#in that there are honestly no other people on this record other than me." Universal Favorite also marks Pikelny&039;s debut as a multi | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

isagrimorie · 4 years

Text

[initial reactions] Doctor Who - Revolution of the Daleks

TLDR: I liked it! But I do have some nitpicks. But bottom line, I liked it! Especially the exit!

Apologies going in, if it’s rambling and incoherent.

First off, I’m going to get my criticisms out of the way:

- They really need to hire these two people:

a) Sensitivity readers

b) They need to have people of color in charge of casting. Andy Pryor has done a great job casting people but. Since they opened up casting more actors of color to be more diverse... most people in guest roles die. So it ends up being Not A Great Look.

It’s the kind of breezy: We’re hiring more actors of color without really considering the optics of it. Colorblind casting in this way shouldn’t be colorblind. More diversity behind the scenes is needed, especially in casting.

Colorblind casting isn’t representation. Execs have to consider how it looks that a black man is helping create ‘Security Drones’ for the government.

c) I get why Jack Robertson lived, and I’m actually okay with it because I know Chibbs is going somewhere and he’s interconnecting Specials to be their own kind of continuity, so next Special or series we will have Robertson appearing. But I can’t believe the Doctor believed Robertson. Unless she’s really learned from not interfering with politics, but man I wish there’s more vindication to that. I do have a sense of where this is going though, more on that later.

d) I wish they’d gone harder with the Dalek = Police thing.

e) I really kind of wish the Doctor escaped on her own.

And now for my thoughts and the happy!

RYAN! I LOVE RYAN. I LOVE RYAN BEING EMOTIONALLY MATURE AND PUSHING BACK ON THE DOCTOR. It felt... earned that they do and, Ryan’s always been the more hesitant of the three and the more grounded. I love that it’s Ryan that the Doctor confided in, I’ve always felt like Ryan was the one Thirteen connected to the most after Grace died. And I love his development, ever since Battle of Ranskoor Av Kolos Ryan is the first to quote the Doctor back to herself from the guns rule and now here to ‘New can be scary’, reminding the Doctor of her own words.

But also, I love that Ryan felt more connected to Earth, with his friends. Yaz was always the one who looks to the horizon. I like that Ryan pushed back on the smokescreen the Doctor tried to put up. Ryan was tired of the smokescreen. He had 10 months to work on his feelings about it and realized... he liked being home.

I wish we saw more what they were doing at home, like what Chibnall wrote for the Ponds in Power of Three. I did see this was his arc he was building to.

I liked that Graham was torn but eventually his loyalties are with Ryan.

I honestly think the fam thought the Doctor was just gone for a week, her time.

Also: FINALLY A COMPANION EXIT WHERE THEY’RE THE ONES WHO WALK AWAY. And because it’s time.

NO MORE TRAPPED IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE OR DYING OR BEING CONVERTED PLEASE. Anyway, that is why I was vindicated because I was getting pretty antsy at all the twitter posts almost gleeful at the thought of companion death.

Nope. No more please. No more world ending, universe ending, heartbreaking ends. I want a Jo Grant walk away, and that is what happened. (Er, I hope we don’t get a Tegan leaving from Yaz, though. Sad and disillusioned walk away).

Yaz. Oh, dear, Yaz, who seems to have tossed her career away running after the Doctor’s shining star. I loved her conversation with Jack, he was a nice contrast and sounding board. Also, Jack was much kinder to the Doctor because they didn’t miss each other, the Doctor (according to RTD’s retcon) deliberately left Jack on Satellite Five.

Yaz is willing to run and jump without looking because of the Doctor and I love that we got her feelings about this.

And, of course, the Doctor. The moment Ryan said she missed 10 months, I felt she knew the clock was ticking on her ‘fam’. She’s trying to be good to them and do right by them.

(The Doctor knows Ryan’s ready to leave, she knew it. She’s trying to be in denial about it. But she knows).

It’s a small detail but when she processed the ‘ten months’ bit, she quickly looked to Ryan. Because if it’s one of the subtext things around is that she wanted to be a better father to Ryan than his real dad. But she still skipped out on him unknowingly.

The way he just brushed it off, because the worst part is. Ryan is used to it.

It’s sad that the Doctor opening up to the fam was brought on after a decades’ long solitary, and probably a promise to be better. But, she calculated wrong, or the TARDIS deliberately chose to go to that time. Whatever the case, just when she’s opening up to them is when Ryan decided his time with the Doctor was at an end.

God, the moment when Thirteen said: “Mostly... angry.”

I felt this. hard.

I think it was @ssaalexblake who mentioned that Thirteen acknowledging she’s angry might help with all of Thirteen’s repressed anger issues. And I think these are baby steps towards that.

She’s actually been so angry for so long, but she kept pushing it down. Like I said, Thirteen, in a way, reminds me of Raylan Givens of Justified. People think he’s mild mannered, but as his ex-wife amicably opined, Raylan was the angriest man she knew.

And I feel this for this Doctor but at least, now she’s addressing it. The first step in fixing a problem, is identifying the problem.

This was made in 2019. Thirteen being in a repeating lockdown felt very 2020 to me. The things that made me go: Oof, was the Harry Potter thing, the Doctor’s always loved HP. Unfortunately it’s post-2020 hindsight where we go: whoof.

I love Thirteen still mouthing off and being obnoxious towards other Doctor Who baddies. The Weeping Angel thing is cool and so are the Silents. BUT ALSO THE DOCTOR CALLED THE P’TING TINY! AND SHE TRIED TO EAT THE PRISON BARS.

And then, of course, being more obnoxious with the Daleks. It’s pretty clear the difference in rawness of the Doctor’s feelings for the Daleks and the Cybermen. The Daleks’s an old ember. Her feelings for them are ice cold. A purity of feeling. The Daleks are evil and she has no compunction on killing them, the Cybermen? More personal and a raw nerve.

She’s willing to be cold towards the Daleks.

I really like that Yaz has more skin in the game, and she knows what she can lose now. And after her talking with Jack, after seeing his perspective on it, and from his words knows that sometimes the Doctor just disappears from people’s lives.

And I love the pushback:

Skewered.

But true because she is trying to stay still and be with the fam and not leave them. But the unfortunate truth is, the Doctor does run away, and the Doctor does leave people behind and a lot of the times, the Doctor doesn’t come back because they’re an emotional coward.

The thing about Thirteen is she’s probably the longest of the Doctors to not disappoint her companions. She’s always managed to stop bad guys and always been there for them. It’s an impressive track record for the Doctor. She’s built herself up in their eyes as someone they can rely on, and then she failed them by not getting back to them in time.

It’s not her fault, and none of them know how long it’s been for the Doctor, by the way she’s asked them I feel like they think she’s only been gone for a week.

Honestly, I’m impressed how the Doctor didn’t make it about her -- being in prison for longer than they thought. She’s looking at it from their point of view, because she already knows what big leaps in time would affect her friends.

TBH Revolution of the Daleks felt like shades of Last Christmas in that the Doctor regretted missing out time with her companion/s. In Last Christmas, the Doctor got his time back with Clara, in RotD, time passed.

Back to the Doctor and the Daleks tho.

This reminded of Twelve’s: “You are monsters. That is the role you seem determined to play. So it seems I must play mine. The Man that stops the Monsters.”

(Look, Chibnall’s Moffat references aren’t as sledgehammer, but he does reference a lot of Moffat’s things.).

Except with Thirteen, I’m actually more terrified. Jodie does this thing where her eyes goes black and she kind of disappears into herself, this is what happened here. This promise isn’t actually good IMO.

This is not a comforting face. This is a ‘I’m gonna kill a whole boatload of Daleks face and I’m not sorry, in fact I might enjoy doing that’ face.

(And, a brief aside to Robertson, I feel like the Specials have their own kind of special ‘movie’ continuity and more of his story will play out in the Specials, where hopefully he will get his comeuppance because, to me, I feel that’s where it’s going. This is more groundwork laying.

I don’t like it when the Doctor interferes with Human affairs, especially government -- because look what happened with Harriet Jones and how the Doctor broke the Golden Age. Also, I don’t want real world leaders to exist in the Whoverse because I want them to have a completely different track from us. So. Yeah, New Year’s Specials have their ongoing storyline. I’m actually not mad about it, and I enjoy Mr. Big’s performance. He’s a sleezeball. A sleezeball that knows more now. (He isn’t T rump but he isn’t better either). At least I find him enjoyable and not outright offensive. I’m okay seeing him again for the next Specials. I hope next time he does get his comeuppance.)

Now, the goodbyes:

The HUG.

We’ve been waiting for the Doctor to be more physically affectionate with the fam, and it took the Doctor being locked down for decades (maybe?), and Ryan and Graham leaving for her to hug them. And we’re all right, Thirteen gives great hugs.

The feeling Thirteen’s been running away from is here, sadness. It’s good that Yaz decided to stay other wise... she’s just going to run headlong into forgetting her problems, Doctor Style.

And again, learning and re-learning things: ‘It’s okay to be sad.’

Oh, Thirteen.

(Before Twelve, I don’t think I was this sympathetic to the Doctor -- no wait, I was with Nine. Ten and Eleven tested my patience but it’s with Twelve and Thirteen where I’m 100% invested in the Doctor.

I also love that they’re kind of soft touching the Timeless Child thing, and as someone on twitter mentioned, this feels like an examination of an adoption story. The Doctor is going to search for their identity, their home).

I honestly wish Jack stayed in the TARDIS with Thirteen and Yaz. Jack’s a great balance, especially pushing back at the Doctor and her tactics. Her NUCLEAR tactics. I am glad that the Doctor’s still a dick to Jack, not much of an asshole as they were when the Doctor was Ten but still a dick.

Also, one thing I really love about Barrowman is that when he’s in Doctor Who, he knows it’s not his show and he doesn’t showboat, and the man can showboat.

I’d rather Jack than random guy that I didn’t even know was gonna happen until very late.

Anyway, TLDR to all this: I enjoyed this very much! Still a lot to be parsed through in things that needs to be parsed through as I mentioned, but on the whole? I loved it.

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #ryan sinclair #graham o'brien #jack harkness #revolution of the daleks #initial reactions #long post #rambling and incoherent

201 notes · View notes

cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

🤬 | seokjin

the sleep deprived series (n.): drabbles that i write when i’m sad and tired

→ frenemy!seokjin ft. e2l and the magnificent get-along sweater | 2K words → a/n: this is dedicated to my homie @jincherie who has been, as they say, wiping her ass everyday only to shit again. i can’t really do much to actually alleviate your circumstances except maybe making you smile, so i hope this can be your tiny ray of sunshine amidst the crap. this fic literally makes no sense because i wrote this within one hour so i’m sorry but pls know that ilysm!!

“Where’d you even fucking get this abomination?” you growl, struggling fruitlessly against the coarse fabric. In your fidgeting, your elbow knocks into Seokjin’s broad chest, causing more damage to your weak joints than anything. Even so, Seokjin grunts overdramatically, stepping on your toes in retaliation.

“Yoongi-chi, you know that I love you very much—” Seokjin seethes, his teeth clenched almost painfully as he fights to restrain himself from ripping the sweater in half, a la Hulk style. “—but I will not hesitate to stab you once I get out of here.”

“Not my fault that you both are acting like a bunch of toddlers,” Yoongi snorts, hip jutted out in contempt like the homosexual that he is. “And to answer your other question, I bought that sweater online after your last fight, when you two were literally wrestling on the kitchen counter. I didn’t know whether I walked into some intense BDSM play or a WWE ring.”

“You bought a fucking get-along sweater for us? What are you, some sort of Christian camp counselor?” you growl, kicking your legs out in an attempt to hit him. The slimy twink bastard jumps away gracefully, landing onto the loveseat opposite the couch that you were sitting on. He crosses his legs, opening his arms wide when your traitorous cat jumps onto his lap, looking to all the world like a terrible Bond villain from the 80s.

“If I was Christian, I would not put the two of you into a sweater together,” Yoongi says. He strokes your cat, who purrs loudly before pointing a contemptuous glare back at you, as if she was enjoying your torture too. Dumb cat. You never liked Miko anyway.

Yoongi continues, “Anyone would two eyes knows that you both are just one brawl away from fucking each other into the next dimension. Lord knows that your sexual tension could power the entire city.”

It’s Seokjin’s turn to snort, who has been relatively quiet in comparison to you. He’s also less fidgety, but that might be because he at least has the advantage and comfort of occupying 90% of the sweater space due to his oceanic shoulders. You once described him as “horizontally imbalanced,” which he did not find slightly amusing.

“I would rather place my balls into a panini press and feed them to Miko than to ever fuck Y/N,” Seokjin fake-gags, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. “It would be less hot for me to actually grill my penis than for me to sink into her hell-ish cunt. I swear, you could bake bread in there with how much yeast has accumulated from—“

You headbutt his chin before he can finish, squawking indignantly. The satisfying sound of his teeth clacking together in pain is momentary but worthwhile. “Excuse you, but it’d be an honor to fuck me! I’ve got that S-tier pussy! If my pussy was in a gacha game, people would spend thousands of dollars just to roll for my mystical coochie!”

Yoongi smirks. “So you admit that you do want Seokjin to fuck you!”

“What the fuck! No! That is—what the—I don’t!” You stammer, face flushing as you struggle to regain your footing in the conversation. Yoongi’s eyebrow raises, intrigued by your slip-up. “That is totally not what I meant, and you know it!”

Yoongi picks at his nails, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Sorry, I don’t speak hetero. Prithee, explain thy peculiar mating rituals to one who does not walk the straight and narrow path.”

You slump back against the couch, forcing Seokjin to follow and fall backward with you. His shoulder hits you square in the boob, causing you to groan in pain. “Yoongi, just let us out of this thing before I lose a limb to this walking inflatable tubeman,” you plead, ignoring Seokjin’s glare.

“I resent that,” Seokjin inputs, but no one pays him any mind. Your attention is focused solely on the smirking kitty man in front of you, who grows smugger as time ticks on.

Everyone in your friend group is aware of the weird relationship you have with Seokjin. Ever since you met him in your freshman year of university, things were never peaceful between the two of you. It was always constant bickering, squabbling, competing… everything. Even Jungkook, Seokjin’s other sworn enemy, doesn’t argue with the elder as much as you did.

For three years, everyone just assumed it was your weird kindergarten schoolyard way of showing affection for each other, and at the beginning, it might have been. You and Seokjin, both of whom have never dated in their lifetimes despite being moderately popular while growing up, are unsurprisingly emotionally stunted and never learned how to just be nice to people you like. Affection who? Compassion where? To the both of you, physical connection can only be achieved through hair tugging and nipple pinching, and not even in the sexy way.

But at a certain point, things were starting to get tiring. Your arguments only grew larger in scale, to the point where it was getting hard to differentiate whether the bruises on your neck were from pinches or something else.

“I just… Ugh… When are they gonna fuck, hyung? I’m actually getting tired of their constant fighting,” Namjoon had lamented one afternoon, just a day after your last altercation with Seokjin. It had been a big one, where Seokjin nearly lost a tooth when you had landed a neat uppercut squarely on his jaw after he called your toes ‘a foot fetishist’s worst nightmare.’

Yoongi’s boyfriend had been staring listlessly into his bowl of soup for the past hour, and he was honestly starting to get worried when it looked like Namjoon had started muttering to himself in a foreign language. Yoongi almost thought he might have been scrying for a prophecy, begging for an answer to their most pressing question.

“What do you want me to do about it? Lock them in a room and let them out only after they’ve done the deed? Mixed bodily fluids? Performed the monkey dance to its climax?! No thanks, I don’t wanna be near them when that can of worms finally explodes,” Yoongi grimaced, shivering at the thought.

Namjoon shook his head quickly, face paling with him. “Heaven forbid. Maybe you can keep it PG? How about getting one of those get-along sweaters or something. I think they used those in kindergarten.”

Yoongi sighed. “Yeah, but the question would be how I’d get them into it.” He flaps his noodle arms around in demonstration. “I’m not exactly in the running for world’s strongest twink. Plus, years of fighting each other means they’re both stronger than I am.”

Namjoon shrugged. “Easy, just dare them to wear it. Make it into a competition. Nothing gets them more riled up than when they’re trying to outcompete each other.”

And so, that’s how the two of you had gotten stuck in a 3XXL Hello Kitty sweater that Yoongi had bought from Ebay. It has yet to be decided whether spending $40 on expedited shipping was worth it.

“Look, Yoongi-chi. We both promise that we will stop fighting once you let us out of this,” Seokjin says, smiling sweetly at him. Had Yoongi been younger and much more prone to the alluring temptation of the Straight Man™️, he might have caved. But Yoongi is older now, plus he knows when Seokjin is lying better than any polygraph test.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, waving him off. “Fat chance. You’d probably stop fighting for approximately three hours before getting mad about mint chocolate ice cream or something.”

“Hey! Give us some credit. We both agree that flavor is abhorrent, so we would never argue about that,” you retort, with Seokjin nodding furiously in agreement. You glance at him. “And I feel like we’d last at least six hours without fighting. What was our record again?”

“Five hours and twenty-two minutes,” Seokjin says.

You hum thoughtfully. “Okay, I can promise at least five hours and thirty minutes. Maybe.”

Yoongi groans, rubbing his temples in frustration. His souring mood even makes Miko jump away in fright, and the two idiots trapped in a sweater can immediately feel the dip in temperature. Uh oh, here we go!

“I am absolutely sick and tired of the two of you dumbasses fighting all the time! It’s embarrassing as hell trying to bring either of you anywhere in public because everyone mistakes your little catfights for strange foreplay or whatever,” Yoongi glowers. The two of you shrink into your seats, ashamed.

“We’ve only gotten kicked out of one Costco—” Seokjin defends.

“But we did get fined for public indecency at the beach when I pulled your trunks down, which was totally unfair, by the way,” you mutter.

“You literally threatened to, and I quote, ‘Suck the soul out of Seokjin’s dick until he dies.’ How the hell is that unfair?!” Yoongi exclaims.

“It was a death threat! I would’ve accepted a charge for attempted murder, but that was not going to be a sexy blowjob, I assure you—”

Yoongi holds up a hand to silence you. “Face it, you both like each other. Whatever! Sure, you guys are the token straight people in our friend group, but that doesn’t make you bland as hell! Well, actually, it does but…” Yoongi pauses, wondering if it was worth lying. It takes a second for him to refocus. “Where was I? Oh right—“

Yoongi clears his throat, starting again. He heaves a deep breath, shoulders sagging tiredly as he puts on the sincerest face he can muster. “Listen, I just want to say that I care a lot about you, okay? And it sucks seeing the both of you hurting every time the other person says something really mean that neither of you even mean! If anything, will you please stop for me? If you really cared about our friendship, will you do it for me?”

There is a heavy pause as Yoongi strives to get his breathing back in check, his impassioned speech causing his fragile grandpa heart to race. He can feel his cheeks darkening in embarrassment, unused to using his “hyung voice” on Seokjin or you. Separately, the two of you are very reliable, never really needing him to scold either of you. Together, however… that’s a different story, but as the next eldest hyung, it really only fell to Yoongi to fix his friends’ mess of a relationship.

Screw age hierarchy. Yoongi would love to see Jungkook try to get Seokjin and you to fuck. Would absolutely pay to see the twerp squirm as he tries to even say the word “penis.”

After a while, Seokjin and you share a look. Yoongi watches with bated breath as he waits for either of you to speak, but he can sense some unspoken conversation happening between you. Perhaps, after years of exchanging blows, you had somehow knocked brain cells into each other and now share a weird psychic connection. Or, more likely, the two of you actually like each other and understand each other on a deeply personal level, so personal in fact that you could probably finish each other’s sentences, like—!

“We refuse,” you both reply in tandem, your joined voices echoing throughout the apartment. You both had said it so in sync that Yoongi might have imagined the other person speaking, but no—you both really did just say that to his face. In front of Miko. In front of his goddamn imaginary salad.

“Excuse me?” Yoongi squeaks. He cleans his ears with his fingers but finds no cotton there. These bitches! How dare they just throw his speech to the gutter! That shit took brain cells to think of, and he is not in the business of wasting his precious minutes by using them for productivity.

You shrug, leaning against Seokjin’s shoulder. He can see the ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s confusion. “You heard us. We’ve made the executive decision to double our efforts, actually.”

Seokjin nods, not even shoving you off his shoulder like he normally would whenever you made contact with him. What? “Exactly. Honestly, we’ve been fighting for so long that we’ve kinda been just doing it for the bit at this point, and the fact that it annoys you so much is just the icing on the cake.”

Yoongi stares at them. His brain doesn’t feel like it’s connecting to his body at all; he feels like he’s floating. “So. What you’re saying is—“

“We know we like each other. Whatever. But we also like fighting, so who gives a shit if we’re having fun at the end of the day?” you shrug, pinching Seokjin’s cheek for good measure. As per usual, the elder retaliates by grabbing your finger with robot-like accuracy, before biting you there like a ravaging beast.

“And before you ask, no, we aren’t really dating. Yet. We kinda just wanted to piss as many people off before actually becoming official. We honestly didn’t think that you’d be the first one to crack.” Seokjin says, your finger falling from his mouth. The imprint of his teeth marks on your skin are plain as day, but you don’t look remotely bothered by it. In fact, you’re practically cooing at his ‘baby teefies’ like a psychopath.

“I—“ Yoongi stutters, at a loss for words for once in his life. He stands from the chair, but his knees give out from under him, causing him to tumble to the carpeted floor. He holds his head in his hands, shell-shocked. “So… That means…”

“Yeah, we’re kinda just freaky, I guess.” You muse before laughing hysterically when Yoongi begins to sob. “Hey, you’re right! We did make Yoongi cry! Do you think we could make Namjoon piss himself in rage when he finally confronts us too?”

Seokjin cackles, shaking your hand underneath the sweater. “If anyone can do it, I know that we can.”

And so, the two of you stand up clumsily to your feet, not bothering to escape the ridiculous sweater as you both waddled out of Yoongi’s apartment. From outside his door, Yoongi hears the sound of a new fight commencing, your shrieks resonating down the hall and for all the world to hear.

#btsghostie #bts scenarios #seokjin x reader #bts x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts humor #e2l #kim seokjin #seokjin scenarios #jin scenarios #bangtan #bts fanfic #the sleep deprived series

268 notes · View notes

fatekeepers · 3 years

Text

Story of the Fatekeepers Info Post!

Haha. This has been a long time coming. Honestly, while I've been very serious about this story, I've floundered when it comes to advertising it. It seems all I can manage are incorrect quotes. But I want that to change, so here's the first step.

What is this project even supposed to be?

The project, currently known as "Manda Kat's Story of the Fatekeepers" is an original story I've been 'developing' since childhood. I think the earliest records of it date back to comics and drawings I made in 2015, but since I didn't date my stuff, it could have been much earlier or later.

My intention and dream for this project is to create a three-season cartoon series. However, depending on time, budget or opportunities, it may manifest as a comic instead or both, which would be awesome.

It is a passion project for me and features many characters that I have deep personal connections to and while I am a content person, I feel like if I died without making anything of this story, I'd regret it at least a little bit.

So, what is the story about?

Oof. Hard question. A lot of things?

Joking aside, Fatekeepers is about a team of individuals, each from a different world, are hired by the Three Fates (old ladies who decide how the world works) to stop chaos from spreading through the multiple universes.

The characters are bright and unique, with a range of different designs and personalities. You're sure to find a character you like.

While the image below (the cover for a scrapped pitch) is old with out-of-date designs, it still gives an example of the variation between cast members which gives the core aesthetic of the show:

Each of the main characters will go through their own arc as the story progresses. Some arcs are dark and intriguing, while others are more lighthearted, giving viewers the chance to 'breathe' between the wilder episodes.

Since there will be some sad or intense plots (two of the main cast are dead, for goodness sake, it's gotta get pretty angsty) it's only fair to let people know that there will be some dark content such as death, suicide, abuse and loss. If an episode has potentially triggering or upsetting content, the plan is to have it properly marked as such so viewers can still enjoy the rest of the show and simply have episodes that might be harmful to them recapped later.

Despite the level of intensity, the show is going to be completely clean. There will be no nudity, sex, cursing or gratuitous violence. (No fight scenes beyond a Disney movie or something similar) I don't personally feel comfortable watching shows with those elements, so I will not be including in my own.

So, who is the show for?

Fatekeepers is written mostly for people like myself, teens and young adults who want zany, fun cartoons, but find current adult animation distasteful. I would probably say the show is targeted at the 13 and up demographic, considering how it's no more adult than most Disney Channel or Cartoon Network shows. The goal is for kids, teens and adults to be able to enjoy the show if they are cartoon fans.

My demographic is less of an age group than it is a community. And if you're in the community, you know who I'm talking about. You stalk animation studios, looking for new content, you watch reviews of Disney cartoons on YouTube, and you wish you could find that perfect show...

While I won't promise this will be that show, I do humbly offer it to be roasted, picked apart and (dare I say) loved if you'll accept it.

Cool! When can we expect this show?

Ah. Hahahhaha.

Oh, no. She's laughing. That's never a good sign.

Yeah, well, about that. I am currently twenty years old at the time of writing this with no animation or production experience. While I am passionate about this project and WILL turn it into something, you mark my words, I don't think it will be anytime soon.

That being said, I'm starting now. Because I know I'll never be ready. I'm currently writing the scripts for the entire series and working on some concept art. Once this is done, I plan on making a comic version of the first episode for investing purposes.

Of course, I won't be asking for a cent in support this project until I am confident in my abilities to make it a reality. I won't be one of those failed kickstarter nightmares. I plan on learning animation, but if I can't, I will plan on hiring animators. I will create a clear budgeting plan and talk to financial advisors because I know I don't know everything about this stuff.

Maybe it'll be ready in five years. More realistically ten years. I'd be fine if it took twenty years. Either way, I won't stop. Nothing will stop the Fatekeepers!

So this blog is here to show you what I'm doing with the project and to inspire you to chase your own dreams. Who cares if you don't have the experience? How else do you get experience besides just doing it? So do it!

If you have any questions about the project, the story or the gal behind it, please leave an ask! There is nothing I love more than chatting about the stuff I'm doing.

#art #cartoon #comic #original story

14 notes · View notes

chickenooodlehope · 3 years

Text

challenge: 30 questions tag game 💛💛 tagged by lovely sharika @rosebowl 💛💛

answers under the cut because i finally figured out how to do that akjdjakj

1. name/nickname: I don’t really have one! a few people call me alli, but that’s really only family and a few early childhood friends. it makes me fond when they use it but it’s funny to think of most people saying anything other than just allison lol 2. star sign: capricorn 🤠 3. height: 5’3” and a bit 4. birthday: december 26 — yes it’s the day after christmas and yes they get lumped together but also no i don’t hate christmas, i love that cheesy holiday shit!! 5. favorite band: LOL in a shocking twist of fate… it’s bts!!! but also i’m forever obsessed with the national 😬 6. time: 2:22pm!! 7. favorite solo artist: oof maybe sza?? or phoebe bridgers?? i love them both very much 8. song stuck in your head: “0x1=lovesong” by txt (i might finally be getting into them???) 9. last movie you watched: i haven’t watched a movie in a million years, sorry!!! i’m just a tv show person 10. free space: uhhhhhhh besties how are we feeling after all of the vlives they’ve been dropping?? i am personally…… overwhelmed 🙃 11. last show: “doom at your service” 😭😭😭 this is my starter k-drama, per helena/bibillyhillsbaby, and i’m having Lots of Feelings 12: when i created this blog: last november! 13. what i post: ……..thots. mostly about jung hoseok & his cute booty :) 14. last thing i googled: lol the english translation to “into: what am i to you?” because it’s also stuck in my head 15. other blogs: my main, @shelikesperfume 💛 16. do i get asks? only from my cute ass mutuals 17. why i chose my url? because i am a victim of hazel-contacts-taehyung 😫 18. following: 368 19. followers: some! 20. average hours of sleep: i prefer 8+ but sometimes that doesn’t happen and i get cranky :) 21. lucky number: lol uhh no they aren’t 22. instruments: my beautiful voice (for the record…. this is a joke- i cannot sing or play an instrument akzjsjskksk) 23. what am i wearing? bike shorts, a tshirt that says “the sun machine” (which is ironic because i have a terrible sunburn rn), and several blankets 24. dream job: uh i think i would just like to quote sharika: “i do not dream of labor.” i used to want to be a journalist but honestly idk at this point 25. favorite food: MANGOS 26. tea or coffee? coffeeeeee, the stronger the better 27. nationality: american (derogatory) 28. favorite song: this is so hard but i always end up saying “lemonworld” by the national. it gives me the same feeling as listening to “blue side (outro),” which is definitely tied as my other fav at this point 💙 29. last book i read: lmao i’m in the middle of “the bookshop of second chances” by jackie fraser (woman leaves her husband, inherits a large estate in scotland, finds romance there, etc etc) 30. top three fictional universes i would like to live in: lmao my first thought was VACATION, does that count?? but no hmm, i love the show “sex education” on netflix- if i could live in gillian anderson’s house in that show, that’d be rad. or if brandi carlile wanted to invite me to live on her commune, that’d be fine too 🤠

taggin my loves @bibillyhillsbaby @fakelovedotmp3 @blueandtaes @dinamitae @yoongisbengaliwife @taejinnies @jinbestboy @vantehobi @ccypher3 @ftyoongi @gimbapchefs @bel-baby @hellojeongkook @flowerkth @trustingofwinds (optional as always!!)

#hiya :) someone stop me before i tag all of my moots ahhh #again ofc no pressure to do this!! i just love seeing what everyone’s reading/watching/listening to at the mo #💕💕#ps if you tagged me in something last week HELLO ILY and i’m slowly catching back up after a lil social media/vacation break <3 #tag games #moots #long post

21 notes · View notes

sketchguk · 3 years

Note

💜 Hello it's April and time to spread positivity! Tag your mutuals and name one thing you like most about them! Happy April 💜

hi!! omg thank you for this!! hope that you are well an staying safe!! happy april!!

@blushingkoo - minny may be a clown, but she is also one of the smartest people I know :’) I think we have a lot of shared values, so she’s always coming @ me with nothing but facts !! she’s also very passionate about what she does and the things she loves! I'm so proud of her for everything she does <33 plus, our conversations are definitely interesting on most days when we aren’t crying over the tannies!!

@gukniverse - len is like a big sister to me!! she’s so caring, and she always pulls through with the best advice!! she brightens up my day with simple texts, and she makes me very happy!! Like a bundle of sunshine :-D She’s very sweet and gentle, a lot of the things that I am not, aha. I look up to her sm <3 for instance, I’m so happy that she finished school this quarter!! I hope I can graduate and be where she’s at in a few months!!

@kithtaehyung - ryen is soo hardworking!! not only only is she a boss girl (hello, everyone, congratulate her on her work promotion), but she’s amazing at everything she does!! she needs to spare some of her talent -- not just writing, but did y’all know she sings and dances as well??!! she’s always learning new choreo or recording song covers, and I’m so excited to hear about her progress when she mentions it :’) ryen, best girl who needs to eat her meals, and seriously just an all rounder!!

@kitsutaes - yas is such a warm person :(( sorry I can’t quite put it in words, but it’s the best way I can explain it :’) she’s very sweet and inviting!! like I typically find it hard to keep conversations going because I’m reserved, but this girl makes me feel so comfortable <3 she’s one of my first friends from tumblr, and I luv her lots!! our conversations are natural, and they flow from one to the next. like we have a lot of the same interests (thanks to her always introducing them to me LOL), and I get excited for whenever my phone lights up with her msg!!

@moominyg - kelda is so funny, and we vibe so well. we’re practically the same person, yet we couldn’t be as different as we are?? sometimes we have these telepathic moments, and I want her outta my head lmaooo. the only thing is that she’s more clownish :) the panini thinks it can keep us apart, but yoongi stans gravitate together >:) I guess I L word her, but you won’t catch those words coming from my mouth !! nor will you catch those emotions on my face >:( *avoids eye contact at all costs*

@orbitmin - mirelle is the human embodiment of sunshine and comfort. some might think that the world is evil and unjust, but they would certainly change their mind once they meet mirelle! she’s sweeter than honey, and she’s honestly my safe place <3 her words make me feel warm all over, and it’s like the big hug that I desperately need. she’s the best girl, and I hope that she always feels as happy as she makes me!!

@softguks - lauren, my lovie, nobody does it like her!! on top of having a really difficult major with painstaking work, she does all these extracurriculars. she puts in all of her effort/dedication, and I admire her a great deal!! sincerely wish I could have her ethic!! but even after all that she has on her plate, she has the ability to comfort me and cheer me up lskdjaklsdj like ma’am, why are you so kind?? can I interest you in a big hug and a kiss on either cheek??

@soonyoungs - cara, my dear one, has such a colorful mind!! she’s creative in soo many aspects, and it carries throughout all of our conversations!! like in her humor, she can passionately curse out soonyoung and profess her love for jaebee in more ways than I could ever imagine sksk. somehow, we’re always brainstorming scenarios about our fave idols in alternate universes, and it’s really fun. I really luv when she shares her fave quotes with me!! there’s never a dull moment with her!!

@subvk - juno, my twinnie, I applaud her sm for always doing what’s best for her!! I think she’s brave and courageous (though I know she’s gonna be like ‘stfu you’re lying’). she doesn’t settle for anything, especially anything less than she deserves. but at the same time, she still holds a lot of compassion, and she looks out for others. for that, she’s someone I really admire <3

@vminamjin - ness radiates so much bestie energy, y’all. she’s loyal and very kind hearted <3 a really great listener too!! overall, we make a great pair :’) I don’t know if it’s coincidental, but even our biases are besties or iconic pairings aha i.e: yoongi & taehyung, minghao & junhui, seonghwa & hongjoong, etc. lots of love to ness because she’s an amazing gal, and I’m happy to call her my friend!!

#AND IN THIS ESSAY I--#ask #anon #mutuals

33 notes · View notes

angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

dirtbags // 5: Charlotte

Summary: High School AU. 1985. Winter. Charlotte and Razzle are officially not dating, while Lola’s not dating someone but won’t say who, though she’s contemplating sleeping with Tommy in an effort to get him to stop pining for her, which Charlotte thinks is a terrible idea. Except that Charlotte lets slip to Tommy that that’s Lola’s plan, and he doesn’t take it well. The whole pack ends up at the Drive-In, which is going great for Charlotte and Razzle right up until Nikki decides to be an ass, and Charlotte realises that Tommy has spoken to Lola about their fight. It looks like things will be getting worse before they get better.

A/N: 6655 words. long overdue sorry!! @misscharlottelee and @evaangelics my beloveds this is, as always, for you both. ft. asofterworld quotes

my sister and i both hate antique shopping. but we love hating things together.

So yes, technically Charlotte and Razzle spent the better part of Heather’s party in a dark corner being altogether gross, as an incredibly drunk Peach had informed them both before she was pulled away by a far more sober Vince, which Charlotte hadn’t thought much of at the time, herself more than a little tipsy, but hearing Eileen rant in the diner the following day had made her feel a little guilty for not paying more attention. Not that anything bad happened, but still, she felt partially responsible for the young ginger girl.

But the point is that Charlotte and Razzle are not dating, despite what everyone in their weird and ragtag bunch of lunchtime delinquents likes to imply. If Charlotte could justify punching Nikki again, she absolutely would. It’s not her fault that Razzle’s interesting and kind and honest and funny, and if she finds herself feeling a little heady, a little good-nauseous, like she had back when she and Duff had first been dancing around the idea of being a couple, she pushes those feelings to the back of her mind and distracts herself with something, anything else.

Right now, she’s got a terrible headache and is having a whisper argument with Lola in the middle of art, trying to talk her out of pity-fucking Tommy.

“You make it sound so crass and heartless,” Lola’s lip curled, frowning at the red pencil in her hand and the cartoon drawing of a flower in her notes, “pity-fucking,” the word sounds wrong on Lola’s lips, tone derisive, “you say it like I don’t care about him.”

“Don’t pity-fuck my cousin, you can both do better,” Charlotte rubs at her temples, eyes closed, as Lola makes a noise like she’s not too sure if that’s a compliment, “a few weeks ago, you promised me you were just friends -”

“He’s a hopeless romantic who keeps hearing about cheerleaders sleeping with people who aren’t him, lemme put him out of his misery -”

“By fucking him? What if he catches further feelings for you?”

“I dunno, I’ll kill him?” Lola suggests flippantly, and when Charlotte cracks her eyes open to level a glare at Lola, the dark haired girl is grinning, clearly joking.

“Why Tommy? Why can’t you sleep with someone less related to me?” Charlotte hisses, tone vaguely annoyed and desperate, “I thought you were getting laid? What’s up with you and Nikki anyways?” There’s a shift in her tone, and Lola makes a face, pressing a little harder with her pencil.

“I am sleeping with someone less related to you,” Lola says, though there’s a strangely guarded quality to her voice, “not Nikki, for the record; he’s the one who suggested I sleep with Tommy to begin with. He’s too much of a bitch to fuck me himself,” she mutters, mostly to herself, a little wrinkle creasing the bridge of her nose as she thinks about it.

“Wait, you’re seeing someone? For real? And it’s not Nikki?” Charlotte’s expression lit up, and Lola gave her a calculating looking out of the corner of her eye.

“I bet we both know another person I’m not sleeping with,” and Lola’s tone is mean and a little venomous as she deftly changes the subject, “how is our favourite exchange student, by the way?” Charlotte realises too late that her excited questioning of Lola’s private life may have touched a nerve. For all that Lola’s become more open in the few months they’ve been friends, there were strange lines Charlotte kept finding. Lola never really acted as though she cared much about Charlotte and Razzle’s vague status, so to use it against Charlotte was a surprise, and a clear giveaway that one of those lines had been crossed. It got Lola’s message across well enough, and Charlotte’s mouth snapped closed.

Lola was a terrible distraction when she wanted to be.

“Lola’s not seeing anyone,” Nikki says flatly around his cigarette, and when Charlotte realises she’s gossiping with Nikki Sixx, she wonders idly where her life went wrong, “she’s fucking someone,” he corrected, “and she refuses to tell me who, but she’s not seeing anyone.” He sounds far more annoyed than Charlotte had anticipated, and she can’t help herself. She tugs on that string.

“Wait, so it’s actually not you?”

“Lola’s dad is built like He-Man, Master of the Fucking Universe, have you seen him, Charlie? I couldn’t stick it in his daughter and bring myself to look him in the eye every other day; and I’m past worrying if he’s gonna toss me into space like he’s an Olympic hammer thrower,” Nikki considers for a moment, before heaving a sigh, “I just don’t wanna disappoint him.”

“You think fucking Lola’s gonna disappoint her dad?” Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with slight confusion, “why do you even talk to her dad every other day?”

“We work together?” Nikki says, like it’s the simplest answer in the world, and oh, suddenly Charlotte knows exactly why the back of the fry cook in Leo’s looked so familiar. Nikki can obviously read it on her face as the realisation, the full understanding of the situation dawns on Charlotte, but it still doesn’t stop her from bursting out with laughter.

“Oh dude, you definitely cannot fuck your boss’s daughter, no matter how much you so clearly want to -”

“Hey!” Nikki snapped, “bold words coming from you, Miss Lee; you already made sure Razz has had the full American High School Experience, or are you waiting for Prom to go full cliché about it?”

“Nikki, I’ve already punched you in the face once, so help me -”

“Yeah but now I know what to expect, I’m kinda into it,” Nikki’s grin is all teeth, and he leans across the table, into Charlotte’s space, “do it again, Miss Lee,” he teases, offering up his cheek to her, grinning from ear to ear. Charlotte makes a disgusted noise, leaning back, crossing her arms.

“You disgust me; can you please quit your job so you can fuck Lola?”

Thankfully, this seems to take the wind out of Nikki’s sails, his expression falling to something irritated as he huffs and drops his gaze, sitting back dejectedly, and pointedly refusing, unable to come with a snide comeback in time to save face.

“Lola would punch you in the face,” Charlotte pointed out, tone a little smug, and Nikki presses his lips together, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral as a blush creeps up his cheeks.

“So would that leggy redhead of yours,” he’s quick to change the conversation, “isn’t she in the musical? You know my band’s still looking for a singer -”

“Lemme stop you right there,” Charlotte stops Nikki in his tracks, holding up a single hand for silence, “first of all, the only person Eileen hates more than you is Vince Neil, and she told me personally that she’d rather eat glass than join your band, secondly -”

“You talked about my band with her?” There’s something a little bashful in Nikki’s voice, and the blush hasn’t left his cheeks; the whole picture would be endearing if he wasn’t such a colossal asshole.

“Secondly,” Charlotte tries again, “you know her name’s Eileen; everyone knows her name is Eileen, stop calling her my leggy redhead,” she ordered, before taking a deep breath, trying to let her irritation subside, “and thirdly, Lola was the one who asked Eileen to be in your band, Eileen just brought it up to me because she knew Tommy was in it.” Nikki, who had already been pink all over, was steadily turning red, trying to hide it as he made a show of patting down his pockets looking for his cigarettes.

“Lola... uh, she talks about my band? She asked if Eileen wanted to join us?” He’s shooting for casual and missing the mark miserably, much to Charlotte’s delight.

“You’re so in love with her,” she smirks. Nikki scowls at her. The bell rings.

i have found a way to watch video in your head. high definition, with instant replay. it is called having regrets.

When Eileen invites Charlotte to the drive in, and suggests bringing Razzle, she insists it’s not a date, that some of the people from the musical were just getting together to watch the new horror movie, and she thought it would be good for Razzle to experience a proper, drive-in movie. That probably should have set of alarm bells in Charlotte’s mind, since everyone knew that if you take someone to a horror movie at the drive-in, you generally don’t end up actually watching much of the movie. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.

But Eileen’s adamant, and Charlotte honestly wouldn’t actually mind sneaking off with Razzle at some point, if the opportunity arose, not that she’s admit that.

“I should ask Lola to go,” Tommy says, tone a little wistful, when, on Thursday, Charlotte tells him her plans for the following evening; alarm bells definitely start ringing.

They’re in Tommy’s kitchen after school, with his mom at the supermarket, and his dad at work, they’ve got the house to themselves, apart from Tommy’s sister upstairs, monopolising the phone. Charlotte’s sitting on the counter, while Tommy’s staring into the refrigerator, not actually looking at what’s in there, thoughts miles away as he considers his own words.

“Shut that if you’re not going to get anything, and no you shouldn’t,” Charlotte shuts him down immediately, to which Tommy frowns, asking derisively when she became the boss of him, slamming the fridge closed, “I thought you two were just friends,” Charlotte counters with.

“I can ask a friend to the drive-in,” though the way he suddenly can’t meet her gaze betrays him, and he flits over to a cupboard, opening it and staring at the food inside, trying to decide on an afternoon snack, “why are you here, anyways?” At this, Charlotte goes quiet and pensive, looking down at her knees as her heels kick softly against the cupboards below, trying not to think about how her mother keeps leaving college brochures out, with Law, Accounting, and Medicine courses all meticulously highlighted, or how whenever they’re in the same room, she’s treated to passive aggressive questions about whether she’s seen the brochures her parents know she definitely hasn’t touched.

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” Charlotte finally surfaces from her thoughts to see that Tommy is waiting for an answer.

“Not if you’re going to be an asshole.”

“If you’re going to daydream about Lola, I’m going to be an asshole,” Charlotte fired back, snarkily, and Tommy narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve become kind of a bitch since you started hanging out with Nikki,” he huffs, and Charlotte straightens up where she’s sitting, eyes going wide with disbelief, with slight outrage.

“I’m just fucking sick of hearing you chase after girls who don’t want you! It’s all you ever talk about!”

“Lola wants me! Lola fucking wants me, Charlie!”

“She doesn’t want you, she wants to pity-fuck you so you’ll get off her damn case! Just how naïve are you, Thomas?” Charlotte yells back, and immediately smacks her hand to her mouth, regret written all over her face. Tommy’s expression falls like his heart is breaking. “Tommy -”

“A real, fucking bitch,” there’s a shake in Tommy’s voice that is breaking Charlotte’s heart, and she tries to apologise, but he tells her to go home.

Yes, she leaves, she shuts the door behind herself, but she can’t bring herself to go home. Her feet carry her while her mind is blank, but when she looks up, she’s pushing open the door to the gas station, seeing Mick Mars look up from his magazine. Before he greets her, she sees the way his eyes search the space around her, roam the empty fuel pumps, as if expecting Tommy to pop out behind her. Then, once he considers himself safe, he puts down his magazine, tilting his head curiously at her, at her dejected demeanour.

“Charlotte?” She’s actually surprised that he knows her name, and Charlotte hovers in the door, letting in the cold air from outside as she deliberates. Why had she come here of all places? “Are you okay?” The words sound strange, like he’s not used to saying them, not used to showing any sort of care, but she appreciates them nonetheless.

“I was a massive asshole to Tommy,” the words spill from her before she can stop them, and she watches Mick’s expression, can almost see him fight back several sarcastic or congratulatory remarks, suppressing his own well-worn irritation for her cousin, instead, just making a noise in the back of his throat that she can’t quite decipher. Then, he looks out the window, looks to the clock on the wall, and takes his feet off the counter carefully.

“Do you want a slurpee?” He asks, obviously a little uncertain of how to proceed.

“Not really,” Charlotte admits, and Mick awkwardly looks around, as if to offer something else.

“Do you smoke?” He’s already pulling a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Charlotte shoves her hands into her coat pockets, shaking her head, looking at the floor, not quite sure where to go from here herself, “do you mind if I smoke?”

“No,” her voice is small.

They sit on the step by the door outside the gas station, side by side, silent for a few minutes as Mick smokes his cigarette. No cars approach, but they watch some drive by as the sun sinks lower in the sky.

“I told him Lola doesn’t want him, that she’s just interested in pity-fucking him because she thinks it’d get him off her case,” Charlotte admits, and from the corner of her eye, she sees Mick wince, a sign that what she’d said truly was a dick move.

“That would’a broken the kid’s heart,” Mick muses around his cigarette, and Charlotte, who’d had her knees curled up to her chest, rests her chin on them, with a quiet ‘I know’.

“He said I turned into an asshole since I became friends with Nikki Sixx, and then I just managed to prove him right,” she seethes, disappointed in herself more than anything else.

“That’s your first problem; being friends with Nikki Sixx.”

“That was an accident,” Charlotte tried to defend herself, “and I’ve been friends with Nikki for kind of a while, honestly, but I was just so sick of hearing Tommy moon over girls who don’t even look twice at him, like they hung the stars in the sky -”

“Charlotte,” Mick interrupts her, his voice soft but insistent, and when she finally looks at him, he’s actually frowning at her, hands stilled with another cigarette half-pulled from it’s packet, “that’s not... you know why what you said hurt him, right? You know you could’a said that about any other cheerleader he was into and it would’a rolled right off his back, right?”

Oh. Oh no. Slowly, Charlotte’s expression crumbles as the full weight of her words dawns upon her, her guilt skyrocketing. Face in her hands, she actually wails, and Mick gives a firm pat on the back as a show of support.

“They’re friends, Mick.”

“I know, Charlotte.”

“God, fuck, he probably thinks that I mean she doesn’t even like him as a friend, Mick!”

“Yeah,” he sighed deeply, giving another pat, “I know, Charlotte.”

“I just... don’t want him to get his heart broken,” she admitted, her only attempt to justify herself, which Mick didn’t accept as a proper answer for a moment.

“He’s sixteen, he’s gotta make his own mistakes, and,” at this he hesitates, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long draft as he deliberated saying his next words, “don’t ever let her know I told you this,” he adds seriously, “but the last thing Lola wants to do is hurt that kid; if anything, she’s hoping hooking up with him will strengthen their friendship, and raise his confidence for when he goes after other girls.” This... is a lot to process.

“How do you even know this?” Charlotte asked, bewildered, and Mick scrunches his face up and takes another long inhale on his cigarette.

“We’re friends,” is what he settles on.

“What?”

“Lola and I... are friends,” he sounds like he doesn’t want to admit it, and visibly cringes as he follows it up with, “she cares about that kid, and speaks very highly of him, and of you, honestly, and maybe the kid’s not as irritating as I had him pegged as. He’s still irritating, but he,” and he audibly groans, hanging his head for a moment, as if disappointed that he’s even saying any of this, “he’s a good friend to Lola.” It’s like the words themselves hurt him to admit, so he changes the topic quickly, “she told me he’s in a band with Sixx, actually,” and his tone is thankfully much less strained as he straightens his posture a little, ignoring Charlotte’s frankly flabbergasted expression, “I’ve been seriously considering joining them.”

“You sing?” Is what Charlotte hears herself say, without really registering it. Mick snorts derisively.

“Fuck no, I play guitar.”

“You sho- you should join them,” Charlotte babbles, trying to make sense of everything that she’d just learned, and now this of all things, but it’s going to take her a while.

“I should,” he agrees with the barest hint of a smile, once more clapping her on the back. He hesitates before he stands, like he wants to say something else, but instead, he gives an awkward smile and gets to his feet, heading back inside, leaving Charlotte in silence.

Eileen gives her a lift to school the following morning, seething about how Peach got a part-time job and their parents still aren’t happy. It’s conflicting for the older sister, who hates hearing the derisive way her parents refer to Peach as a ‘burger flipper’, while Peach herself had sneered when Eileen had asked about the job, telling her older sister that she was done grovelling at their parents’ feet just to exist, with an implied ‘unlike you’ which had been so uncharacteristic of the usually kind and upbeat Peach that it had sent Eileen spiralling. It was the third day in a row Eileen had been ranting about it, about how she just wanted to support Peach, but that her whole family appeared to be turning on each other.

Charlotte found herself relating to that particular sentiment far too well.

Half their ragtag bunch of lunchtime misfits is notably absent from their usual lunchtime hang out, so while Charlotte spends the forty minutes picking apart her food like she’s trying to deconstruct it atomically, Razzle sits diligently as Eileen carefully and meticulously braids his hair, while he asks if he needs to bring anything, or wear anything special to the drive in that Friday. Charlotte’s not paying them any attention, just letting her gaze roam distractedly essentially until the bell rings, and Eileen pulls the hairband from her own hair to secure Razzle’s braid, before taking off.

“Anybody home in that head of yours, Charlie? The bell’s gone,” Razzle’s offering her his hand where he’s standing, and Charlotte finally returns to reality from her blank, concerned mind, wiping the last few crumbs of her sandwich on her jeans picking up her bag with one hand and taking Razzle’s hand with the other. Today he’s chosen to wear a royal purple collared shirt, several sized too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into tight, acid-washed jeans littered with naturally-made holes, his backpack on his back, and a black, corduroy jacket slung over one shoulder; with his newly acquired braid, the whole look is quite fetching, quite -

“You look like a prince,” Charlotte feels rather foolish for even saying it, can feel as the blush rises on her cheeks, but Razzle’s beaming as he pulls her to her feet, and doesn’t let go of her hand for a moment.

“Well then I must be truly lucky to get court a princess like you,” and coming from anyone else, it would have sounded cheesy, or the phrase princess would have been derisive or snide, but he’s sincere, almost painfully so, and Charlotte ducks her head, “not courting,” Razzle corrects quickly, and Charlotte doesn’t think about how her heart sinks at that, despite how they’d talked through this.

“Princess Charlie -” something about the way he says her name always hits her hard, because hearing how it sounds, the reverence with which he says it, the nervousness, she leans in and kisses him quickly, can’t help herself, can’t stop herself. But then she’s leaning back, getting a better grip on her backpack, but - “wait, wait, wait, Charlie, wait -” Razzle, for the barest moment, tightens his grip on her hand, and she’s terrified that she crossed a line, that she’s done something wrong, but she turns back, and he doesn’t seem to be mad or concerned, instead he drops the jacket he’d been holding, gently taking her face in his hands, “can’t spring that on me and get away with it; lemme do it proper.”

i am going to build a new boyfriend out of garbage and dirty feathers. no one else will touch him.

“Did you tell Tommy we were coming here?” Eileen hissed, startling the hell out of Charlotte at the concession stand at the drive-in before the movie began. Charlotte, who had been hovering in line, nervously retucking her nice blouse into her skirt every few minutes, almost jumped out of her skin at her friend’s voice in her ear.

“Yeah, I - why?” Looking around, Charlotte thankfully can’t see Tommy’s shitbox of a car, but it becomes readily apparent the source of Eileen’s frustrations, when she spots a shiny, red sports car parked four cars past where Keanu and his good friend and well known fellow theatre kid Alex Winter were sitting on the hood of Keanu’s car, chatting animatedly with Razzle, who they had been quick to warm to him upon meeting him about twenty minutes ago.

“Charlie!” The name came out as a frustrated noise from between Eileen’s clenched teeth, her eyes glued to Vince Neil’s ostentatious car, and Charlotte looked down for a moment, before adjusting her skirt again and retucking her shirt as she spoke.

“I didn’t know he’d tell Vince; I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday afternoon,” and she hesitates before adding, “we got into this fight and I’ve been trying to figure out how to apologise but I don’t know how, so it kind of slipped my mind, I didn’t know -”

“We’ll talk about you and Tommy later, I promise, but right now I need you to tell me three convincing arguments as to why I shouldn’t pop one of Vince Neil’s fucking tires.” Eileen’s hatred of Vince is perhaps getting out of hand, Charlotte considers, prying Eileen’s vice-like grip from her upper arm, considering for a moment.

“I know you have no qualms about becoming a felon to protect Peach,” Charlotte says with half a smirk.

“Absolutely none,” Eileen agrees without missing a beat, which was both amusing and heartwarming.

“- but your mom would probably pull you out of public school to enrol you in that strict, girls-only, future-nun-school, Our Lady Of Perpetual Sorrow,” Charlotte’s trying so desperately not to smirk, not to give her amusement away at the concept, “and you can say goodbye to any chance you had of ever making out with your co-star on or off stage.”

Eileen turns as red as her hair, but at least she takes a moment to calm down, glancing over her shoulder at the three boys who were waiting for them. Keanu looks over for a moment, catching her gaze, waving and grinning from ear to ear, and Charlotte practically cackles as Eileen’s blush deepens.

“Look, Eileen look,” Charlotte pointed insistently back at the boys, to where Alex had hopped off the hood of Keanu’s car, and was making his way over to the pack of kids Eileen had vaguely gestured to earlier, mentioning that they made up most of the technical theatre department, despite their leather jackets and motorcycles, leaving Razzle and Keanu chattering away, “Alex is going to hang out with the Crew boys, leaving Keanu free to comfort you during the scary movie.”

Eileen takes a deep breath, not even pretending like that wasn’t what she wanted, steeling herself to head back, and ignore Vince Neil’s goddamn car. After a beat, however, she turns to Charlotte, looking altogether stern and collected.

“I know I said you and Razzle could stay in my car, since I’m hanging out with Keanu, but don’t have sex in there -”

“What?!”

“Don’t have sex with Razzle in my car,” Eileen practically ordered, and Charlotte nervously looked to the guy ahead of her in line. He looked back at her, between the two girls, then thankfully stepped up to the counter without a word.

“I wasn’t planning on it!”

“Well you also weren’t planning on being make out buddies after getting drunk and being the gross PDA couple at Heather’s party,” Eileen sniped back, “listen, I just want Peach to be able to sit in my car without either of your bare asses having touched any of the seats.”

“I won’t let either of our bare asses touch the seat,” Charlotte agreed, mortified.

“And no stains -”

“Eileen!” Charlotte all but screeches, right as the messages before the movie started playing.

“Eileen, the charming Mister Reeves wants a word with you,” Razzle’s voice joins them just moments before Charlotte’s pretty sure she would have expired from embarrassment, and at the mere mention of Keanu, Eileen relaxes a little. All three of them glance over to Keanu’s car, to see the man himself leaning against his windshield, cigarette idle in one hand as he watches the first of the preview trailers. As much as he makes gestures like he’s about to take a drag, the cigarette never quite makes it to his lips before he extends his arm out beside him again, like he’s going through the motions without really following through. Eileen, as if drawn to him by a spell, practically floats away.

“She’s a strange one,” he says fondly, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t point out the hypocrisy in his words, “Keanu and Alex act like she’s some aloof, inscrutable woman; weren’t sure we were talking about the same woman,” he huffed a laugh, much to Charlotte’s disbelief.

“Eileen... she is an aloof, inscrutable woman, you just happen to live with her arch nemesis, and- you’re- we’re- you know, we’re...” Charlotte gestured between herself and Razzle, flushing, as his smile widened, “and you know, I’m her best friend.”

“Guys, are you buying food or what?” The concierge asks; a tired-looking kid Charlotte recognises from Tommy’s year. She hops forward, ordering food, and waiting for it to be prepared, all while standing by Razzle’s side, his chin on her should as they watch the preview trailers. He’s behind her, warm and solid and grounding, which is exactly what she needs as her cousin’s beat-up excuse of a car screeches into the lot, almost spraying gravel thanks to his sharp turn into the first available space.

“Oh god, oh fucking hell,” Charlotte breathes, clenching her eyes tightly shut, “if you see a blonde-haired, six-foot stick-insect, who looks like he’d cheat on his girlfriend,” she starts, whole face scrunching with frustration, “and-or Nikki fucking Sixx, well, that would be about right; that feels like how tonight would go,” she lets out a long, frustrated breath, and she feels Razzle lift his chin from her shoulder right as he makes a noise of confusion.

“Tommy just arrived,” she clarified.

“Oh?”

“And we kind of got into an argument yesterday.”

“Oh.”

Charlotte’s name is called and she collects the bucket of popcorn she’d ordered for the pair of them, and Razzle picks up their drinks, heading back to the car as the movie opens.

“You wanna talk about whatever’s going on with you and that Drummer Boy?” Razzle asks as they’re settling in the back seat together. Charlotte’s detaching the front seat’s headrests with possibly too much vigour, but declines, despite the frustration written all over her face. Razzle keeps a careful hold on the drinks that he’d thought were safe to balance on the centre console as Charlotte foisted herself over the back seat to pull the blankets she’d packed from the trunk.

“You sure?” Razzle tried again, still with one hand nervously keeping the drinks in place, the other firmly holding their bucket of popcorn out of harm’s way. With a blanket securely bundled in her arms, Charlotte gives him a flat look, that quickly disappears in the face of his genuine concern.

“No, Razz,” she sighed, “I’m just mad at myself for letting this, like, fester, you know? I should have apologised sooner,” she huffs a sigh, unfurling the blanket with far more care now, draping it across both of their laps.

“You’ve a good heart, Miss Lee,” Razzle assures her, but Charlotte’s face scrunches reflexively at the nickname, having only ever associated it with Nikki Sixx’s dreadful attempts to hit on her.

“Thanks, but please don’t call me that,” Charlotte gives a strained little smile, but Razzle nods and takes it in stride, finally getting himself comfortable and sitting back against the seat, one arm draped across the back, the other holding the popcorn in his lap.

“No worries, Love; I could call you Charlie, but I always thought it sounded a bit weird coming from me,” Razzle is rambling as Charlotte settles against him, tucking herself up close to him, “had a mate back home called Charlie, but short for Charles; absolute cockhead,” he clicks his tongue as Charlotte can’t help but giggle, “I could always keep just calling you Love, but it’s not as personal, you know? And Charlotte... it’s a pretty name, but it would be like if you started calling me Nicholas, be a bit weird, don’t ya think?” He mused, and Charlotte’s eyes drifted from the opening scene of the movie, where a menacing looking knife-glove was being created, to Razzle’s face as he chattered away.

“I could keep calling you Princess Charlie,” as he says that, he looks to her, and seems a little startled to see her looking back at him, “like the other day,” his voice is softer, eyes wide, roaming her face, as if trying to capture her fond expression in his memory forever.

“You wouldn’t imagine your friend Charlie from back home a tiara?” Charlotte’s voice is amused, as is her expression, and Razzle’s eyes crease in the corners as he smiles; his eyes as so blue, so honest.

“You’d be the only Princess Charlie in my life,” he assures, giving her shoulder a squeeze where his arm is wrapped around her, and Charlotte doesn’t even think about how they’re less than a minute into the movie before she’s kissing him.

At least it gets her to stop thinking about Tommy.

Honestly, it gets her to stop thinking about everyone and everything that isn’t Razzle in this car in this moment, which is fine for her, because her life is somehow currently a stupid, complicated mess of people and emotions, and Razzle is nice to her, and a damn good kisser, and gentle, and his hands are warm -

“Miss Lee, does the Declaration of Independence mean nothing to you?” Comes shouted through the wound-up window of the car, startling Charlotte, who’s been in Razzle’s lap with his lips on her neck, so much that she jumped, smacking the back of her head into the roof of the car. Razzle reached out for her, expression concerned and lips kiss-bruised, as Charlotte held her head, wincing. Looking to the window, however, she could see Nikki Sixx pressing his face to the glass, looking altogether unsightly, with Lola a few feet behind him, drawing something in the gravel with the toe of her shoe.

Assholes!

“I’m gonna kill him,” Charlotte says with deadly calm the moment she understands the situation, though Razzle seems to have anticipated this, and has his hands on her thighs, keeping her secure in his firm grip.

“No,” Razzle says, voice equally as calm, his gaze focused on Charlotte, and not on Nikki who had put his open mouth on the window, puffed out his cheeks, and proceeded to lick the glass. Charlotte scrunches her expression for a moment, internal debate raging between her desire to stay in the car with Razzle, and her need to beat the ever-loving shit out of Nikki Sixx for being a smartass.

“I’m gonna crack the window and inch and tell him to fuck off,” Charlotte says, looking back to Razzle, who was wearing an expression of faint amusement, and his grip became a little less firm. Reaching over, she wound down the window an inch. Immediately, Nikki looked through the gap, cheek still pressed to the window as his gaze darted around the cabin of the car, no longer obscured by the window tint.

“I’m surprised you know what the Declaration of Independence is,” Charlotte said, tone icy as she moved to sit next to Razzle.

“Honestly I stole that line from Lola,” Nikki admitted, and upon hearing her name, even faintly, Lola joins them, thankfully not pressing herself to the window, instead standing close to Nikki, her hip by his, hands in her jacket pockets.

“Were they doing it?” Lola asks far too casually, almost too quiet for Charlotte and Razzle to hear, though they do, and both blush, even as Nikki pulls back, making a face.

“No,” Charlotte calls back, and Lola’s expression turns smug as she holds out her hand, making a ‘hand it over’ gesture to Nikki, only for him to begrudgingly hand over a five dollar note.

“Shoulda waited ‘til the end of the movie to ask,” Lola’s grin stretched wider, even as Charlotte tried to splutter a protest, and Razzle had to press his face against her shoulder to muffle his laugh at the whole situation.

“Why are you assholes here?” Charlotte hissed; strangely, Lola’s expression fell, and she stepped back again, adding more to her gravel drawing with her shoe, not looking at the car.

“We’re at the drive in because I’ve heard this is a good movie,” Nikki goes back to staring at them through the inch crack in the window, “and we’re here-” his tone turns proud while his smile turns sharp as he taps his nail against the glass, “because we’re trying to give Tommy and Heather privacy,” he all but sings. There’s... a lot to unpack there, however before Charlotte can process any of it, Lola grab’s Nikki by the elbow, pulling him away.

“Come on, I didn’t take a night off to talk to people I can see every day, did you bring weed or not?” She insisted, tone frustrated leading him towards the concierge stand. Something about it had Charlotte’s heart sinking, even as Razzle’s still chuckling and confused about what was going on, Charlotte’s heart was sinking.

Tommy had driven Nikki and Lola - and Heather? What? - to the drive in. Tommy and Lola had almost definitely spoken about the fight Charlotte and Tommy had had, which means Lola almost definitely knew what Charlotte had said.

“Everything okay, Princess?” Razzle had asked gently, his arm around her once more as Charlotte had buried her face in her hands.

“My whole life is fucked,” Charlotte muttered, and Razzle pulled her in close to him. Her legs bridge over his thighs, and he’s holding her close with both arms, keeping her warm and secure, and Charlotte takes a moment, then another, then a third, to take comfort.

She’s going to miss this. Going to miss him. Fuck, she can’t think like that, can’t keep reminding herself of the time limit on their friendship, the reason she’s scared to call it anything more.

Everything is fucked, but this one moment, how Razzle was holding her close, devoid of it’s context, it was pretty damn great.

a friend will help you move. a best friend will help you move bodies. but if you have to move your best friend's body, you're on your own

Charlotte goes to see Tommy on Saturday morning, but when she gets there, he’s not home.

“He’s at a movie~ with a girl~!” Athena sings, when Charlotte asks, and Charlotte, confused and concerned, looked to her aunt, Tommy’s mother, who gave a kind smile and nod of confirmation.

“He was so nervous and excited, spent a long time doing his hair just right,” she giggled fondly, pride in her voice, but Charlotte’s heart was in her throat. Had what she said somehow guilted Lola into dating her cousin? That could only end badly for both of them, oh fuck -

Except when she bursts into Leo’s at eleven, after most of the breakfast diners had vacated, and the lunch rush was still about half an hour away, Lola was standing behind the counter... with Peach? Teaching her how to fold silverware in napkins correctly?

“Do you know... do know that thing where you fold it into a swan?” Peach asks, giggling, right as one of the other kind-faced staff members approaches Charlotte and asks her how many people she’d like a table for. Lola instinctually looks to the door, and Peach catches on a moment later, and suddenly both girls behind the counter are frowning in Charlotte’s direction. Lola mutters something to Peach that’s too quiet for Charlotte to hear, and the younger redhead immediately takes the silverware they’ve already wrapped, going around and dispensing it amongst each table’s silverware holder. Peach is in uniform.

“I just...” Charlotte’s voice is soft, while her gaze is locked with Lola’s, brushing past the host who’d greeted her, “I need to talk to Lola.” The host looks over his shoulder at Lola, who looks his way for the barest moment and gives half a shrug. The kid backs off, looking past Charlotte to the street outside to see if anyone else was coming in after her, and upon seeing no-one, he heads back to the counter.

“Hey Peach,” Charlotte says as the redhead slides past her to get to another table. Peach doesn’t even look at her when she gives a flat greeting in response.

“How can I help you?” Lola’s painfully sweet customer-service voice hurts more than any sarcastic remark she could have come up with, and it’s eating Charlotte alive to know what Tommy told her, what Lola thinks Charlotte thinks of her to make her act so hostile. The way she’s smiling so widely coupled with her dead-eyed stare is unnerving.

“Keola!” It comes as a shock when a firm voice comes from the kitchen, and Lola practically jumps from her skin. Looking to the source, Charlotte sees the face of the man she’s only ever seen the back of in the kitchen, taller than anyone else in the restaurant, and he looks like Lola.

“What?” Lola hisses, surprising Charlotte, and the man looks to Charlotte, giving her a warm, friendly smile, before he answers.

“If you need to talk to,” and the man pauses, tipping his head a little as he looks to Charlotte, “Charlie?” And Charlotte, kind of confused and nervous as to how he knows her name, nods in confirmation, “you can take your break, okay? Water, fresh air, outside -” and without waiting for a confirmation, he calls the kid who had greeted Charlotte to come and take Lola’s place at the counter, as Lola begrudgingly grabs a bottle of water from beneath the counter, and storms out from behind the counter, past Charlotte to the door.

Charlotte, a little terrified, looks to the man, who gives another bright smile.

“Sorry we haven’t properly met, I’m Leo, glad to finally meet you, Charlie,” and immediately everything makes total and complete sense, and Charlotte nervously greets him, and takes off after Lola, who had disappeared down the street.

#nikki sixx #Razzle Dingley #Tommy Lee #mick mars #the dirt #motley crue #nikki sixx x oc #razzle dingley x oc #tommy lee x oc #dirtbags #the dirt imagine #the angry lizard writes

12 notes · View notes

mrs-nate-humphrey · 3 years

Note

This is totally cool, lol! That's why I tagged you, I like different perspectives 🥰 and I adore lesbian Jenny

I've been thinking a lot about Jenny's character and sexuality lately since I'm in the middle of rewatching the show. I totally agree that she's attracted to women and most times she pursues guys it's mainly to increase social status and not because of genuine interest. Nate always felt different to me, though. Like, the two times she really pursues him is in season 2, when she's being homeschooled and trying to make it as a designer, and the end of season 3, which is after the whole Damien drama and she's just looking for someone who cares about her and respects her (I know you said once that it doesn't even feel romantic here, which I also agree with, poor girl just needs a connection). I do really see how it can be interrupted as comphet, though. Like she feels like she's supposed to be attracted to Nate because who wouldn't be?

I think the reason why I lean the other way is probably just projection. Jenny's been my favourite GG character since I first watched the show when I was 12, partly because I relate a lot to her, and since I'm bisexual... Add that plus the fact that I totally have had a crush on Nate and of course I'm gonna ship them. I've been relating to Jenny even more this time around cause I dropped out of school this year, so her season 2 arc really hit close to me. So this made my jenate feelings come back tenfold and also made me that much madder at Rufus, lol. I just wanted to go through the screen and shake his shoulders like "There are other paths than the one you want your daughter to have, not everyone has to go through life like society expects you to let your daughter carve out her own unconventional path you fucking idiot!" Luckily my parents have been way more supportive.

Mainly I just see Jenny as bi with a strong lean towards women, but I like to think about lesbian Jenny, too. It wouldn't exactly be the first time I had contradicting headcanons.

I don't know I just think it's really cool that different people can have such different interpretations of the same character. I think that's what's so interesting about fiction, to see how we view things differently depending on how we view and relate to things based on our own experiences. Tumblr can be so focused on hating people who disagree with you, but I like following people with different opinions, it helps me understand people better.

Yeah, I'm glad you tagged me!! back in November, some anons were mean to me about shipping Jenate (me??? who literally does not even - anyway) and ever since then I've been trying extra to ensure that Jenate shippers feel welcome on my blog - you may already know this, because I've brought it up before, but I'm saying it here to let you know that every time you tag me in your Jenate edits I get so happy that you're sharing something you're so passionate about with me!! I'm also a big believer of like........ making the content you want to see (a big part of why I even learnt to gif is because nobody was giffing Dan & Nate, and I was like...... that's the content I need, so if it's not already existing, I'm gonna make it happen!) so regardless of my feelings it's always so cool to see the way you conceptualise JN + their feelings re: each other, and your choice of scenes + lyrics (??? I'm not actually familiar with where you got the words for your edits, they're likely songs I haven't heard, haha) is just so interesting & good!

OH my full Jenny & Nate feelings are a lot more complicated than just comphet on Jenny's part. I feel like..... neither of them was romantically/sexually into each other? and that is kind of the appeal to me? I've always interpreted Nate's interest in Jenny during the s2 arc as sort of like - everything in his life is so unstable and undetermined, and here is Jenny who is so clear on who she is and what she wants, and he admires and respects that, and he wants to be there for her and support her, so when she kisses him he just sort of lets her take their dynamic wherever she wants to? that is very much the vibe I got. You already know how I feel about lesbian Jenny, I mean, you quoted my meta right back at me :'))

but I DO agree with you that Nate is different from the other guys to Jenny. JN have this really specific kind of honesty to them - well, when Jenny wasn't spiralling and trying to get power and acting out, and when the writers actually cared? I still think that NJ had the potential to be a SOLID dynamic but the writers made it sorta unhealthy on the show :(( - but I've spoken abt moments like in seventeen candles and the empire strikes jack before, where they're both able to be emotionally vulnerable around each other in ways we don't see them be with anyone else. I've even compared that to what I like about Derena, whom everyone knows I ship in every possible way, haha. But there's something about characters who trust each other and allow themselves to be honest with each other in ways that they wouldn't otherwise EVER be - especially with characters like Jenny & Nate who have spent so long trying to seem fine and okay even when they're really not.

I honestly really like the idea of queerplatonic Jenate - they're life partners, they're each other's rock, they're each other's person - but it's not romantic OR sexual - and for Nate & Jenny, whose adolescence has involved navigating other people sexualising them so much + not having the best track record with romantic relationships - for them, I feel being qpps gets REALLY interesting, because you get all the perks of a relationship without the romantic/sexual obligations? (obligations isn't the best word, but i don't know what else to use here? LOL) and that's something i love to explore.

I feel like book Jenny was bi! The way she gushed about Nate, whom she canonically had a crush on, and the way she gushed about Serena were EXACTLY the same. Also YES I love multiple headcanons always, it's a lot of fun seeing people explore that!!! I know people who have aroace readings of Jenny, or aro lesbian / ace lesbian readings of her, and I find that really cool, too!

I also definitely get you about relating to Jenny a lot, and feeling that kind of connection. It's similar to how I feel about Dan, and .... explains a lot of my contradicting dair views, actually. A few years ago I had a seriously intense crush on a girl who was... a lot like Blair, in many ways. I spent a ridiculous amount of time writing poetry about her, etc etc, but I never actually acted on it. If she'd fabricated schemes that involved us kissing, though..... I don't know. I don't think I would've denied it if I'd felt like I actually had a chance. I think we just had a case of bad timing, & I like to think in another universe, maybe we were actually together for a bit. I'm glad that your parents are supportive of you and better than Rufus! <3

I think that's what's so interesting about fiction, to see how we view things differently depending on how we view and relate to things based on our own experiences <- THIS exactly! this is a big part of why that "proship" is in my bio. like this is exactly what it means to me and how I conceptualise & understand it!!! Like you, I also like engaging with people who have different understandings and opinions of the characters -> it definitely helps you make new friends you would otherwise not meet by staying in your bubble, & from a fandom point of view, it also helps you develop a more nuanced understanding of a character. Some of the best written Jenny Humphrey I've read was in Jenate fics - and I've had people who don't even ship Blenny tell me they liked the way I wrote Jenny in my post canon blennyfic, so... idk. it's loving Jenny hours - each and every single iteration of Jenny!!!

#long post #edmundapologist #jenate #i would usually like . put a post of this length under a read more #but i don't know where i would insert that here? so this is how it turns out i guess #meta #also adding the #personal #tag. this feels mildly TMI but it's nothing i haven't said before in tags #this is the first time i'm Formally putting it out here though #tumblr user rainathorpe came THIS close to having an irl dair arc... hashtag so much for that #ALSO ! sometimes i tag stuff like that because like -#my blog kind of serves as a record or journal for ME #sometimes i read thru my own posts like 'so true bestie' fghgklhf #which i think is the best way to run a tumblr. be your own audience!#thank you for this ask btw - it's very sweet!! <3

13 notes · View notes

sayonarasanity · 4 years

Text

Reverberation

Chapter III

Link to chapter I and chapter II

Link to AO3

By the time they were in seventh grade, she was obsessed with Shakespeare.

Levi found it out one day towards the dusk when he was watching the sunset on the rooftop. There was a quiet chill in the air, only visible when a breeze swept past him occasionally and his body trembled instinctively. The sky was pastel pink, clouds were shadowy and reflected the soft colour of a day slowly coming to an end. The sun’s last rays enlightened the horizon and Hanji, gasping and sweaty, threw herself next to him, leaning on his shoulder for support.

“Did you bring it?” She asked, extending her hand towards him. She was acting like they were exchanging drugs, and he was the dramatic one of the two. How was that even fair? Without a word Levi put the chocolate milk and the sandwich, he had brought from home in her hand.

She looked at him like she was going to cry. Good acting. “Oh, thank God for Levi Ackerman. I was starving.”

“You should stop wasting your money on books.”

“I am not wasting money, Levi. I am investing it.”

“What did you buy this time?”

She made a gesture with her hand to indicate ‘wait a minute’ as she quickly started to eat her sandwich and drank her milk.

“Slow the fuck down,” he said, feeling a need to warn her when she patted her chest to ease the process of the food going down. Then she drank the milk furiously and squeezed it between her fingers until she sucked the last drop, and the inside of the cartoon packet was as dry as the Sahara Desert.

After that, she sighed, content and happily rubbed her now full stomach. The sandwich was half-eaten though, she rewrapped it with the cling film and put it aside. Then she opened her bag, buried her hands inside, searching. “I found an old book shop today,” she said with a goofy grin on her face. “And bought these babies with the last money I had.” At that, she took out two books, worn, yellow and smelled ancient.

Levi squinted his eyes as he took the books from her hand and read the titles. One was Macbeth and the other was Romeo and Juliet.

“Cliché,” he commented.

“Shakespeare is not cliché, grumpy. He is a classic.”

She was apparently annoyed. It was so easy to work her up through her books. “I thought you had read them already?”

“I did but I read my dad’s copies and he won’t let me keep them on my shelf. So, I bought my own,” she grinned ear to ear.

“Good for you,” he pushed the books on her hands, unimpressed.

“I marked my favourite quotes while I was on my way here,” she tossed and replaced herself next to him. Shoulder to shoulder. “And I have a question for you.”

He didn’t have a chance to say no. “Shoot.”

“Are you a Macbeth like sky lover or a Juliet like sky lover?”

His face crumpled in confusion, and he blinked his eyes at her. Hanji was looking at him expectantly. She was actually waiting for an answer. Oh boy. He hadn’t understood shit. “Hanji you know I don’t understand your nerd shit without having you explain it to me.”

“Oh,” she said, extending the h. “Right, sorry. My bad. What I mean is…” She opened Macbeth, and searched the pages until she found the one she was looking for. “For example, in Act I Scene IV, Macbeth says, “Stars, hide your fires! / Let not light see my black and deep desires,” and,” she dropped it to open the other book. “In Act III Scene II, Juliet says “Take him and cut him out in little stars, / And he will make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with the night/”

She turned her gaze again on him afterwards, adjusting her glasses. “So?”

“Hanji, what the hell are you trying to do?”

She rolled her eyes and closed the book. “Levi, I am just saying that obviously these two quotes,” she quoted the air while saying, “although out of context, are more or less about the sky so pick one.”

“But they don’t even make sense!” he objected.

“They don’t have to. It’s literature. If you take the lines of the context, you can use them however you like.”

“For example?” Levi pressed, still waiting for a reasonable enough explanation.

Hanji, like the nerd that she was, started to explain, “Macbeth is about revenge, ambition and remorse, at least superficially, and Romeo and Juliet is about love, old-grudges and misunderstandings, again superficially. But if you take the lines out of those concepts…” she shrugged.

“I can use them however I like?” Levi said, trying to come to her point.

“Exactly.”

“Like I don’t have any “black and dark desires”, but I can choose Macbeth?”

Hanji nodded.

“Because he talked about stars?”

She nodded again.

“But what do they have to do with loving the sky?” Levi asked, having been unable to make the connection.

Hanji paused, her eyes moved upwards to the sky, considering his question. She hummed thoughtfully. “Well, nothing.” Then her gaze turned back at him. “But don’t look for logic, Levi. Just pick one.”

“I said Macbeth already. Leave me alone.”

“Uh, you said that seriously?” She tapped her chin. “Why him though?”

“No specific reason.” Levi looked away to the town, observed the intermittent, weak lights of the houses underneath. “Juliet sounded way too sappy.”

Hanji snorted, and about a minute later she went on, “Literature doesn’t always make sense,” she said. “It’s like eating cotton candy. I mean, do you think it makes sense?”

Levi raised a brow at her. “Yes?”

“But—” Hanji made a stupid hand gesture. “It melts the second it touches your tongue. It doesn’t make sense. But you enjoy eating it because it melts the second it touches your tongue.”

Levi blinked hollowly. “I am not following.”

“Wait,” she said, excitedly. “I’ll show you.”

Then she thrust one of the books into his hands, shuffled the pages and pointed with her finger to the lines she had clearly underlined with a pencil. “Read it aloud.”

Levi was feeling like he had given up on whatever will power he had as he observed the lines. He could feel Hanji’s curious, and expectant gaze burning the side of his face. There was no escape from this.

He cleared his throat before starting. “Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.”

When he finished, he realized the goosebumps that crept upon his skin, the way the words flew out of his mouth as if they were notes from an old, forgotten ballad, and the way they melted on his tongue, slowly but deliciously like pink cotton candy—

“Damn,” he breathed.

“Right?” Hanji exclaimed excitedly.

“I don’t know what the hell he is talking about,” he said honestly. Just like how he didn’t necessarily like cotton candy because it was too sweet yet, the pleasure while eating it every now and then was undeniable. “But like—”

“It tastes good.”

“Yeah,” he stared at her.

Hanji laughed, cheerfully. Levi felt a slight twitch in his mouth as he watched her. “Do you have more?”

“Of course I do.” She then showed him a snippet from Romeo and Juliet. Levi took the book in his hands and read it aloud.

“My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me,

That I must love a loathed enemy.”

The chance to make a reference was too good and too obvious to ignore so Levi whistled, looking at the pages. “That’s rough body.”

Hanji burst into laughter.

Afterwards, they watched the way the clouds move slowly blocking and revealing the moon, hiding the stars behind, and giving the night an almost otherworldly view. Hanji kept talking, of course, whenever something came to her mind. Levi never quite understood half the things she had told him, but he always paid attention. Because watching her like this was like watching the flowing of a cascade. It was endless and it was loud and for that it was fascinating, and it was addicting.

And he couldn’t look away.

“Levi,” she said when the air started to become colder, and he was about to tell her that they should go back now. “I want to be a rocket scientist.”

“Huh?”

“I want to help people explore the universe,” she went on. She didn’t look at her confused expression, instead, she watched the stars with the slightest of smiles on her face. “I want to build rockets and I want to learn more about everything out there.”

She held up her hand, closed one of her eyes and looked at the sky through the holes between her fingers. “And I want you to be with me.”

Levi thought about cascades again and remembered a class in the school in which they learned how they created a pothole on the ground it fell. It was mere water, he had thought then, but it was strong enough to bore through the hard rocks. And Hanji was only a thirteen-year-old girl with a dream bigger than even the two of them, but she was a cascade, and as he watched her face which carried no doubt or insecurity, he believed at that moment that she could do whatever she ever wanted.

“I don’t think I can be a rocket scientist,” he said. Even the term itself sounded so weird in his ears when he tried to picture it on himself.

“You can be an engineer,” Hanji said, presenting another option. “You are smart enough to be. And then we can work together. Don’t you think it would be nice? Exploring the universe and other worlds behind the walls of the Earth? I mean we can even go to the same university. If you’d like to, of course.”

They were only thirteen. And those dreams seemed too big, too far away, and so out of reach and quite insolent for their age. But Hanji’s eyes were full of hope like she had no doubt about each of them achieving those seemingly distant dreams. And Levi wished he could be as hopeful as her and believe that they could go to the same university, then work together and explore the mysteries of the universe and maybe even more. Yet at the moment no matter how he tried, they still seemed so strange and so unlikely. Future was the furthest point of the ocean, a mirage in a desert, and they were merely kids with nothing but unformed, tender dreams in their hands.

How daring, he thought.

But then again, before he met Hanji, he had also thought that the sky was unapproachable, and the stars were just a view he enjoyed watching from time to time. Now, he touched them in an attic, underneath a makeshift sky and with a girl who had stardust in her eyes.

“Okay,” he said.

She smiled so big, she almost outran the sun. “Okay,” she repeated. “We have a dream then.”

“Good morning, Mrs Zoe.”

Hanji’s mother was a nice and kind woman with a height slightly over the middle, brown hair tied up neatly, and a pair of gentle brown eyes which were radiating warmth as they looked at him. She was dressed in clean and fresh attire and smelled like daisies. Levi would never understand how a girl, untidy, messy and dirty, like Hanji came out of this civilized woman.

“Good morning, Levi,” she smiled. “Come on in.”

Levi stepped inside and removed his shoes, then his jacket. “Is she—”

“She is in her room,” Mrs Zoe sighed, shaking her head. “She is being overly dramatic about it, boy. Be careful.”

Levi snorted. He had expected nothing less. “Sure.”

Hanji’s room was upstairs, and Levi prepared himself for a war scene as he knocked and opened the door. He was right of fucking course. Books, clothes, empty water bottles, and old, stuffed toys were covering the ground. Levi wrinkled his face in disgust and put the bag in his hand aside next to the dresser. Then set in to tidy up the room; folded the clothes, piled the books on her library and shelves, threw away the empty bottles and some eaten chocolate packages. Then he opened the curtains and left the window ajar for some fresh air to fill inside the room.

The figure buried under the blankets in her bed groaned and tossed. Levi watched as the bed creaked under her movements, and a puddle of messy brown hair showed itself on the head of the bed, setting free from the blockade of the blanket. He walked closer, reached down and pulled the blanket off.

She yelped, eyes wide in shock, and her body stayed frigid on her bed. “What the hell, Levi?”

“Language,” he warned, smiling slyly. She frowned and attempted to take the blanket back, but Levi had already lied it over her again. It only covered her from the belly down this time rather than her whole body like a damn shroud.

Then he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Heard you were sick.”

Just then she sneezed and cleaned her nose with a tissue that was already in her hands. Then she groaned. “I’m dying.”

Levi rolled his eyes. Dramatic indeed. “Do you have a fever?”

“No,” she sniffed. “I am not sick actually. It is an allergy, because of the weather.” She coughed and sneezed again. “And by the everything holy out there, it’s killing me.”

It was early Spring, so it made sense. “I don’t think a spring allergy will kill you, four-eyes.”

“Actually, some allergies are deadly,” she cleaned her nose again.

“But not this one.”

“Yeah, not this one I guess.” She stared at the ceiling, her eyes were watery, nose red and somewhat wounded, her oval-shaped glasses were slightly inclined, her hair was dishevelled, and her mouth was dry.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He got up from where he was sitting and took the bag he had left by the dresser. When he sat back down again, he handed her over two packets of chocolate milk. “Here you go, drama queen.”

She blinked at the items at first, until her vision became clear and when she found out what they were, finally a smile so big bloomed on her face that Levi felt relaxed. “Hero,” she uttered before she snatched the milk off from his hand and immediately opened one of them to drink with utmost appetite.

They leaned their backs to the head of the bed as Hanji drank empty both of the chocolate milk. After that, she slipped down a little and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Levi,” she said, lazily and sniffed. “Quick wordplay.”

“Go.”

“Virginia Woolf?”

It was a stupid game they had played one day when they got so bored, they had started to dangle head down from Levi’s bed. Basically, they were trying to make fun of artists’ names in general. Trying to get as creative as possible. And failing a lot. “A she-wolf?”

“That’s sexist, Levi.”

“How is that sexist?”

“I don’t know it sounded sexist,” she sneezed and cleared her nose, groaning miserably. “Okay, Shakespeare?”

He considered for a moment, eyes up to the ceiling. “A man who enjoys shaking pears?” The words almost made him flinch. So much for being creative.

“Levi,” she chuckled first, then started to giggle. “That was disgusting. Oh my God, you’re so bad at this.”

Levi scowled while Hanji’s laughter got out of control. At some point, her coughs joined the symphony but that didn’t stop her from laughing her heart out. She leaned into him more, almost making him fall from the bed. Fortunately, he balanced himself at the last minute with the help of the bedside table.

“Oi!”

“What is she laughing at?” Hanji’s mother asked from the door, smiling at her still laughing daughter, with confused eyes which held the understanding of a mother who was so used to her daughter’s antics. She was holding a tray in her hands and there were two bowls on top of it which Levi guessed to be soups probably.

“She has lost her mind, finally,” Levi replied, blatantly.

“No!” Hanji exclaimed, suddenly. Then there was a pair of hands grabbing his collar, then her wide, brown eyes were staring at him.

“What?”

“Levi, you know what to say to that!” She shook him. “We’ve rehearsed this before!”

It took him merely two seconds to understand what she was talking about. “No.”

“Please,” she pleaded, even had the audacity to pout. “You have to say it!”

He sighed, looked away, then saw her mother still in the threshold, now appearing to be obviously confused. On the other side, there was Hanji, continuing to look at him with those big, pleading eyes.

“O what a noble mind is here o’erthrown,” he said, with a tone so flat Shakespeare would possibly erase the line from the text if he were to hear it.

“Oh my God, Levi!” Hanji giggled breathlessly. “Your face!” Then she started to laugh drastically again, she even had to lay down on her side, her body shaking with the intensity of her laughter. Hanji’s mother on the other hand merely sighed and left the tray on top of the bedside table. There was also a pill on it, Levi realized. “Make sure she drinks it okay?” she told Levi.

He nodded in response and she left closing the door behind her.

Levi had to almost force the spoon down her throat for the soup to reach her stomach. She whined and tried to dodge from him like a four-year-old. Levi didn’t let her though until the bowl was empty. Then he drank his own.

“You’re gonna be a terrible father,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

“Use a goddamn tissue, you uncivilized moron.”

“That’s none of your business.” She slipped down to lay on her bed after she drank the pill and pulled the blanket to her face.

“My job here is done, I guess,” Levi murmured and stood up, putting the bowl on the tray.

“You’re leaving?” Hanji watched him through the space left from the blanket which was covering half of her face.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “You get some rest.”

“But I’ve been resting the whole day, Levi. I am bored.”

“What do you want me to do?” He raised a brow.

“Stay?” She asked, blinking her eyes innocently.

When Levi didn’t directly object her, she moved a little to create space for him, then opened the blanket and looked at Levi expectantly, and with a sheepish smile on her lips.

Why can’t I say no to her? Levi mused and scowled at himself inside as he lay down on the bed. Her smile remained in its place as she pulled the blanket over their heads, and they laid face to face in the dark, the only sound was their even and quiet breaths. This close he could smell her shampoo and the odour which only belonged to her, a mix of ancient books, ink and something soft like vanilla-scented candles.

“You smell very nice,” she whispered.

Levi was taken aback at the fact that they had been seemingly thinking the same thing. “I smell clean. Nothing you are used to.”

She snickered and sniffed. “So cruel, Levi.”

And he smiled only because she couldn’t see.

There was a marble pool near her school. It was round, bygone and had a small amount of water in it. In the water there were tokens of different sizes, some were new some were old enough to become rusty. Hanji enjoyed walking past and stopped by that pool every now and then. If she were lucky enough, she could find thirsty birds or sometimes protrude eyed green frogs. Today was one of those lucky days.

“Hello, little bud,” she smiled at the frog, reaching out with her index finger to touch its wet, and sleek skin. The frog croaked and responded to her stare with its big, rounded black eyes. “Would you like to come with me?”

She smirked when she imagined Levi’s disgusted, and horrified face if he were to see it. The frog croaked again, and as if it had understood what was going to happen to it if it agreed to come with her, it turned its speckled back to Hanji and jumped into the pool.

Hanji sighed wearily. “Alright.”

“What’s that weirdo doin’?” A voice belonged to a boy near her age spoke and Hanji froze where she had kneeled. She folded her fist and waited quietly for them to just walk away.

“Her weirdo shit,” his friend answered. What a sharp mind for his age! “Maybe she hopes if she kisses a frog it will turn into a Prince Charming and fall in love with her.” The three boys came walking behind her, two of them roaring with laughter while one of them made disgusting kissing sounds.

“I don’t think even a frog would fall in love with her,” Jack, the one who had talked first said and their laughter doubled up.

Hanji had recognized them, how could she not, they were unfortunately classmates. They had been messing with her since the first day they had started middle school. She had been ignoring them quite successfully since then. It was going to be almost three years and she was going to graduate anyway. She only needed to bear it for a little while longer.

Hanji slowly rose. She was going to meet Levi and she was already running late. Levi wasn’t a fan of waiting for her and each time she somehow managed to be late to their meetings. It wasn’t her fault that nature held so many things ready to be discovered by her. And Levi always chided her for being tardy, but Hanji knew he was never actually angry at her. Just slightly annoyed, but that was his nature.

She must’ve been incredibly tense because after thinking about him she felt her body relaxing. Even her jaw which was tightly shut eased, and she breathed then shook her head. No need to be so stressed over a bunch of good-for-nothings, Hanji.

She was about to be fully stood up when another body crashed against her and she stumbled forward. Her eyes widened, her world lost focus as she blinked her eyes and tried to understand the reason why she was seeing the things which were merely an inch away from her blurry. It didn’t take her much to understand. Her glasses were absent.

“Ups, sorry. Didn’t see you there.” The boy who crashed against her said. Was it Jack or one of the others she didn’t know. She was busy looking for her glasses on the ground. Calm down, calm down, she repeated inside. If you panic now, you’ll give them what they want.

“Watch out, Sammy, you’ll break her glasses.”

Sammy, so it was Sam. Then the third was probably Daniel. Didn’t matter. She had to find her glasses. Right now. Or else she couldn’t go to the roof; she couldn’t meet Levi. Everything was so damn blurry. Where the hell were her glasses?

“What an ugly pair of things,” Jack said. He walked in front of her and pushed something with the toe of his shoe. That thing shone when it moved, a short moment of reflecting the light of the sun but Hanji had understood what it was.

Calm down, calm down, Hanji, she remembered herself over and over again. Don’t panic.

“Move,” she said to the boy finally raising her eyes to meet his stare. There was a smug look on his pale face. His hands in his pockets.

“She can talk!” He exclaimed, laughing.

“Move away, Jack,” she repeated. “I don’t have time for this.”

“For what?” He asked lazily. “You should be thankful that we are talking to you. I am sure you haven’t communicated with an opposite-sex all your life.”

That one was easy to let slide. The fact that her best friend was the so-called opposite sex was none of their business anyway. Thus, she stepped forward, ignoring his words. She didn’t want to kneel down to take her glasses. He had to move.

Yet, he didn’t. Instead, he stood where he was, his stare, cocky and priggish never leaving her eyes. As if he was challenging her to do something to him. What can you do? It was saying. You are a slim, feeble girl. You are nothing.

A weirdo.

Another step forward.

Loser. Lunatic.

Hanji put her hand on his shoulder to push him back at the same time Jack took a step towards her. She hadn’t put much pressure to keep him in his place for she was only aiming at pushing him slightly back. So, when he moved, the hand on his shoulder was useless to stop him. Hence something cracked under his foot and Hanji froze.

“Oh, damn,” Jack said, faking a regretful voice looking down at what he had done. “I broke her dear glasses. How reckless of me!” He and the other two laughed together while Hanji stared at the broken piece of glass on the ground unable to move her body.

“But don’t worry. It was so ugly anyway.”

Calm down, calm down, the voice inside of her head proceeded to repeat in her head as if it were afraid of her losing control. Take deep breaths, let it go. You’re going to get rid of them in—

“Yeah, just like its owner.”

It was nothing she wasn’t used to. Ugly, dirty, messy. Are you sure she is a girl? She never even wears skirts. Maybe it is a guy under disguise. It happens in movies. Hahaha, maybe we’ll catch her in the boys’ restroom someday!

She was used to it and she always ignored them. Always let it past. They were just a bunch of teenage boys, silly and ignorant. And despite everything, she had been fully aware of the fact that she was much much smarter than them all. Coming from the same country, going through the same education but not each apple on a tree was fresh. Some were rotten and some were green. And there was already a boy in her life who was the direct opposite of everyone she had ever met. A boy who watched the stars with her, a boy who smelled like leaves, soap and the wind and a boy who memorized lines from an old, English poet not because he was so fond of them but because he knew that she was.

The boy who was waiting for her now, and she was getting late.

It was that thought that single reality that had finally moved her body. The voice inside of her head silenced, and for once in her life, she let the wheels in her brain stand motionless. Her hand reached forward and grab the collar of the boy and with power mostly coming from her anger she turned and held the boy just above the pool and supported herself by putting her foot on the marble edge of it. Jack who had been caught off guard for he hadn’t been waiting for a launch from Hanji could do nothing but gasp in shock.

“What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?” he yelled and grabbed her hand which was gripping the collar of his t-shirt.

“Let Jack go, you goddamn weirdo!” One of the other boys exclaimed.

“Don’t come close!” Hanji warned. “Or I’ll let him fall. I am sure it won’t be a soft fall, don’t you think, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes flared up with rage and vague fear. He took sharp breaths, as he tried to balance himself only with his folded legs. “Don’t come close,” he warned his friends without breaking eye contact with Hanji. “You’re going to pay for this.”

Hanji almost snorted at his words. For God’s sake, who was he? A mafia boss in the disguise of a teenage boy? She smirked, whatever. “I’ll be waiting.”

Then she pushed him slightly backwards, causing him to yelp in panic and held her hand tighter. Her smile widened to the extent of becoming almost wicked. “Having fun?”

“You’re crazy,” he said, between thick, fast breaths.

“Maybe,” Hanji whispered.

Jack was only a slim, teenage boy with no muscle or fat whatsoever in his system, so he wasn’t that heavy to hold. But even though her anger was feeding her at the moment, her arm had started to shiver, because she didn’t necessarily use her arm muscles for anything that required physical strength and she didn’t want him to realize it. Hence, she pulled Jack upwards, turned him around and threw his body to the ground. He hissed as he landed on the hard, stone ground. Sam and Daniel quickly reached and kneeled on either side of him, helping him get up.

Her side was blurry, and it was coming back as nausea. She was still angry, her body was trembling with the force of it, her fingertips were numb. But they were three and she was one. If they decided to attack her altogether, she held a very little chance against them. Especially now that her vision was the least clear, she was at a disadvantage. The wisest thing to do was to run away now that their attention was not focused on her. And she readied herself to do so, a foot behind the other, her hands gripping the handles of her bag on her shoulder, she checked the direction she was going to follow, and she prepared to run—

And then, she couldn’t.

A hand grabbed her collar tightly, tight enough to almost choke her. She glanced before her in shock, with her eyes as wide as a pair of big, round rocks and saw Sam.

“You little bitch,” he whispered, drawing her close by the collar. His eyes were black as coal, burning with fever. “You think you can run just like that after what you’ve done?”

Oh, well, she thought woefully. That was bad.

“I have done nothing,” she said, blinking her eyes in ignorance.

Deep breaths, the voice talked again, keep your heart steady.

He clenched his teeth, his jaw moved in a way that almost made her laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No,” she said, calmly and smiled nervously. “But maybe you should—”

“Get,” a voice, so dark and smelled like ice, said. A voice so familiar, like the backs of the books on her library. “Your hands-off.”

If she was surprised before, now she was startled. Because it was Levi, in all his Darkling glory, standing right beside them, and with an aura as black as the shadow of death. He was glaring at the boy who was holding her collar. When had he come so close? She had never noticed. And also, why had he come anyway? He was supposed to wait for her—

“Who the hell are you?” Sam asked, frowning.

“You’re going to find out if you don’t take your fucking hands off of her.”

Surprisingly, Sam did let go of her, but he didn’t seem the least frightened by Levi as he turned to face him.

“Levi,” she started, but he didn’t separate his gaze from Sam. “Levi, it’s okay. Let’s go.”

“Don’t tell me,” Sam laughed, deridingly. “Are you her boyfriend?”

Hanji winced at the word in shock, but Levi was tranquil like the sky right before a catastrophe.

“What if I am?”

Sam whistled and glanced at Hanji from the corner of his eye. “Nothing, I guess.” He snorted. “Just surprised to see this weirdo having a boyfriend—”

It was a bad day for collars in general it seemed, when Levi grabbed Sam’s furiously, pulling his face close and a little down to him.

“Call her weirdo again,” he said in a low voice. “Or lay your hands on her and I will show you then who I really am.”

Hanji was impressed, to say the least. She felt like she was stuck in the middle of a low-budget film adopted from a best-selling but dabster romance-action novel. It was strangely exciting though but also becoming slightly dangerous too.

“Levi,” she tried again. She didn’t want him to get into any trouble because of her. She caught the arm of his jacket. “Drop it. Let’s go.”

“Where the hell you think you’re goin',” Jack came near them, his face twisted in a wicked way. “You little slut—”

The term that “everything happened so fast” mostly used in novels, was quite accurate as Hanji herself found it out first-hand when Levi’s fist landed the side of Jack’s face so fast, she only had time for a quick inhale.

“Son of a bitch,” he snarled, voice full of such hatred it was almost like it belonged to somebody else.

After overcoming the first wave of shock, Jack straightened up, his teeth greeted and eyes aglow with anger, and wasted no time in punching Levi right back on his cheekbone. Levi’s body stumbled to the side; his hair black like the midnight ocean winnowing with the force of the blow.

Then all hell broke loose.

“Levi!” she yelled and rushed forward. A yellow light, luminous like a streak of lightning flashed before her eyes, and within a moment the blood in her veins consisted more of raw fury than of platelets. However, she couldn’t make it that far for she was held back by a pair of hands on her arms. “Let go!” she screamed, struggling to free herself of those hands.

“You stay here, while Jack takes care of your boyfriend.” Hanji heard Sam’s sly voice behind her, and she grunted in frustration, still floundering to get rid of his iron hold. The word felt too weird and for some reason wrong because Levi wasn’t her boyfriend. He was more than that. He was her best friend.

Her best friend, being beaten because of his best friend. “Let him go, Jack. You ignorant bastard!” She exclaimed, feeling guilty and incredibly useless.

The two boys continued striking each other with punches and kicks. Gruff voices, and painful whines which Hanji couldn’t always decipher to whom they belonged filled her ears. She couldn’t even get a clear view of the two as they stumbled away from her, and because of her murky vision, she didn’t even know if the little, red spots on the ground were actually droplets of blood. And it terrified her to even think about whose blood they might be.

“Levi!” She screamed then grunted and kicked Sam’s leg and stepped on his foot while at the same time struggling to get rid of his hold. Sam hissed, and swore but didn’t let her go. Unlike Jack, he was taller and a little muscular in his arms. And she had nausea, also there was a stable pound right on her temple like a vein there decided to take the role of her heart.

One of the two boys spitted and Hanji saw, albeit quite blurrily, that the colour of the spit was red.

“Oi, oi, oi oi!”

An older, and rougher voice joined the chaos, and it sounded familiar, too familiar even, but Hanji couldn’t focus enough to think about who it belonged to. She realized Sam going solid behind her though, and someone shouted, “Kenny! Fuck, it’s Kenny the Ripper, Jack!” It was Daniel, Hanji found out when she looked around squinting. Kenny the Ripper? The hell was that?

“Shit,” Sam swore and released her arms. “Jack, come on! We need to go!”

Jack must have taken their warnings seriously for within seconds, she heard someone else, probably Jack, saying, “Fuck!” and the sound of three footsteps quickly running away. Levi, on the other hand, she knew because he was the only one left now, let out a hostile, muffled growl and took two quick steps forward, “Where the fuck are you running, you goddamn cowards?”

However, he couldn’t make it further away, for Hanji who dizzily stumbled to where he was, stopped him with her hands on his shoulders. “Let them go,” she said. “That’s enough.”

Levi was close, close so close for her to hear his sharp, quick breaths, and their cold touch on her cheeks, and feel the way his shoulders and chest moving up and down under her hands, his scent; fresh leaves, soap, sweat and blood—

And the bruises on his face.

“Levi!” She gasped, and without thinking, she took his face in between her hands. “Levi, your face…”

There was blood on his lower lip and his nose, his right cheekbone was already taking the colour of a mix of purple, red, and blue another bruise was forming on his chin. There was also a little cut on his forehead, bleeding ever so slightly, but it was there. And it was there because of her.

Guilt punched her in the gut much harder than an actual, real punch would and it hurt a thousand times more than a simple blow of a fist would cause. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembled vaguely, and her eyes burned like ashes were splashed over them. “I am so sorry, Levi. My fault, it was my fault. I started it—”

“How the hell those brats knew about that ancient nickname,” Kenny muttered, coming to stand beside them. When Hanji looked up, she saw him face shadowed, and brows knitted. He seemed to be somewhat, just a little bit, terrifying. “Oi,” he said, coldly, staring down at both of them. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Levi said, severely and pushed her hands away. He turned his bruised face to the other side, hiding his gaze and the expression that was placed in them from her.

“Your face says the opposite,” Kenny said, squinting and turned his gaze to Hanji. “Care to explain?”

“I—” she forced out, but she didn’t even know where to start.

“We can talk at home, Kenny.” Levi walked past them, without sparing a look at either Kenny or Hanji. “Leave her alone.”

He was mad, and he was right to be. Confirming it only made her feel even more shitty, and she bit her lip as to set a barricade to prevent herself from weeping like a baby just where she stood. She bent her head down when she started to walk behind him, both because of the guilt that weighed down on her and because looking ahead made her even dizzier and increased her headache along with her nausea.

Kenny sighed but kept quiet as he too joined them. The three walked in silence, Hanji kept on chewing her lower lip as she traced the lines of her shoes and the cracks, holes on the pavement. A hurricane roared; a whirlwind grabbed the submerged emotions and relentless thoughts inside of her and twirled them wildly. The harder she fought the easier she lost against them. Conscience was a prison one had to visit from time to time. And currently, she was stuck within, the key was missing, and the guard was cold-blooded and unsparing.

A hand, steady and warm grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the side. Hanji looked up in surprise to see she was about to crash against a lamppost had Levi not drawn her aside.

“Careful,” he said.

And it was his voice, low, smooth and gentle, and his hand which still held her not too tight but not too light either, or the way he moved his thumb on her shoulder, soothing, caring. It was all of them combined that in the end made her tear up.

She turned her blurry gaze to his face, he was staring ahead, his eyes were shining blue with the last rays of the sun and the blood on his lip and nose was almost dry now. She separated her lips to say thank you or I’m sorry, again, I’m so sorry.

It was all my fault.

But the words died on her tongue, they never received a voice to come out alive, and he didn’t look back at her eyes. Instead, he squeezed her shoulder slightly as if to say, it’s okay.

She wasn’t necessarily convinced but for now, she chose to believe in him.

They were sitting in the living room of Levi’s house. Kenny was placed on a chair across from them, arms folded on his chest. She and Levi sat side by side on the couch. She was playing with her hands anxiously, her lip started to hurt from constantly chewing. Thankfully, her headache and nausea were better now.

They had arrived here about twenty minutes ago. Hanji couldn’t erase the look on Kuchel’s face when she saw Levi, blood and bruises all over his face, from her mind. Her face had turned white as the paint on the ceiling, making the guilt boil hotter and burn severely inside.

There was no escape now. Kuchel deserved to learn what had happened to her son. So, Hanji told them while she treated the wounds on her son’s face, albeit reluctantly and when she was finished the room was silent for a while.

Levi hissed as Kuchel cleaned the cleft on his lip. “Don’t tsk at me, boy,” Kuchel scolded him and attached a band-aid just under his lip. “You brought this upon yourself.”

“He didn’t,” Hanji objected. “Please don’t be mad at him, Kuchel. It was all my fault. I—”

“Shut up,” Levi snarled, suddenly.

“What?” Hanji asked, blinking.

“I said shut up!” Levi raised his voice, and when he looked at her at last, she saw the flames of his emotions rising up, up and up in his eyes.

“Levi,” Kuchel interrupted. “Calm down.”

Levi acted like she had never talked. “None of this was your fault!”

“But I started it,” Hanji attempted to say yet, he was too angry to listen.

“You didn’t start anything, Hanji! You protected yourself. You don’t walk around bullying people. You did what you did because they made you to.”

“But—”

“Stop blaming yourself for things you weren’t responsible for!”

He was breathing heavily, eyes wide and bright. Hanji was quite taken aback, lips parted slightly in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to yell at her like that. From his earlier reaction, she had thought that he was angry at her because she was the reason for what had happened to him. But now she saw, with a startling realization, that that wasn’t the reason at all.

“They deserved what happened to them,” he went on, then looked away. “I would do the same for ten times more if necessary.”

Words rolled left and right on her tongue, her voice lingered on her throat, sentences shaped before her eyes but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t let a sound out of her mouth. Levi was like a river, she thought then as she watched the tempest in his eyes, with canals and meanders, sometimes he was as tranquil as the leaves on summer trees and sometimes he was wild enough to overflow over the edges.

“We are going to talk about it later, young man,” Kuchel said, looking straight at Levi.

“What?” Levi asked, sharply.

“You can’t go around picking up a fight with strangers.”

“But they deserved it,” Levi pressed, jaw tightening stubbornly.

“I can understand the reason why you think that they did,” Kuchel went on with a softer voice. “But violence is not the answer. You know that.”

Levi turned his face away, his jaw moved as he pressed his lips together, and he folded his arms. “Whatever.”

“You should be thankful to that old lady who saw you getting your ass beaten,” Kenny told him, leaning back on his chair. As it turned out the reason why Kenny had found them was an old lady who had recognized Levi and informed Kenny about the situation. Hanji genuinely wanted to find and kiss her hands for being the nicest person alive.

“I learned from the best,” Levi snapped.

Kenny squinted and looked at Kuchel. “Permission to beat your brat as punishment?”

“Declined,” Kuchel said, rolling her eyes.

Levi smirked, and Kenny clicked his tongue, clearly irritated.

“Hanji,” Kuchel turned her attention to her, kneeling in front of Hanji and she pushed a stray hair behind her ear. “I need to talk to your parents about this, honey, okay? They need to know. This is serious.” She held her hand and squeezed lightly. “You don’t have to face this alone, alright?” Kuchel smiled.

Hanji bit her lower lip again when tears started sinking behind her eyes. She couldn’t find the strength to say anything, so she merely nodded in response.

“Don’t worry,” Kenny said then, crackling his fingers. “If a verbal warning doesn’t work, I can always teach them a more permanent lesson.”

“Kenny, they are only children. Don’t be ridiculous,” Kuchel rolled her eyes and shook her head. “And it will work. We will make sure of it.” She raised her brows. “Right?”

“Yes,” she managed to whisper at last. “Thank you.”

Oh, no. She was near the edge of crying, only needed one more push and then she would fall and get drown in her own, salty tears. For some reason, she didn’t want to cry in front of Kuchel. There was nothing wrong with crying, she knew that, but still…

Then, a hand, the same one from earlier, grabbed her own and pulled her up. Hanji let him, despite the unexpected movement, and as Levi guided her out of the room, she merely followed without saying a word.

“I am gonna take her home,” he informed Kuchel and Kenny shortly before they exited the room.

The air was somewhat chilly outside, and the light of day was long lost but neither Levi nor Hanji were quite aware of it. Levi didn’t let go of her hand as he kept on pulling her, his steps were fast and determined, hand firm and warm around her fingers. She followed for a handful of seconds, trying to match his steps. She couldn’t get a clear view of the road, nor could she make out the lines of his figure from behind quite clearly. It took her several minutes before she pulled at his hand to make him listen, “Levi,” she called. “Levi, I don’t want to go home.”

He didn’t look back, he didn’t slow down, he didn’t even wait for her to reach him. “I know,” he said merely.

With those two simple words, the final push came at last, and tears let loose without a warning. She sobbed and covered her eyes with the inside of her elbow, tears wetted her thin raincoat. And Levi squeezed her fingers as if to say, it’s okay, and this time she really, truly believed that it was.

“Wait here for a second,” Levi stopped them minutes later. She didn’t know where they were. Now that it was darker, there were artificial, neon lights everywhere and they made her head throb. “Okay?”

She nodded and sniffed. Her face was wet with tears and very embarrassingly snot, however, she had no tissue with her or anything to clean her face with.

Levi sighed and stepped closer. Hanji wondered why he was still there while he had just told her to wait. Then he lifted his left hand, and she saw that he had pulled his t-shirt over his palm. His right hand held her shoulder and as Hanji blinked her eyes confused, he brought his hand over her face then cleaned each wet spot with his t-shirt.

She gawked at him in shock. “Levi!”

“Don’t.” He folded the fabric up after he was finished. “I don’t want to hear anything about this. Ever. Understood?”

She was still in awe; the great clean freak Levi Ackerman had just cleaned the snot in her face with his cloth! “You—”

“Understood, Hanji?”

It took much too effort to close her jaw, and say, “Yeah.”

“Good.”

Then he walked away, leaving Hanji astonished and very much impressed. She felt her heart fluttering a little, and her lips curled upwards. “Softie,” she whispered to herself.

When he got back a few minutes later there was a bag in his hand and inside a couple of chocolate milk and her favourite snacks. “You hadn’t eaten anything,” he explained, and when they settled on their road to the roof, she smiled, looking at his side profile. Softie, indeed.

Hanji drank her milk, and they ate together with the snacks he had brought. It eased her headache and appeased her nausea a little bit. She couldn’t look up at the stars though, what a shame.

“We should go to the same high school,” Levi said after they finished eating and were watching the view ahead.

Hanji beamed at him and shoved his shoulder with her own slightly. “Yeah, it would be great.”

She leaned on his shoulder afterwards and enjoyed the breeze, and his warmth she borrowed through the fabrics of their clothes. When minutes started to chase the hours slowly, the night got colder, and clouds started to gather up above. “We should—”

“I don’t want to see you getting hurt again,” he said, suddenly.

Hanji looked at him and saw it again. Levi was a river, high and low, wild and calm, complicated and wide. He flew through rocks, valleys and lands. Just like a river, she thought, he carried his emotions in an endless stream. And once she let herself be carried away with it, there was no way to escape. And it wasn’t like she looked for one in the first place.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, with a voice so low, it was as if she was afraid of hearing the word no.

“Idiot,” he said, and she saw the waters calming down in his eyes, and his voice was tender like the petal of a violet. “You never need to ask.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck tightly, and as he hugged her back, arms tight around her waist she wasn’t quite surprised to realize that her vision was yet again blurry with hot tears. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For being there.”

“I always will be,” he replied without hesitation. And then a heartbeat later he added, “To the last syllable of recorded time.”

A tear escaped her eye, she laughed hoarsely and breathed in. He smelled like leaves, soap and the wind.

He smelled like home.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levihan fic #levi x hanji #levi ackerman #hange zoe #hanji zoe #levihan childhood friends

22 notes · View notes

velianmagicalgirl · 3 years

Text

A Letter to my Favorite Person

So I wrote this thing for Bono... I started working on it last night but I severely underestimated both how much I wanted to write and how long it would take me to write it so I had to finish it up today. So I guess in that I discovered that me and B have something in common. We're both writers and we both turn everything we write into novels because we are incapable of writing anything short. So here it is, I'm putting it under a cut because like I said, it's quite long (3500 words). It's also full of sappiness the likes of which you've never seen before. So just be prepared for that. You've been warned. But otherwise, enjoy :) (and Bono if you read this I'd not know whether to be super happy and amazed or to throw myself out the nearest window...)

Okay, so how do I even start something like this… Believe it or not, I’m not always the best at expressing my emotions or how I feel to other people. It’s not that I don’t know how I feel, I’m pretty good at that, but when it comes to talking about it, that’s where the words just kind of leave me. I guess I just kind of worry that if I truly express what I say, people won’t understand what I mean or something like that. And because of the fact that I tend to experience emotions very strongly, I worry that I might come off as too much to people.

But screw it, a lesson I’m in the middle of learning is that for people you care about, it’s important to communicate with them and tell them how you feel because, well, nobody’s a mind reader.

And well, I just have a lot to say and I want to say it. So here goes (prepare for ultimate sappiness the likes of which you have never seen before. You’ve been warned)

So, to my dearest Bono, the man who has changed my life, I just want to say… thank you? Wow, like you’ve never heard that before, right? But who says hearing “thank you” a lot is a bad thing? Obviously if a lot of people thank you for something, then you’ve done something right, and something right you’ve done indeed.

Obviously I’m sure that on some level you know just how much your music and you yourself have helped people, touched them, made their lives better, etc. I mean, you could see it every night when you got up on that stage in front of all those thousands of people. But those stadiums can only hold a few thousand people at a time and there are so many more people around the world that have been touched by you; your words, your songs, your activism and the fact that you actually go out there and attempt to make a positive impact on the world.

It reminds me of how in Paris in 2015 the entire audience sang the whole first verse of One without you having to do anything. The look on your face said it all about how happy you were, and how amazed you were. Or how, in Berlin in 2018 when you lost your voice during Beautiful Day, I’m sure you were terrified, but you didn’t need to be because the audience picked up the words and sang for you. You told them “thank you” afterwards, like you’re always so surprised at what people would do for you, or how much you inspire others, but you don’t need to be, because just that kind of guy.

I was originally going to write a poem or something, before I decided on writing this because I felt it was easier for me to get out everything I wanted to say like this, but one of the lines I thought of for the poem went a little something like this:

There is a man that has everything But he gives it away like nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it away for nothing There is a man that has everything But he gives it to those who have nothing

I was just thinking about this the other night and it just kind of came to me that “wow, here is a man who has quite literally everything but is also incredibly humble and kind to everyone to the point where nobody that’s met him has ever had a bad thing to say about him,” and I just kind of thought to myself “wow.” I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but I just wanted to point that out. I guess my point is that, you look out in the world and sometimes it’s so easy to get overwhelmed by all the darkness and the terrible things that people sometimes do, that it’s also easy to forget that there are still good people out there that are doing their best to make the world a better place for no other reason than because they want to, and because they think it’s the right thing to do. People like that are pure souls; they are rare but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And you sir, are one of those people. You may not want to be called that but it’s the truth. It kind of reminds me of the Lord of the Rings quote, “there’s still some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for,” and of course, the lyrics to Song for Someone/13 , “if there is a dark, then we shouldn’t doubt that there is a light, don’t let it go out.” Honestly, I think this may be one of the most important lyrics in any of your songs because it is just such a universally important message. Whenever you’re going through a hard time, it’s important to remember that there is a light, that you are not alone, that the darkness can be fought.

But anyway, going back to what I first said, you may have some idea of the amount of people’s lives you changed but do you really know just how many that is? And over the course of so many years? That must be an impossibly huge number.

But anyway, after this stupidly long preamble (preramble) I guess I should finally get to the whole entire point of this letter or whatever you’d call it. But hey, I guess that’s one thing we both have in common right? Everything we write turns out to be insanely long and rambly. And tagenty. What was I saying? Oh, right.

I just wanted to say that you mean a lot to me. I am one of those uncountable people that you’ve helped in some way. In a myriad of ways actually. In so many ways.

Over the past year, my mood has gone up and down like a rollercoaster for obvious reasons. Sometimes it was so hard to be positive about anything when you looked out into the world. Sometimes I would just give into despair. What were any of us doing? What was the point of anything anymore? But other days I would feel great. I would feel like I was a better person than I was before. And I would be so happy and grateful for all the friends I’ve made that I didn’t have before. And then I would go back down again. It was a real rollercoaster, and still is.

Basically, what I’m saying is, a friend once told me not too long ago that “U2 has a habit of coming into your life right when you most need them,” and looking back on that, I can say she was right. It all happened on December 25th, 2019, you know, Christmas. I was thinking of buying myself a record player but it turns out my parents were nice enough to buy one for me. Of course they got me some records to go along with it. There were a lot of them actually, but I don’t really remember them. I just remember the one that stood out to me more than the others: The Joshua Tree by U2. I actually got really excited when I saw it because I had actually heard it before, a long time ago but I never actually got around to listening to the whole thing, so I was happy that now I had the chance. I don’t think my mom realized what she had started when she did that, and neither did I at the time. I’m not going to recount the whole entire story here because that’ll take too long (that’s another story) but basically that was the moment that U2 and you too (wink wink) entered my life. And what happened a few months later? The entire world changed.

But you know what? It was okay because I had you there. Suddenly it was like I had a new friend there with me, and anytime I wanted a reprieve from the world outside, all I had to do was ask. You could make me smile, you could make me laugh, you could make me cry, but in a good way. I immersed myself in all the stories of things you had done for people, putting your kindness on display. How you could make someone’s entire day just by smiling at them. I would read those stories and I would get this feeling like my heart would burst and I would get this huge dopey smile on my face and then I would go scream into a pillow to get out some of the emotion. And then I would feel silly because here I was, a 21 year old girl, sitting alone in my room, and the guy I was basically tripping over was 59, about to turn 60! And now he’s 60, about to turn 61! And I am still only 22. But you know what, that doesn’t matter, because sometimes people are just that good, and you’re one of those people.

I remember reading one story in particular about some kids who were sitting outside your studio. You saw them, got out of the car and went up to them and signed the albums they had. You could’ve stopped at just that, you’d already made their days, you’d already given them enough happiness to power an entire country for a year, and certainly nobody would expect you to do more. But you did. You allowed them to come into your car and you drove them around for a bit while showing them a preview of How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. And I just thought to myself, “who does that? Surely this can’t be real? Surely this person can’t be real,” but you are real. And you really did do that. And for no other reason than out of the kindness of your own heart. You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to do any of that. But you did. Because you’re just that kind of guy. Later on in the story, Larry mentions to the reporter who was in the car when this happened, that “he really has this insatiable urge to be all things to all people, even when we try and stop him,” and I think that’s the perfect way to describe it. Making other people happy is genuinely something you enjoy and you will go out of your way to do it for no other reason than because you know just how happy you will make those people.

And then I’m sure my parents saw what was happening and they laughed and teased me and said “oh there she goes” and yeah, they were right, there I went. And here I am still am. I don’t even know if this is making any sense anymore but sometimes, when you’re telling someone how you feel, it doesn’t always make sense. Because emotions, these weird tricky little things of the human experience, don’t always make sense. But what I mean to say does make sense, at least in the way that these kinds of things can.

These things that I feel aren’t just surface level little crushes. I think they are more than that. Because it isn’t just about how you look or the fact that you are a singer or whatever (although those things are nice I must admit, especially the first one ;) ) but something deeper. It’s because everything you do, everything you say, comes from your heart. Everything you do oozes that sweet beautiful passion of someone who really means what they say, and lives it. You’ve said it yourself before, when you’re singing, you’re not merely just singing the songs, you are living them, you are them and I think that’s beautiful. And in an era of fake people, I think that is a big part of what drew me to you. I think I could tell by watching you and listening to you that you weren’t like the others, you were real and you lived every second of it.

And I just think it’s great to have someone to look up to that is real and undeniably himself. I could learn from that. Really, I could learn a lot of things from you. Because you are so wise and intelligent, sometimes I am just wowed by the things you manage to say. You know a lot of things about the world that I couldn’t know simply because of experience. I guess you could say that I am innocence and you are experience. It’s very interesting when innocence and experience can interact with each other. The experience sees the forgotten youth and the innocence sees the wiseness and intelligence that comes with having lived the world. And both of them can learn from each other.

And for a man that is so unapologetically, so unabashedly, so undeniably himself, I could learn a thing or two from that too. I’ve always watched you be loud and proud, say what you want, be spontaneous, and go out on a whim. Whenever there was something you wanted to do, you would just do it, (whether you should’ve or not) and sure, that’s left you in a few bad situations, but you still did something. You were never left wondering “what if?” You have always been a man of action and I admire that about you. You’ve never been one to care about what others thought of you and that is something that I admire so so much. Me, not to be dramatic, but I feel like that was stamped out of me some time ago. I find myself always caring about what people think, even if those people aren’t even around. I feel like I can hear them in my head when I’m alone, just trying to do something I enjoy. And sometimes I start to wonder if it’s really other people or if it’s really just me. But I need to learn to be unapologetically me, just like you. Because after all, I’m the only person who can, right? So maybe if you stick around for a bit longer, I can do that. But only if you stick around.

Because of all that, you really are such an inspiration to me. You’re really someone who goes after what you want instead of just sitting there wondering what other people would think. And maybe I should do that too.

You’ve shown me the power of song, the way that music can move our souls and transcend us to that other place. Music is an amazing thing I think, and I’m sure you agree. It has the unique power to transcend barriers and bring people from many different places together. And I’ve been constantly wowed by your ability to write. So much of music is empty these days it seems, but you fill that hole with your irresistible passion once again.

Everything you write comes from the heart, and where else could it come from but there? I don’t think it’s possible to write the things you do without throwing your entire soul into it, which is what you do. And when you sing those same songs, the passion is on another level. It really is infectious, contagious, irresistible and incredible, it pours out and spreads over everyone like a wave until they’re all caught up in this feeling, this high that takes you to another place, if only for a few minutes. While you’re there you can find important answers to things that you wouldn’t have found otherwise. It’s a magical place.

And I think I understand just how that feels from your perspective now. When I’m alone and there’s no one around, I like to sing too. I’m not very good, in fact, I listened to myself once and wanted to throw my entire computer out the window, and I beat myself up over it for days. I told myself “how could you possibly think you were good? You don’t even know anything” and then I started thinking “what’s the point if I’m not even good?” but then, a few days later, I realized that it doesn’t really matter whether you’re good or not, what matters is if you enjoy it, if you have fun, if, in that moment, you feel like you’re releasing something held captive in your soul, if you’re telling the world (even if that world is just your bedroom) what you have to say. What matters is if, in that moment, you go to that other place. And, if you do, then that’s really all that matters.

So, because of you, because of your passion, your refusal to be anything other than unapologetically you, I think I will try. And maybe someday, we’ll meet and sing a duet together (HA!).

Another thing I love about you is your dedication to the things you love and care about. I have a feeling that anyone who knows you personally is very privileged because they get to know one of the kindest, sweetest, and most caring people there is. And of course who benefits from that the most? Of course your special woman, Ali. I used to think that such beautiful relationships like that weren’t possible in the real world, and that they only existed in fiction but it makes me happy to see that they are possible. Maybe not possible for everyone, but just the fact that they are possible at all makes me happy.

A friend told me that she met you once, in Boston in 2018. She called out your name and you looked at her, your eyes met and she forgot everything she had been meaning to say, but according to her, that was alright because your expression softened like you just knew what she wanted to say. And you know what? I believe it, because that’s just the kind of person you are. Kind, gentle, sweet, and softhearted, with eyes that can see right through us (and hopefully they’re not afraid of anything they’ve seen). I know I said at the beginning of this that it’s important to communicate because people aren’t mind readers but scratch that, maybe you are one, and I’m not writing all of this because I want you to know, but just because I wanted to be the one to tell you.

And finally, I just want to say, on a more personal note (as if this whole entire thing hasn’t been personal) I am so grateful that you came into my life. I feel like I was saved in a way. At the beginning of 2020, the world outside was good, but the world inside me wasn’t quite so. I don’t want to go into details because honestly, it’s just too embarrassing to think about and sometimes I wish I could just forget it all, but for a few years before that moment on Christmas morning, I had lost my way. I had strayed from the path and stumbled into somewhere strange where I shouldn’t have been, and I was stumbling about, constantly trying to make sense of where I was and I just kept falling. But then on that morning, and over the next few months, a light appeared. It called to me and showed me how to get out of the place I had fallen into. And when I had finally gotten out, there was a man standing there with gorgeous blue eyes and the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. He reached out his hand towards me and I grabbed it.

And so, over the next few months, even as the world outside turned dark and scary, the world inside me had turned into a light. Even as the world outside turned dark and scary with so many questions, so many unknowns, it was okay, because you were there. The first new thing that I had seen from you was in March 2020 when you put out that song you called “Let Your Love Be Known” and I think that’s what I’m doing right about now. I’m letting my love be known.

I know that in reality, you probably wouldn’t want to hear all this stuff practically elevating you to God status or something, but as you’ve said before, you already have a messianic complex, so why not puff it up a bit?

But for real, thank you. Thank you for existing, thank you being a light, thank you for being there, thank you for helping me.

Just thank you.

#personal #happy birthday bono #you're so amazing #you are indeed my favorite person #long post

13 notes · View notes

pergaias · 4 years

Text

excerpts from books i’ll never write ; ii

the varying lengths of these excerpts mess with me and my perfectionism istf - some are long, like this one, others are short, but hey - all of them lead to the same place. nowhere.

this is the entire first chapter of a story that i will never finish so um - enjoy ?

title: checkmate word count: 3030

CHAPTER ONE

1.1 ‘YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY, RIGHT?’

“VENETIA VERNE, INTERN FOR The White Knight Herald.”

Venetia Verne was done. Done with her job-- being a reporter only sounded fun in theory-- done with her outfit-- what in the world was she thinking-- and of course, done with Octavia Tyrell.

Tavi. Her buttercup.

Venetia was pretty sure her eyes were so swollen that her cry-fest would be painfully obvious, and was also pretty much positive that she looked like a wreck.

Not even the fancy perfume she stole from Octavia last night would mask the smell of abject heartbreak.

Seventeen years old but acting twenty-three, Venetia always prided herself for being mature, collected, and a total bitch.

Of course, the bitch part was usually used affectionately-- Tavi had always called her you bitch! as an endearment, just like the way Venetia used to squeeze her hand and whisper buttercup.

Seventeen years old, but acting twelve when it came to breakups.

“Right this way, Miss Verne,” a female assistant led her across the hall, and Venetia surreptitiously straightened her skirt out. She had chosen a dove-colored skirt and a very vintage white blouse-- vintage chic had always been her style, even though Tavi always pushed for her to look more preppy-glam.

As if. Octavia managed to look like Elle Woods but black-and-white. Venetia was stuck as a Forties poster ad.

“Thank you,” Venetia tried for a smile, but it came out vaguely grimace-like. Had she spent all night crying? Possibly. Was she tired of life, the universe, and everything? Also possibly.

For the record, the answer was not forty-two. Screw the flying dolphins and their musical number about fish.

The assistant nodded, her hair in a bun so tight that Venetia’s scalp sympathized. “Our director is quite excited to meet you, Miss Verne-- he says you’re the best in your generation, and our boss at the Herald has never been more excited about a high school prospect-- you must be doing something right.”

Venetia tried for another smile, but this one looked like a leer. The assistant smiled sympathetically, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor of the building. She was probably tired of everything, too-- the office had the feel of a morgue.

As Venetia trailed behind her, her mind kept wandering to Tavi’s coily dark hair, her rich laugh, the way her brown eyes caught the light and turned to gold. Tavi’s lips on the other boy’s, her hands reaching up his shirt--

Venetia broke off. Octavia didn’t know she saw-- to Octavia, everything was still all well and good. Of course, Tavi was used to having everything she wanted. Spoiled, rich, princess bastard--

“We’re here, sweetie,” the assistant motioned to an imposing-looking door, a slightly condescending note to her voice.

“I appreciate the concern, but it’s Venetia, love.” Venetia allowed herself a smirk at the now-shellshocked assistant before opening the door herself.

Venetia Verne had no interest in being polite or heterosexual.

“Hi, Dad,” Venetia deadpanned, plopping down in front of the central feature of the office-- a heavy, fancy desk-- and all but putting her feet up. Today was just punch after punch after punch-- of course, Venetia could have rescheduled, but all that bitch energy had to go somewhere, right?

“Venetia.” Cyprian Jung looked no different from the day he divorced her mother, choosing a career and a fancy business conglomerate instead of a wife and tenacious daughter.

Let’s face it. Venetia was still just a little bit bitter. Just a little.

“Hi. Venetia Verne, intern for the White Knight Herald.” Venetia kept her coy smile, putting emphasis on her mother’s surname. “My final high school project involves me reporting on the crimes of--”

“You’re reporting on the crimes of the White Queen?” her father’s face snapped up, dark hair and hawkish nose and slanted eyes the color of pond scum.

“Yes,” Venetia said primly, her eyes narrowing.

“Venetia, sweetheart,”

“Don’t sweetheart me.”

“Venetia.”

“Venetia what, Father?”

“Venetia, do you know why I let you interview me?” Cyprian sighed, stroking his nonexistent beard with two fingers. Like, if he actually had one, Venetia was so going to pull an Aang-and-Firelord-Ozai and yank him down by the stupid goatee.

Think calm thoughts, Ven. Less violent, more… Passive-aggressive? Put salt in his coffee instead of sugar?

“Because, like you said. I’m the best of my generation.” Venetia’s gray-green eyes glittered. “And as we both know, the pen is greater than the sword.”

“What do you need to know?”

ON CYPRIAN JUNG

AS HARD AS IT may be to believe, Cyprian Jung wasn’t always a douche CEO and The Worst Father of the Year.

Once upon a time, Cyprian might have been Venetia’s favorite person in the world-- but Venetia always skips over that information, and more often than not, likes to pretend that her father didn’t exist.

Because being raised by a single badass mother sounded a lot cooler than “yeah, my dad decided that his business was a better child than I was, lolol”

But when an new upstart reporter’s article landed on his desk one drizzly Monday morning, Cyprian was shocked to realize that his very gay, very disappointing daughter was the one who wrote it.

Now, we can go two directions here. We can say that Cyprian was so proud and so moved by his daughter’s shrewd reporting skills and her article, or we can say that Cyprian saw something in his daughter that he realized he could exploit, like any good, cunning businessman.

Venetia Verne, who looked-- and acted-- nothing like her father (who seemingly embodied every single fucking Asian stereotype-- how did he even do that?) was proud that she was her mother's daughter.

She hated every resemblance she had with Cyprian, of which she unfortunately had a multitude.

And here comes the plot twist: Cyprian Jung, even though he seemed like he didn’t care for his daughter at all, did.

That was why he called her into his office on an unnaturally-bright Saturday, the day after Venetia and her girlfriend went to a Friday night house party and Venetia stumbled in on her girlfriend in the middle of a hot make-out sesh with a boy.

And before Venetia turned to her mother for advice on her problem, and before she decided to become who she wanted to be for herself, her father would do one good thing for her.

And it would be the only good thing that Venetia would ever, grudgingly, accept that he did.

1.2 ‘CALLING ME DRUNK WHEN IT’S TOO LATE AT NIGHT’

VENETIA CAME BACK FROM her interview with her father a little satisfied and a little angry.

Satisfied because she had the outline for her next article all set out and ready to go-- complete with quotes from her father about the White Queen-- and angry for two reasons.

One, because her father really thought that way? Screw him.

And two, because Venetia had always gone to lunch on Saturdays with Octavia at their favorite boba shop, munching on Taiwanese food and complaining about how difficult ‘life-ing’ was. Octavia had always managed to make Cyprian (and her own father’s) bigoted ideals about feminism (and gay culture, honestly) seem funny.

Venetia pressed her lips into a tighter line as she finally got out of her father’s ice-cold office building and onto the street, where the motion and movement of the city slowed, if not stilled, her thoughts.

Her flat shoes dragged against the gritty pavement as Venetia trudged towards, actually, Venetia didn’t know where she was going. She just kept walking, her bag over her shoulder and one hand brushing against the folds of her skirt.

Venetia hated not having purpose. Saturdays were hard because those were the days that lacked the most schedule-- school days had school, with designated wake-up and go-the-fuck-to-sleep times. Saturdays were full of freedom, and Venetia Verne didn’t know what to do with it.

So she continued walking, wishing that she had something to do. There was always lunch with Tavi to look forward to, or thrift shopping if she wanted. She could walk around the city aimlessly, or she could go home and mope around--

In her bag, her phone buzzed insistently. Only one person ever texted and didn’t call-- Tavi.

Tears burned the backs of Venetia’s eyes, and a lump formed in her throat. Octavia was probably calling wondering why she wasn’t at the shop yet, knowing about her girlfriend’s affinity for punctuality and structure.

Octavia was just going to ignore it.

She didn’t confess to a fuming-but-hiding-it Venetia last night that she had cheated, nor had she acted any differently. With her cheerful I love you, bitch and her insistent flirting with anyone who spared her an appreciative glance but her fake assurances that she was Venetia’s and Venetia’s alone.

Venetia’s fingers tightened around the material of her skirt, twisting the fabric until she was positive the texture would be printed onto her fingers. Her calculating eyes swept over the people around her, dresses in shades of black and white and navy. All business suits or pencil skirts.

Her phone buzzed again, and Venetia ignored it further.

If Octavia was going to ignore the elephant in the room, Venetia sure as hell wasn’t going to point it out. She remembered the way her stomach had dropped when she pushed the door open looking for her jacket, the way that outrage pulsed through her veins, tempered by shattering disappointment.

If Venetia had marched in and screamed at Octavia, what would it have changed? Tavi was used to getting everything she wanted.

So Venetia had gently shut the door and crashed into a different-- thankfully unoccupied room-- and splashed her face with the coldest tap water she could get, staring directly at the bathroom light so she wouldn’t cry.

Venetia hated crying, hated showing any form of vulnerability. Because Venetia Verne was a sphynx, carved out of stone. Her father had always called her Sphynx, because when she was upset she tended to not show it.

Well, Venetia’s resting bitch face was downright legendary.

If Venetia had said something, what would it have changed? Octavia, skillful with words, would have laughed and said that her girlfriend was drunk, or sleep-deprived, or both.

And Venetia knew that she herself would have believed it.

Octavia could paint pictures with words in a way that Venetia had never seen before-- and her mother was a supervillain.

And that was the other reason why she was angry.

Because her mother was the White Queen, and her father’s opinion made her blood boil.

It really puts opinions into perspective when people are ignorant: if you uploaded a picture of yourself to an internet forum-- not saying that it was yourself-- and asked people to describe it, what would they say?

Venetia’s phone kept buzzing.

Her fist kept clenching.

And the spiral-- no, noose-- of her thoughts tightened.

1.3 ‘TELLING ME TRUTHS THAT YOU KNOW ARE LIES’

“OKAY, AM I ALLOWED to be done with this?” Venetia fumed to her secondary best friend Gray, who Venetia was positive was sick of her. She only came running over to the mild Australian boy when she lost another of her friends, and ditching him once she made a new one. If Venetia wasn’t such a heartless bitch, she would have felt bad for the way she treated him.

“Yes, you are,” Gray said patiently, trailing meekly behind her.

“Well, good,” Venetia snapped, storming through the halls of the local high school.

The rest of her dreary Saturday had come and gone in a whirl of anger-grief-bitching-stress eating, and Sunday the same.

“Hey, Ashie!” Venetia was in a seriously pissy mood, and decided then and there that she was going to call everyone by obnoxious nicknames only that day. Asheton Shore, who adamantly went by Shore, was her first victim.

“It’s Shore!” the boy bellowed.

Behind her, Venetia heard Gray scurry behind a wall of imposing-looking seniors. “Ashie,” Venetia drawled, walking closer to him. Her skirt swished with each step she took-- while Asheton Shore’s close companion Maeren Sepia liked vintage too, Venetia always secretly knew that her style was better.

“Fruck,” Shore muttered-- no, it was Ashie, Venetia told herself firmly.

“Come on, Venetia.” Gray was back, his eyes shifting around nervously as he carefully took her by the arm and steered her away.

“Damn it,” Venetia hissed, digging her fingers into the material of her skirt.

“Okay, I know you’re--” Gray cringed, “bitching about the whole Octavia thing, but--”

“You can say the word bitch, Gray.”

“I don’t want to call you a bitch, Ven.”

“Oh my fucking god, Gray. When you think of the word bitch you should think of my face.”

“I don’t like cursing.”

“Fuck that.”

“I don’t like you.”

“Right back at you, Gray.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Thanks.”

Venetia huffed; Gray bit his lip, sighing. Yes, he was very much done with Venetia and her bullshit. Venetia herself was done with Venetia and her bullshit.

Like Ashie, Gray went exclusively by his last name. Then again, when you had a name like Devlin-Tibereus, you wanted to purge that name from your memory. And ‘Asheton’ didn’t even seem so bad if you had the misfortune of being named Devlin-Tiberius Gray-- the Second.

And no, Venetia was not allowed to call him Take Two.

“Come on, we’re going to be late to class.” Gray was tugging at her sleeve insistently. Sometimes Venetia thought of him as an insistent-yet-adorable puppy, the kind that was a total sweetheart until they gave up and peed on your carpet.

“I wanna ditch,” muttered Venetia, who was very acutely aware that Octavia would be attending the same class.

And even though Venetia spent a weekend moping around mooching off of Octavia’s Netflix and eating half-melted ice cream, ghosting Octavia when she tried to call, and doing everything except think about Octavia-- which was a form of thinking about it-- she wasn’t ready to face her.

At all.

Gray blew out a breath-- yes, he was very, very sick of her already.

“Let’s ditch.” Gray said suddenly, planting his feet and nearly throwing Venetia off-balance.

Venetia gaped. “Where the fuck is Gray and what did you do with him, Take Two?”

“I am not take two! Ven, how many times do I have to tell you? Come on, let’s ditch.”

“You’re finally speaking sense, Gray.” Venetia patted his back appreciatively as they blew past the classroom they were supposed to be in and towards the exit. “About time.”

Gray smiled, flashing his elusive dimples. “No shit.”

1.4 ‘YEAH, YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY, RIGHT?’

“SO,” VENETIA SAID LAMELY, her feet dragging against the dusty pavement as she and Gray trudged away from the school, casting furtive looks over their shoulders to make sure that they weren’t being followed. “How’s Teddy? Do people still get to call her Taffy?”

“Taffy’s fine,” Gray said, and didn’t elaborate. Venetia didn’t press-- she knew she was already pressing her luck with her friend-- if Gray could even call her that-- by dragging him with her.

Teddy-- or Theodosia-Amélie Frances Gray-- was Gray’s little sister, who was affectionately called ‘Taffy’ by her close friends and family. Venetia wasn’t sure if she fell in that category, but like most only children, she had a fascination with siblings.

Like how both Gray and Teddy had the same smile and mousy hair and dimples, but they shared different things with their parents, like how Gray and his mother had the same nose but Teddy had the same pattern of freckles across her cheeks.

“That’s nice. Where do you want to go, coffee?” Venetia asked, and suddenly laughed. Out here there was no Octavia, no pressure, no teachers breathing down her neck as she struggled through trigonometry.

Gray’s elusive dimples flashed. “Coffee sounds nice-- as does the idea of ditching, honestly-- and you can rant to me about Octavia. You know, you shouldn’t call her Octavia or Tavi. What about Tyrell?”

“Why shouldn’t I call her Octavia?” Venetia asked, bemused.

“I don’t know!” Gray grinned. “Maybe… I don’t know, Octavia sounds too nice. I’d say ‘call her a bitch’--”

“But I’m the bitch.” Venetia finished, mirroring Gray’s grin. She and Gray always clicked-- no matter how Venetia abandoned him or pushed him aside for her other friends-- not that she had any, which was the irony of it-- Gray was always waiting with his remarks and banter and coffee-fueled highs.

“Exactly.”

“I really am a bitch, you know. Makes you wonder how Buttercup-- I mean Tavi-- I mean Tyrell-- fell for me in the first place.”

“Eh, probably the bitchiness itself.”

“True, true.”

Gray grinned again. “I missed you-- which probably is the wrong thing to say, but hey-- Taffy tattles on me for swearing all the time, while you swear just as much--”

“More. I swear more than you, Tibe.” Venetia smirked and quirked an eyebrow, and Gray sighed.

“I’m never going to win that argument, am I?” he asked, half smiling.

Venetia winked-- or tried to, since she couldn’t wink to save her life-- and nudged Gray’s shoulder with her own. “Never, Take Two.”

“You know, I can call you Veni Vidi Vici.”

Venetia scowled. “My mother really had something against me naming me Venetia Lavinia, didn’t she? Veni Vinny Verne, I mean, seriously?”

Gray smiled, flashing his dimples again. “Someone’s in good spirits.”

“Just drink your damn coffee, Gray.”

“Just let us get to the damn coffee shop, Verne,” Gray mimicked her tone, his wavy hair bouncing as he walked.

“You’re almost as annoying as,” Venetia paused to snap her fingers, “whatshisname Lock. Lochlan Ryals-- don’t some people call him Cinnamon?”

“Lock?” Gray asked, his eyes lighting up. “That’s a compliment.”

“Well, I sure didn’t mean it that way,” Venetia said dryly, her eyes trained on the coffee shop that was coming into clearer view.

“Well, time to order coffee black as my soul,” Venetia said brightly, swinging the door open and following Gray inside.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, but he was smiling.

“I’m hilarious,” Venetia deadpanned, tossing her pin-straight hair.

“You really do think you’re funny.”

Venetia smirked. “Yep, I think I’m funny, right?”

#cece writes #checkmate #songfic #excerpts from books i'll never write #circa august 2020 😌#this was supposed to tie into wifey's book LOVE-PROOF #but neither project ended up really happening lmfao

28 notes · View notes