasta (I’m really devastated about this one). It’s not just certain foods either its flavors and smells and textures. I love to cook, I love to eat—completely rewired. But there’s more. No desire to play games or wash or read or have light come in the room, obsessed with technology I.e. facebook or instagram.

I’ve lived in my apartment for about a month and I feel like it’s my safe space. Not quite homey but good enough. Nothing can compare to the house you grow up in. But there I shine. I have my foods that I don’t eat and my video games I don’t play and my clothes I don’t bother to put on and so on. But today was a good day. I had a hearty breakfast of roasted peanuts, Pringles and Lacroix and I even played some tomb raider. Suddenly my friend who I had been texting all morning puts the idea in my head that I should go out and write. The annoying bee that he is I decided what the hell and made plans. I got dressed. Put on a cute outfit made my bed, took a couple selfies [insert instagram selfie], put a vacuum up for sale on the marketplace, made a chicken salad for lunch while watching living single, packed my bag and filled up my canteen. I was ready to go. I even smoked some CBD. Then as soon as I closed the door and turned my fancy green key to the lock position all of that energy disappeared. I loathed the idea of going out on such a nice cool summer day after weeks of grueling heat. I despised the idea of writing because I thought I wasn’t going to come up with anything. So I decided to unlock my front door and curl back into bed, right?

Wrong. I talked to myself. I said I would go. Go. I walked to the elevator and called it. It came. I got on. Another strong wave of anxiety rushed through me. I can’t do this. The elevator doors opened and I stepped into the lobby of my apartment building and I stood there frozen. It was starting to consume me. Just take a step outside. It’s so nice. So I did. And I hated it. Of course it was gorgeous outside and just the right temperature but I felt out of place. Out of my comfort zone. It’s just outside so what’s the big deal. I don’t know. It just is. Some unwanted chemical release or a light switch in my brain convincing me I am not gonna enjoy this. So what do I do? I convince back. For every flight impulse I chose to fight. I’m cold. You’ll live. The walk is so far. Cut that laziness out. I’m not even going to tackle the story I want. So what? There might not be anywhere to sit. J, get a grip cause we are doing this. And I continued that war from my house until about two blocks away from the park when I got the idea to write this.

I would’ve missed out on so much stuff. Gerard the Squirrel, 60 year old white man killing it practicing soccer, black men playing chess and tiny children running around with large foam hatchets. I not making this up. I even got to witness some weird cane twirling. The nostalgic sound of an ice cream truck that makes me thing of my grandmother and the itchy chilling tickling feeling of just sitting on the grass. But most importantly doing the one thing I came here to do: write. Humans and animals and objects all coexisting and I would’ve missed that. All of the magic that surrounds me. And I would’ve missed the comfort that it brings. Yes I was scared to go outside and exist. I could feel it in my freaking chest like a heartache. But I kept deciding to take another step. I talked to myself and made a deal. Just an hour and If I hate it I’m gone. Back to epic Lara Croft deaths, Kelela and Instagram. It’s torture. That I am afraid to live life and I am controlled by fear more than ever.

For a second I thought sick cane twirling guy with the bandana and tattoos probably lives his best life every day. He just does it. But that’s a foolish and selfish thought. Cane twirling guy could have a miserable 9-5 and this has been the first time he could even twirl his cane in months because he’s so buys. Or not. But I can’t assume that I am the only one out here not having a true blue hard time. Everybody deals with anxiousness in different levels and capacities. Nobody has it together and social media dehumanizes the human experience. So don’t put that title on random strangers and don’t put anymore pressure on yourself.

If you put yourself out there and stick to your plans then something will have to happen. You’ll have a funny human interaction or engage all of your senses. You might even be rewarded with shirtless cane twirling guy. I bet he does it with fire. Oh I can top that though. Shirtless cane twirling guy teaching an adorable stranger kid how to cane twirl. He later went on to become cane twirling champion of the world. Life can be magic. Go see and contribute to the magic. Convince your anxiety and tell that bitch to shut the fuck up.

Written 8/23/2019

[icingdoll]

The ask meme: ALL OF THEM

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCS: ALARIC

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do? Not very long, Alaric needs to be productive or he’ll die inside.

How easy is it for your character to laugh? He laughs at everything, even things that aren’t supposed to be funny. his sense of humour is brOKEN like him.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?) He likes to read, but most of the time he struggles to sleep, so he just wanders around his house doing stupid stuff.

How easy is it to earn their trust? HARD. Not only do you have to gain his trust… You have to gain the trust of his followers too.

How easy is it to earn their mistrust? Very easy, Alaric only trusts a few (extremely loyal) people. He hates liars.

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable? He does what he wants to be honest, mainly because “I am a deity so I can get away with anything.”

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? Old photos, especially of himself and his father. Alaric has changed a lot in his appearance over the past years.

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child? ‘Ric was told to listen and do his work more and to procrastinate less.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word? He swears often. He probably remembers his first swear word, he has good memory (he stubbed his toe on a coffee table and said “Fuck my life”).

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them? Alaric lies a lot, but he thinks it is necessary for some most situations - especially to gain people’s trust. It does not haunt him.

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)? He can get confused and disorientated very easily, but he mainly just goes along with things because he doesn’t want to burden anyone (but he might ask someone he trusts for an explanation is he deems it necessary).

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach? HECK, he probably rubs against a tree or something (or asks someone to scratch it for him… but that depends WHERE the itch is… Hnnn, ya nasty.)

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color? RED all day every day. Yeah, he does (black is good too).

What animal do they fear most? Sharks probably… “So many teeth!”

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first? He always plans everything, he needs to rehearse everything in his mind to avoid making a Freudian slip of the tongue.

What makes their stomach turn? He doesn’t like eggs (ayy like me).

Are they easily embarrassed? Yes, very. 

What embarrasses them? Alaric feels embarrassed if people are being TOO kind to him (such as opening a door for him). He is also embarrassed by general awkward things too.

What is their favorite number? 24.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so? “Romantic love is when you adore someone so much that you cannot bear them being being in a relationship with someone else - you want to start a family with them and stay together until death (perhaps in the afterlife too). Familial love is when you love someone like you would a sibling or a parent, and you consider each other as such - you might want to spend the rest of your life with these people too, but for different reasons you would for a lover.”

Why do they get up in the morning? He has a LOUD alarm clock which he ignores for about 20 minutes (which disturbs his neighbours) and then he eventually rolls out of his bed.

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? Alaric is likely to become possessive because “I can’t lose you the same way I lose everything else!” And he knows this is bad, but doesn’t know how to stop.

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? He can become resentful, but doesn’t show it. Alaric has a relaxed and composed facade… But he has probably stolen something before.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? Only to the person he is having an intimate relationship with (but he still feels awkward speaking about it nonetheless).

What are their thoughts on marriage? He likes the concept and would like to get married someday - to a specific person.

What is their preferred mode of transportation? “Trains are cool.”

What causes them to feel dread? When he realises he has been lied to, abandoned by a close friend, or remembers something he is uncomfortable with.

Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? An unpleasant truth. Always. Please don’t lie to him.

Do they usually live up to their own ideals? Yessss.

Who do they most regret meeting? Amadeus, because he is jealous of him, and as a result, is resentful towards him.

Who are they the most glad to have met? Demios, for many reasons.

Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? Probably a knock-knock joke, since he tries hard to fit in.

Could they be considered lazy? YES.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? Depends on his mood and the situation. Sometimes he can be really heartless - mainly towards someone he despises, but other times he will cry for someone else’s misfortune. He can do a lot of things without feeling guilt, and other times he can feel guilty over doing the smallest things.

How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? ‘Ric is very supportive and will listen to everything they say. He will smile warmly at them.

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? Alaric used to wait for it to fall into his lap, but then he met a certain someone…  Now he actively seeks romance.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? He writes their names down on a piece of paper and tries to think of an anagram to go with them.

What memory do they revisit the most often? Probably one with his father; specifically them playing a board games together (they were very competitive).

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? Easy, he doesn’t actively seek to offend people. He likes to embrace flaws (but not his own).

How sensitive are they to their own flaws? Very, but he wont admit it. He just tries to accept it and move on, but has a lot of inner turmoil and self-loathing inside his mind.

How do they feel about children? Alaric likes children, but can feel annoyed by the rude, loud ones. He would like to have a kid in the future.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? Very badly. He doesn’t care what he has to do to achieve it.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? “I’m pretty hella gay.”

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS: MOI

A) Why are you excited about this character? Because he is my son.B) What inspired you to create them? I have no idea? I was thinking of creating a God, and he eventually jumped out of the void…C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? Not really, I had a plan for a role for a specific character to play, the trouble mainly was his character design.D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? I changed him multiple times. He has lost pigment in his hair and skin due to a disease he inherited from his deceased father (which makes him feel depressed and nostalgic). But I decided to give him darker skin so he would appear ethnic - since I want there to be more racial diversity in the cast (his hair is still white though - only due to the illness).E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? I hope so? I don’t want to get on his bad side.F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? Pride and excitement because I love him.G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? His ignorance and wrath on anyone who ‘wrongs’ him.H) What trait do you admire most? His leadership skills and how kind he can be in certain situations.I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? Yep.J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character? Not really…? I did change the roles of characters to fit in with his, since he was one of the first characters I made.

Ask meme