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livsoulsecrets · 3 years

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Kit Herondale Fic - Am I Enough?

Summary: Kit wonders if he has what it takes to be the big brother Mina deserves and goes to Alec for some advice, which proves to be really useful.

It was funny, Kit thought as he got up from Magnus’ fancy couch, leaving his parents happily chatting with Jace as he retold some of his favorite memories with Alec. Everyone saw Jace as this untouchable hero, an example of glory and fierceness, even Jace himself thought that, Kit was certain, but nobody was more worth of admiration to Jace than Alec, that much was clear in the way he looked at his parabatai for affirmation every time he spoke in public, the anchoring hand he would always lay on Alec’s shoulder before battle and the softness of the words whispered between them.

Alec was Jace’s hero in every sense of the world. Alec was everything Kit hoped he could be to Mina, little Mina that would hang on to his finger like her life depended on it, who would smile at him every time he picked her up, Mina, who he would die for and live for and do anything and everything for. His light and wild rose, she was so much more than he deserved, but Kit was determined to be exactly who she needed.

That determination is what kept Kit going as he walked into Magnus and Alec’s kitchen, finding the Consul of the Shadowhunters, the highest authority of their people, one of their most skilled and wisest members, with glitter all over his hair and a well-intended, but still tragically messy rainbow on his cheek, courtesy of his son, Rafael, who looked quite proud of himself.

— Yes, now you are ready for the party! — Rafe announces, putting the paint-brush down.

— Thank you for that, I am sure I look... — Alec stops, looking over to Kit, noticing his presence. — Interesting? — He completes, hesitant.

— That is one way to put it. — Kit answers, barely containing a laugh.

— He looks gay! — Rafael says, fiercely, crossing his arms.

— I look what now? — Alec asks, confused, but still entertained.

— You heard the kid. — Kit is laughing now, not being able to help it.

— Gay, dad. Papa told me gay means happy as well! He said you would be gay twice if I made you happy on your birthday! — Rafael explains, looking offended his point wasn’t understood. — I know how much you like my drawings, so I made you a gay one, like the flag we bought last week. — Kit feels like he is intruding a lovely family moment, but he is too touched by Rafe’s dedication to miss the scene. Alec smiles and bows down to kiss his son’s forehead.

— Gracias, hijo. — He says, messing his hair up in sequence. — I do love your drawings and I love you even more. — Rafe smiles back to his dad, pleased with himself. He gets off the table, where he was sitting to be able to paint his dad’s face, and runs to the living room.

— He is adorable, you know. — Kit says and Alec smirks.

— Yeah, he really is. I’m lucky. — Alec’s words are simple and direct, like many things about him are, but they stick with Kit. Before he met his family, he used to think love was a complicated, painful and disastrous thing, like what his dad seemed to feel for his mom and for Kit himself, like the lies and betrayal he saw in the Shadow Market, like the tricks he pulled as well. It was only after getting to know Tessa and Jem that Kit noticed love was quite simple, that good, real love was calm and peaceful and felt like home. The trust and the care he learned from them made Kit understand that loving somebody is not about the big gestures and dramatic moves, it is about knowing someone inside out and still staying, not because you desperately needed them, but because you desperately wanted them.

Alec’s love for his family was a lot like the one Jem and Tessa had, the love they shared with Mina and Kit. That is what prompted Kit to come after Alec today, seeking some guidance in how to present this very same type of love to his little sister.

— Alec, could I ask you something? I know it is your birthday and I don’t want to bother you, but I promise it will be fast-

— Kit, just ask it. You’re not bothering me. — Alec cuts his rambling off and Kit is grateful for that, not even understanding why he is so nervous. Ever since he moved in with Tessa and Jem, he had met Alec many times and grew quite close with his family as well, since Tessa was one of Magnus’ oldest friends. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Alec could never be anything other than kind towards him.

— Okay, sure. Good. — He answers, eyes casting down. — This is probably a weird question, but... How did you make sure you were the brother your siblings needed? Because, honestly, Jace and Izzy adore you and it seems so effortless to you that it blows my mind. I have known Mina her whole life, which is not much, you know? She is only one. But, for her, it is a lot of time! Still, I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like- By the Angel, like she needs so much more than I can give her. That is insane, I get it, her favorite word at the moment is poop and she adores to scream it at the top of her lungs every time we’re out, of course she doesn’t have great expectations right now, but she will someday and I don’t think I will be able to be who she needs me to be. Will I even deserve all the trust she puts in me? All the love she gives me? Will I even-

— Kit, stop. — Alec firmly demands and Kit is so shocked by the action that he finally turns to look at him. It is quite astonishing to find a sly smile on Alec’s lips. — Just stop, okay? You’re overthinking away too much, trust me: I have been there. It was never effortless to me, quite the opposite. I spent most of my life doubting I could be the right person to keep my siblings safe. When Max-

He stops, swallows dryly, seeming to gather himself for what he is about to say before speaking again.

— When Max died, I was destroyed. I felt like I failed him. Somedays I still do, so does Izzy, so does Jace. Still, I know Max would never think that of us, he knows Sebastian is the only one to blame for what happened. — His expression softens for a moment and Kit hopes he didn’t bring out any hard memories on such a happy day. — What I’m trying to say is that you will never feel like you’re enough or like you know what you’re doing, it will always be hard and the idea of letting Mina down will always be scary. There is no running away from that.

— So, I will just feel this terrified forever? — He is well aware of how disturbed he sounds, but can’t help it when Alec just dropped this bomb on him.

— No, not if you learn one little thing, that took me many years to understand. — Alec’s voice is soft now; the tone Kit only ever saw him use around his family.

— And what is that?

— Mina already thinks you’re the everything she needs. She already thinks you deserve all the love and trust she gives to you. You know why? — Alec questioned and Kit just stared blankly at him, not knowing what to say. — Because, every single day, you get up and choose to try your best to make her happy and keep her safe. That is all she needs from you: to never stop trying. She doesn’t want you to drive yourself crazy or sacrifice anything for her. I once thought the same, I was sure I could never be myself or be happy, if I wanted my siblings to be proud of me. I thought that was the only way I could protect them. Angel, how I was wrong. All they ever wanted was for me to be exactly who I am. — He glares at Jace laughing loudly in the living room, Izzy rolling her eyes at him, but still smiling softly at her brother shortly after, and something shifts inside of Kit.

That is what he wants for his and Mina’s future. He wants her to laugh at him until they are both out of breath, he wants her look at him with the just right combination of exasperation and affection, to still grab his hand when she is scared and run to his arms when she is happy.

— So... You are saying that I should just be myself? — Kit queries and Alec nods, as if he just asked him if the sky was blue.

— Yes, as cheesy as it sounds, just keep doing what you’re doing and I’m sure you will be fine.

— But what if who I am is not enough, Alec? — His voice cracks and he hates how obvious his uncertainty is, but Alec doesn’t shudder.

— Kit, you are more than enough. The fact you even question it already shows you are, that is why you care so much. Still, I know, better than most, that I can’t be the one to tell you that. Any words will fall flat if you don’t believe in it. Look, I wouldn’t worry too much about Mina if I were you. She already adores you. Maybe just focus on believing in yourself, make sure you see why she does. Do that, kid, and I can assure you all these doubts will vanish. — He lays a hand in his shoulder and squeezes it, dropping it shortly after.

— That was really... Wise. — Kit blurted out, trying to absorb what he just heard.

— Don’t sound so surprised. — Alec jokes and Kit can’t help but fell an overwhelming sense of gratitude settling in his chest.

— Thank you for saying all of that. It really helped, like, you have no idea how much. — Kit thanked him; glad he had gone to Alec with his questions.

— You’re welcome. — He calmly responded, just as Izzy entered the kitchen with an empty glass.

— Alec, where do you keep the wine? Because I’m sure Magnus is hiding the good stuff from me! — She claims, coming to rest against the door way.

— If I told you where he keeps it, I will probably have divorce files on my desk by morning. — Alec playfully provokes his sister, that just waves his concern away with a hand.

— Fine, for the sake of your marriage, I will just have you ask him for me. — Then, upon realizing Alec’s lack of interest in the idea, she pouts, moving to hang on Alec’s shoulder. — Please? — He looks down at her and sighs.

— As you please. — She claps in excitement and kisses him in the cheek.

— I’ll be waiting! — Izzy announces, before leaving the kitchen.

— Are you good? — Alec asks Kit once his sister disappears into the living room.

— I will be. — Kit answers and he is only half faking the confidence in his voice, so he takes that as a win.

— Yeah, you will. — Alec confirms as he walks away, Kit on his tow. He drops himself back in the couch, deep in thought. He is startled when a tiny hand grabs his left leg. Once Kit looks down, he finds Mina holding on tight to him to push herself up. He smiles down at her as she stands, her grip on Kit so strong he wonders if that is some sort of Shadowhunter-Warlock baby superpower.

— Min-Min, you are getting though. — He proudly states. Mina giggles, as if she understands what he’s saying and puts both of her hands up, a common indication she wants to be picked up by him.

Kit gladly does so, placing his sister in his lap. She wiggles her little feet up as she rests her head against his chest, one of her hands coming to grip the collar of his shirt. She must probably be tired, her nap time coming up, but Kit tells himself he’ll soon put her down in Rafe’s bed like Magnus offered, even though he knows he most likely won’t. He holds her against his heart as she dozes off, feeling her hand relaxing the grip in order to rest against his heart, her five little perfect fingers going up and down with every heartbeat beneath them.

In that moment, he’s absolutely sure they’ll be just fine, not because he’s perfect or sure he will never make mistakes, but simply because he loves her away too much to be anything other than his very best self.

#Kit Herondale #Kit Rook #kit herondale fic #Alec Lightwood #Jace Herondale #izzy lightwood #max lightwood #mina carstairs #jem carstairs #tessa gray #rafael lightwood bane #the shadowhunters chronicles #my fics #the dark artifices #the mortal instruments #ghosts of the shadow market #fluff

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dickgrcyscns · 4 years

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Wake Up

Wake Up, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I tried my best to have this be gender neutral but please let me know of anywhere where it isn't!

Summary: In which you get hurt during the battle of Geonosis and Obi-Wan realizes that some feelings just have to be said. This also has some battle talk and reader does get injured so, take that as you will! Jedi!Reader.

Word Count: 1493 words

Gif Used Not Mine!

The battle around you proceeded, to you it felt as though this war was never going to end. Looking to your left, you watched as the colors of the rainbow filled her sights. It was a wonder just how beautiful a fight could be — even with it being as destructive as it was. The two lightsabers felt heavy in you hands as your breathing raked through your chest, it was staggered and continued to get harder with each move you made. Your hands acted quicker than your mind could even think, fully trusting that the force was going to guide you with each move. Each time you moved closer to Obi-Wan, it was something that put you in better ease, being able to be closer to the person you cared more for. By default you were closer to Anakin and the woman he had been protecting.

Geonosis wasn't your favorite place to be in the first place, now it was most definitely your least favorite place to be. You weren’t very sure why you had ended up there, or why you answered Obi-Wans call for help so quickly. It definitely did come to help the three people who were in trouble, more specifically the two Jedi. By the time that you had seen the group, Padmé had already gotten herself out of the situation. Not that you were surprised, Anakin and Obi-Wan tended to react quickly without thinking of ways out.

You knew for quite a moment that they were outnumbered, you felt your body start to fail underneath yourself. Exhaustion ran through every system that you could notice, yet you continued to push through the fight. Your heart stammered in your ear as time flew past her. With each heartbeat that came to you knew that that was a moment you had survived. For fleeting moments you understood that this was what you were meant to do, protect and serve the galaxy and in some ways you felt as though you had done that. You had helped to preserve the peace and freedom for people and if you died during this battle you would have died doing exactly what you should be doing. Doing exactly what you loved to do, around the people you cared most about.

It was for a moment that you touched the necklace your father had given you, your fingers slid over it as if it were delicate and easily broken. Just the same way you had treated yourself for years, but it was in moments like this that you reminded herself of your worth. Of your value and how you were much more than someone easily broken. Your lightsabers grew heavy in her hand, the blue colors filling your senses. You fought with all your might and yet you had no idea if your might was going to get anywhere.

"Y/n to your left!" Obi-Wan screamed out to you, seeing the incoming fleet of droids before you had. Your body was quick to react and turn, mind running wild at the sight of replacement droids coming to fight. For a moment all you could think was, 'more of them?' and just like that it was gone.

The blast hit your shoulder, a grunt leaving past your lips. You didn't let that stop yourself, although, it was just one little blast. You could take it, you could survive. The blood wasn't too bad at all, so you continued to fight your way through the battle, your shoulders pain increasing each time. Until you slowed down, when the sky started spinning and your head pounded. That's when the other blast hit her, grazing her hip, and then another grazing her thigh. Black dots filled your vision as you could vaguely hear your name being screamed, the lightsabers fell from your hand as your own knees buckled to the ground.

By the time your head had hit the ground you were out cold, leaving worry pushed into Obi-Wans souls. His very thoughts were consumed by you, by knowing that you was okay. And at that moment he had no idea if you were going to make it, if you were even alive and it killed him. His heart stopped for a moment, what if you were gone, what if you were gone before he was even able to tell you how he felt.

Then the ships arrived, an ethreal moment in his heart flowed at the sight, his fellow Jedi coming to save them. His eyes snapped to the feet that stomped into battle with them, the clones that he had found out about mere weeks before. Something in him found a source of peace, knowing that the battle would finally be over. He found himself glancing to you between every blaster fire, making sure you were still okay. Somewhere in him he hoped that he would look over and be met with your e/c eyes, even though he knew you wouldn't.

Blood had pooped around certain areas of your body, nothing he hadn't seen people recover from, but there was a screaming voice in the back of his head that only wanted to get her to safety. And he knew it was wrong, it was wrong to be plagued with thoughts of you every waking moment. It was against the code to think of you as something other than an advisor, someone he could ask, a coworker of sorts. Yet he stood there with his heart clenched in fists, his soul hurt and all he wanted was for you to be okay.

He needed for you to be okay.

And when the shooting ceased he deactivated his saber, running quickly to be at her side. His hands went to stop the bleeding on certain parts of your body, screams leaving his lips to Anakin. Upon the sight Anakin quickly ran to get the ship closer so that the medical droids could help you. Obi-Wan's cheeks glistened in the suns of Geonosis from salty tears he hadn't realized he let go. By the time the droids had you placed on one of the beds in the ship your hands had been interlocked. Padmé and Anakin looked upon the older two Jedi in wonder.

"You need to wake up because I can't do this without you," Obi-Wan's lips muttered against your interconnected hands. He let out a shuttered, shaky breath as he sat back in a small chair. Relieved in some way that you were going to be okay, that you were going to be there for him.

And when your e/c hues opened on the ship, the only person in the room was Obi-Wan. His eyes bloodshot from tears and lips trembling, it was a sight that broke your heart to see. You instantly thought of the worst, someone close to the two of them perished in battle. It wouldn't be the first time you would lose someone, but it wouldn't be the last and you weren’t ready to deal with it yet. The thought brought tears to your eyes, then the pain hit you. You let out a soft whimper, barely reaching Obi-Wan's ears. Once he looked over to you, the tears in your eyes and the lip caught between your teeth, his mind went to helping you.

"What's wrong?"

"Who died?" You questioned, making Obi-Wan blink a few times in shock as a response. He titled his head before answering, "No one did."

"Then why are you so," Levia finsihed the sentence by looking at him up and down, unable to move her arms. The simple act made Obi-Wan laugh, the sound graced your ears and reminded you of happiness. Of the times you two shared when you first met on the ship while Qui-Gon was exploring Tatooine.

"You got hurt and I don't know what I would've done if I lost you," Obi-Wan's voice got quieter as he spoke, making you sputter in disbelief.

"Well I'm fine, Obi-Wan, no need to worry."

"Right but it just made me realize," Obi-Wan looked to you, the look in his eyes were far different than any other look they had once shared, "I can't keep this from you. No matter what the council may say about it, Y/n, I have broken a code and fallen for you."

You stared at him in shock, swallowing in nervousness as he looked down to the floor, "And you don't have to say anything, I don't expect you to. I just knew I had to tell you that I love you before it was too late and—"

"I love you too."

And it was in a flash that your lips met, even for just a moment before it was over. It was something that left a smile on your face, something that the two of you would be able to keep between yourselves. Something to remind you that this day happened, to remind you that there is something worth fighting for. Each other.

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi imagines #obi #obi wan #obi-wan #Star Wars imagine

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rextasywrites · 3 years

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Little Darling 4 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”"

what awaits Mia in the basement of Lady Dimitrescu's castle? how is the mold connected to both survivour, even if their trauma was 500 years apart?

ohhh boy i am SO happy with this fic yall have no idea. big thanks to everyone who has commeted on my fics so far, you make writing a fun process. i hope you enjoy the new chapter! !!!flashbacks are written in cursive!!! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: mention of child death, various mental illnesses

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

During the night, the snowfall in the valley had increased, snowing most of the village in. Lady Dimitrescu stood on the balcony, taking a drag from her smoke, blowing out smoke that nearly froze in the cold air. Mia was still fast asleep, the exhaustion caught up on her once the nightmares vanished. Lady Dimiterescu didn’t get any sleep during this very night - sleep was barely needed for her anyways, but she had ignored her own tiredness in favour of making sure Mia was okay. Guess the ‘human’ touch worked wonders on the traumatized.

“Lady Dimitrescu?”, Mia’s tired voice ripped her out of her thoughts and she turned around to face the young woman, standing in the doorway to the balcony, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Can you close the door? I am freezing.”

“Oh right, you humans and your temperature problems.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stepped back into the bedroom, “and please, call me Alcina.”

“Alright, Alcina.”, Mia chuckled, sitting back on the bed she had just emerged from, stretching her body from this good night’s sleep. “What is the plan for today? Will you show me where Rosy is?”

“Not yet. Before, you have to understand a few things. A few things about us. You worked with bio weapons before, so you will understand quickly enough…”

The walls of the basement were still as cold and slick as the day Lady Dimitrescu turned into what she was today. Some mold was still growing in corners here and there, but mostly it was contained to sealed boxes. “You turned because of the mold too?”

“Exactly. I spent hundreds of years dissecting my own blood to find out what was the trigger in this very mold, turning me into...this.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as she took a seat in the very same place the plague doctor had been on. “What I have come to realize - the plague doctors and fuck knows who else worked on the mold...they created an early version of the mold you were infected with. Of course, early and very simple, but you can see what it did to me.”

Mia nodded as she listened to Alcina talk, taking in the surrounding. It all reminded her so much of the basement she was locked in for three years, she could even feel the hard mattress under her spine. Something she never told Ethan was that she spent most of these years either trying to escape or sleep her injuries off. Eveline didn’t let her go. “How did they manage this back in...1500-something?”

“You are asking good questions, dear. I suppose the mold had a spontaneous mutation which caused its effects on me. I saw the dead bodies of previous victims. They died of mold poisoning or its effects on their lungs. Was lucky there, ‘suppose. And now I am immortal and could take over the world if I wanted to. Do I want to? Fuck no.”

“Why not?”, Mia chuckled at the thought of a vampire lady ruling over the world. What would the aliens say that watch us all day long? “Nothing could stop you. Not even any kind of bio weapons so far.”

“That’s the thing! Redfield and his team are developing a cure to the mold as we speak, with Rosy’s blood. The mold we were infected with is dangerously similar. Since no D-series exists anymore, they had to work with what they get. Ever since I got word of the D-series and the mold, I kept my eyes on your team and you. Because you would be the key to our deaths.”

“But why are they after you and your daughters? You haven’t caused any significant troubles, like turning a whole city into zombies…”

“Because we are mutants in the end. We shouldn’t exist in a perfect world with all sunshines and rainbow pooping unicorns. Too bad the world is a cruel place. Helping Redfield with the resurrection of Jill Valentine was the worst mistake I have made in over 500 years of living.”, Lady Dimitrescu explained, trailing over her exposed arm. Her veins were visible, but it was clear the mold had taken over her bloodstream judging by the colour alone. “The mold feeds off human blood. Once my blood was out, I started to thirst for whatever blood I could find. Most of the time I settled for homeless or old people - you know, the kind of people no one would miss.”

“...that makes sense, and that’s something rare to say in a situation like this.”, Mia said, earning a smile from Lady Dim- Alcina. “And why...don’t you just surrender and die? You have lived for over 500 years?”

“Oh Mia.”, Lady Dimitrescu chuckled as she stood up, cupping Mia’s cheeks, “Death is something so personal, trust me. It’s about the choice. If I want to kill myself, I’d just turn the mold into a vaccine. But being killed by a big mouthed assface who thinks the world belongs to him? I won’t give up without a fight. My daughters won’t give up without a fight. Suicide is something so personal.”

“Here.”, Carlos placed the newspaper article in front of Chris. Several homeless people had been found dead, drained of their blood. Chris read it with great interest, even though his Romanian was rusty. “Drained of their blood in Romania? This is either some sick dracula cosplayer or we have our eyes on vampires. Maybe they are the key to life!”

Chris raised an eyebrow at Carlos, “You really are into the thought of bringing her back to life, aren’t you?”

“Chris, look”, Carlos sighed, frustration and anger present in his mimic, “This is not the death Jill deserves. She deserves a second chance! Without the blood and pain and bio weapons. Fuck, let her adopt five cats and a llama if it makes her happy. But this is not the death she deserves”, and he pointed towards the cold camber her lifeless body was resting in. She looked so peaceful, as if she was just sleeping. Her blonde hair had fallen over her face, as if she was a fallen angel, ready to spread her wings at any given second. Chris might have given up on her, but not Carlos.

“Send out Kennedy then. He knows how to deal with the dirty work.”

The reports from Leon were clear. Mutants had infested the castle, but they weren’t much of a threat while Leon had been in there. It actually seemed as if they were avoiding him. But the key was a moment he accidentally witnessed.

“Lady Dimitrescu!”, a cry broke through the quietness of the castle. Leon had heard this sort of cry before - a mother who had just lost her child. A cry he never wanted to hear again. “Please help me! My daughter, my little baby…!”, she wailed as the three daughters surrounded her, taking the dead body of the toddler from her. The blonde daughter ran to where Lady Dimitrescu was staying while the two others comforted the hysteric mother. The child was pale and stiff, and must have been dead for quite a while. Leon swallowed dry at the view. He could deal with zombies and mutants in the weirdest ways, but dead children...he could never get used to this.

About an hour later, Lady Dimitrescu walked out of her study with the little girl, who was looking at least more alive. The colour had returned to her face and her chest was moving a little bit. “Here.”, she smiled as she handed the lady her daughter, “She needs rest for a few more days. Keep her warm and secure, bedrest is the best idea there. Also, she will be very thirsty once she wakes up. Let her drink all the water she needs, her body is severely dehydrated.”

Because of this, Leon decided to stay a few days more. He followed the mother to her home and stayed hidded. About a week later, he knocked on the door of the woman, asking for her help, if she had seen his dog ‘Rex’.

“Sadly, I have not.”, the woman said, and from the corner of his eyes, Leon was able to spot the once dead daughter, playing with some barbies. “But if I see him, I will let you know.” This was all the confirmation he needed. Leon headed back to the USA the following day to report from what he witnessed, and how they could be the key to saving Jill.

#lady dimitrescu #mia winters #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #jill valentine #carlos oliveira #chris redfield #leon kennedy

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hareki · 3 years

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FRUITS

Fruits are seeds, covered with deliciousness!

Gratitude towards the tree, who made that fruit!

COLORS

Beautiful rainbow scale!

THE PERFECT ART-FORMS

Each fruit has a unique artistic quality, the original wholistic package design from nature!

EDIBLE AROMATHERAPY

Infinite variety of delicious aromas!

SEX IN YOUR MOUTH

Some feel like an inner lick, some refresh, some comfort, some give us strength, some kiss us on the cheek. :)

THE ULTIMATE EATING EXPERIENCE

Ripe? Ready for eating! What a satisfying present!

A UNICORN'S POOP

A fruitarian poop is only fruit pulp and the seeds, returned to earth.

PEE ON ME!

You actually pee coconut water.

BODY ODOR ?

You smell like mango? Not kidding, it's true.

NUTRITION :

Do you realise that you're eating your natural food, served to you by a tree with infinite humility,

its size, texture, taste, smell, color and shape is naturally appealing to your eyes, nose, mouth, hands.

Do you hear?

A PEACEFUL LIFE

You know that you're eating just the right food when your poop sprouts!

HOW TO EAT FRUITS?

the BASIC PRINCIPALS

- No nutrition without transition!*

- One type of fruit at a time!

- Eat the fruits first, if you're eating other kind of foodies as well.

- Eat & drink only 15-30 minutes before and after eating your portion of fruit.

*See the transition guide down below.)

the APPROACH

- Breath comes in; slow down.

- Focus on colors, cycle the breath out.

- Please.. repeat. Breathe.

- Smell the heavenly aroma,

- Observe that fruit's wholeness and recognize its potential!

a Natural Technique

- Take small, slow bites.

- Embrace delicate chewing,

- Let your mouth give out its juice!

- Relax your belly, cycle your breathe at ease..

Enjoy a celebration of rainbow colors, mesmerizing fragrances and the tastes.

🦋 THE ULTIMATE FRUTARIAN TRANSITION GUIDE 🦋

YOU ARE YOUR OWN GUIDE!

TRUST YOUR BODY.

ALWAYS CONTINUE RESEARCHING

Read this or this if you feel like.

Are you on a Modern Western Diet?

Do you want to enjoy The Frutarian Level of Life?

WHY TRANSITION?

Because otherwise you'd die of too much toxins being released into your blood stream caused by the intense cleansing properties of fruits. If you feel that you can take it, you may try the first transition mode.

A) FAST FORWARD MODE (DIE OR STRIVE)

▶ GREEN JUICE FAST & LEMON JUICE ENEMAS (10 DAYS)

REST ENOUGH, MOVE ENOUGH, BREATH ALWAYS, MEDITATE.

BREAK THE FAST WITH AN APPLE!

▶ FRUIT JUICE FAST (5 DAYS)

CHOOSE GRAPE OR ORANGE JUICE

▶ DRY FAST (3 DAYS)

VOILA! YOU MUST BE EITHER DEAD OR A FRUTARIAN.

B) THE 7 STEP ENJOYABLE PATH MODE (CAT WALK)

▶ 1. DO NOT CHANGE YOUR DIET! (1 Month)

You've Got It.

One Step At A Time!

Introduce Green Smoothies

Lessen processed foods!

Try Local & Organic Stuff

A PRINCIPAL : INTERMITTENT EATING

Eat only between 10:00 - 19:00

Start Dinner Before The Sundawn!

Breakfast After 10 Am

(Coffee, Tea before Is Alright..)

▶ 2. WATER FAST (1 Day)

Prefer Distilled / Pure Water

Pour The Water Slowly Into A Glass Jar

Place The Jar On Earth

Let It Under Direct Sun / Moon Light For <10 Minutes

Drink With Slow Sips

Break The Fast With An Apple!

▶ 3. START EATING COMPLETELY PLANT BASED (6-12 months)

Enjoy the plant based eating!

Experience all the sins,

Eat that greasy falafel, eat it.

Go wild on french fries!

Green leafies are the key for digesting the lentils, grains etc.

Go crazy, nuts and seeds!

Berries, fruits, try varieties, explore!

Move the body, dance, do yoga, run, walk, help people carry stuff, work at a garden, do something!

▶ 4. DRY FAST (3 Days)

Rest enough, move enough, breath always, meditate..

Break the fast with an apple!

▶ 5. EAT FRESH PLANT BASED (1 Month)

Let go off cooking,

Leave salt and oils behind,

Treat eating as a leisure, as a ritual!

▶ 6. START LEANING TO FRUITS ON BREAKFAST (3 Months)

▶ 7. GRAPE JUICE FAST (7 Days)

Rest enough, move enough, breath always, meditate..

Break the fast with a date!

▶ WHOA! FRESH FRUTARIANS WE ARE!

#FRUTARIAN #fruits #natural human diet #frugivores #human beings #colors #rainbow #unicorns #peace #love #extacy #joy #meyvecil

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sherlollydramoine · 5 years

Note

Hey!! If requests are open, could I request a Rami imagine where him and the reader have 3 kids, maybe an older sibling and then the younger two are twins? And the eldest feels kinda left out? Thank you❤️

Here you go anon, this is the best that I could come up with. I hope you like it. I really love writing Dad!Rami. I would write dad!Rami all day, every day if I could.

Warnings: Dad!Rami fluff. Jealous five year old behavior. Brief mention of sex (how babies are made), and serious... serious... serious.... fluff.

Word Count: 1404

@xmxisxforxmaybe @free-rami @txmel @mrhoemazzello @ramimedley @happy-rami @itsme690 @safinsscar @ladyr0b0t @youthtea @ramisgirl512 @hissom1933 @spacedustmazzello @mezzomercury @sassystrawberryk @ramimalekpan @breadnbutternips @doing-all-write @itslula1991 @warmommy @imnottiredofgettingoveryou @alottanothing @the-real-ramimalekpeen @sasha–1996 @hazeleyedbeth @r-ahh-mi @drummer-in-a-rock-and-roll-band

You and Rami decided to wait until you hit the three month mark in your pregnancy to tell anyone, including your oldest child, your five year old daughter about her new siblings.

She seemed to take the news well.

At Rami’s insistence you bought a bunch of books about having a new baby at home, and what that would mean for her as a big sister, to help your daughter understand.

She was inquisitive and asked a lot of questions over the following few months.

Both you and Rami did the best you could to answer her questions as honestly as possible.

You two had picked out toys to give to her on the day of her siblings birth, as a gift from each baby.

Nothing though, could have prepared any of you for the actual arrival of the twins.

The family dynamics shifted, and you thought your daughter was adjusting well, until the twins turned a month old and she started having fits and tantrums over everything and nothing.

Both of you were confused as to what exactly was going on with her but you both got your answer one afternoon after another tantrum. Your daughter came storming out of her bedroom and screamed at the both of you,”You don’t love me anymore! You only care about the stupid babies!”

That definitely was a shock to both you and Rami, as you had done everything you could to make sure that she felt included and loved.

You both had even let her name her new sister and brother.

Rami decided that he would take her out for some one on one time to try and get to the bottom of things while you stayed home with the twins.

Your daughter was a total daddy’s girl and he would have an easier time trying to glean information from her than you would.

Rami took her out to the car and got her all buckled into her carseat. Since the twins were napping, you came out to give her a kiss and tell you that you loved her. She scoffed at you and turned her head away, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rami noticed and didn’t say anything, just gave you a small smile and blew you a kiss.

You honestly tried not to cry but you went back into the house to get some rest while the babies slept.

Rami looked back in the rearview mirror at your sulking daughter, and he took his time to think about what he wanted to say.

“Hey Princess, why are you mad at Mommy?”

“Because-because-because she had the stupid babies! She doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t like her. She yelled at me today and I didn’t like it. Mommy has been mean since the babies were born. She is only mean because she doesn’t love me anymore!”

“Oh Princess that isn’t true! Your mom and I love you very much.” he says as he pulls out of the driveway, heading towards your daughters favorite ice cream place.

She doesn’t say anything else for a while. She sat quietly staring out the window of the car and it wasn’t until they were about halfway to the ice cream place that she suddenly burst into tears.

Rami pulls the car over at the park that they just happened to be passing before he got out of the car, and freed her from her carseat.

He pulls her into a hug, and allows her to cry out her feelings on his shoulder. He just rubs soothing circles on her back.

“It’s totally normal to feel like you are Princess. Remember those books we read and they said that babies aren’t born smart like you are. They don’t know how to do the things that you do yet. I can promise you though, that mommy didn’t mean to yell at you today. Your mommy loves you the same as she always has.”

“But she doesn’t!”your daughter wailed, and Rami just hugged her tighter.

Once she had finally finished crying, he locks the car and lets her lead the way towards the playground.

She asks him to push her on the swings, and he complies because all he wants is to see her smile.

He picks her up and sets her on the swing, as he begins to push her. Her little squeals of delight make his heart swell with happiness. He misses his Princess smiling and laughing.

After ten minutes she gets bored and he asks her if she wants to get ice cream.

“With sprinkles?” she asks.

“With sprinkles.” he says, and she smiles the biggest smile that he’s seen on her in a while.

She sprints to the car and happily climbs into her seat. After he got her secured back in the car seat and was back behind the wheel he heard her humming a lullaby.

“You like that song?” he asks her.

“Yes. Can I sing it to the babies tonight?”

“Of course you can.”

“Daddy did you mean it when you said that the babies aren’t smart like me? That I have to teach them things?”

“Yes. It’s true. Babies cry because they don’t know how to talk. You were little like they were once. You cried a lot. Babies eat, sleep, cry, poop, and squirm.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Just like your brother and sister do now.”

“Oh. So, I was annoying just like them?” she asks again.

Rami laughs. “I wouldn’t say annoying, but yes you acted just like they do now. And they are going to need you as they get bigger. You will know all about the world, so you can help teach them things.”

“I can?”

“Of course, they are going to need their big sister.”

“I can’t wait to tell them all about the colors of the rainbow and unicorns!”

Rami just laughs to himself. Yes, everything is going to be alright.

“Do you want to do a special job with daddy?” he inquires gently.

“I can’t work. I’m too little!”

“I just mean, do you want to help daddy with the babies when we go home? You are such a good assistant!”

“Okay! As long as I get to sing to the babies.”she answered in a sing-song happy voice.

They got their ice cream and enjoyed it in peace. Your daughter ended up coming home covered in melted ice cream and sprinkles, but the second she saw you she gave you a big hug.

“I love you Mommy! Where’s my babies?” your daughter asks, as soon as Rami got her free from her carseat and set her down.

“Well Princess, they are on their play mat on the living room floor. Go say hi if you want.” you tell her.

Rami comes in wearing a dopey smile.

“So babe, how the hell did you manage to get her to make a complete turn around?”

“I just had to remind her of some of the stories that we read before the babies were born. Also, that she is going to get to teach them things. She was just feeling unloved and she felt like it was your fault since you gave birth to them. I don’t think she’s quite old enough to explain to her just how involved I was in the creation of the three of them.” he laughs, wrapping you in his arms.

“Yeah, I agree, she’s a little young for the sex talk.” you giggle into his shoulder.

“I think maybe, we need to carve out a certain time every day where one or both of us just pay attention to her. No interruptions, just our complete and undivided attention on her. I may have also gotten her to agree to be daddy’s assistant when I’m on baby duty.” he laughs again. You roll your eyes.

All of a sudden you hear one of the babies start crying, and you both head into the living room to find out exactly what is the matter.

Your daughter is sitting on the floor next to her baby brother, and she’s got her hand on his chest.

“Shhhh it’s okay. Your big sissy is here, you’re going to be okay.”she coos gently at the baby. Unexpectedly he stops crying, and grabs onto his big sister’s finger.

“Yeah. I think things are going to be okay Rami. I think things are going to be okay.”

#rami malek #rami malek fanfiction #rami malek fluff #anon asked #sherlolly answered #rami malek dad rami #rami malek is adorable #dad!rami #rami malek as a dad #rami malek blurb #rami malek imagine #rami malek headcanon #rami malek HC #this is adorable #i enjoyed this #fluffy goodness #seriously rami malek as a dad is the cutest

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tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 5

This is long and he is a brat, ok?

Ao3

“Ok,” I heave the last shovel of horse poop from the black horse’s area and lean on my pitchfork, barely resisting the urge to plug my nose with my hand, as my hand has recently been in contact with said horse poop.

The black horse isn’t nice, exactly, but not quite skittish either, and largely my only two problems with it—him—are the leash he allows Astrid to have around my time and maybe also neck if she asked for it and the amount he poops. Like, maybe he should cut back on the fiber. A little more cheese, possibly.

“Ok what?” Astrid closes the stall door at the other end of the barn with her foot, chucking a pitchfork of horse shit into a wheelbarrow.

It’s been less than 24 hours in Wyoming, and I recognize horse shit.

This is great. This is all going so great.

“Ok, his room is clean.”

“Room?” She raises an eyebrow, the same unimpressed expression I got last night when I had no idea what a ‘flake’ of hay was. The only flakes I’ve ever seen are corn flakes, and as they’re usually non-GMO and therefore pad Monsanto’s bottomless pockets with bovine diabetes, I haven’t seen them in years.

“Stable.” I shrug, “stall, whatever fancy horse word it is. I don’t know why it matters.”

“There are four more stalls on your side,” she gestures with her shoulder, picking up the full wheelbarrow handles and moving before I can protest.

So, I jog up next to her to protest, work-loosened shoes slipping over my heels.

“My side?” I shiver when we’re outside, the early morning sun doing about as little to cut the chill as my hoodie is, “last time I checked, my horse is on the end—”

“I told you that you would help me muck stalls,” she grunts as she heaves the wheelbarrow into a lovely pile of horse shit in a brown and putrid monotone rainbow of stages.

“I did,” I point at my dirty pants with my dirty hand.

“I did five, you did one.” She reminds me, like I could have forgotten in the last minute, and I wonder if flinching in the wind is making me look like I’m having a stroke.

“Yeah.”

“So, you think I should go do nine of them?” She cocks her hip, and I don’t understand how she has the energy to be this hostile this early. When she knocked on my bedroom door this morning, I thought she must have been a very polite burglar warning me that they were taking one of my dad’s absolutely lovely recliners off of my hands so that I could thank them.

But no, when I opened my bedroom door it was just Astrid, arms crossed and looking down at my pajamas like I’d already disappointed her, asking why I wasn’t dressed yet.

And then she made me instant coffee, like she was doing me a favor, when I probably would have preferred horse shit tea.

The wind shifts and I catch a whiff of the pile.

Nope. That’s an exaggeration, but from the way the shitty, acrid coffee churns in my empty stomach, it’s not much of one.

“I didn’t say that,” I hold my hand out for one of the pills that I know is in her pocket, “I just need my horse’s medicine.”

“Yeah, and I said I’d give it to you after you helped muck out the stable.”

“Stable or stall, which is it?” I roll my eyes, “the lack of consistency really isn’t making me feel much trust in your management style.”

That gets her, a little flicker in those bright blue eyes, a tense in her jaw that makes me think twice about angering her into headbutting me, because I don’t think it’d be fun.

“You can have the medicine when you muck out the other four stalls, of the five in your half, which constitutes half the stable.” She talks about horse rooms like they’re engine compartments and I feel like a coolant leak, shoving steam out and making her pull over on the way to something important.

Not that there’s anything important out here. There hasn’t been anything important since someone brought a store-bought pie to church, or something. And that was probably a year ago.

“But I already did my horse’s stall.”

My horse already feels steadier than ‘my room’ or ‘my house’ or ‘my dad’, and I don’t know why. Maybe because the horse is the only one here to not actively reject me, like the twin bed that’s now too short or the crooked floorboard I tripped over.

“Yeah, and there are four more.”

“Why do I care about the other four?” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t gotten so used to the progressive, ‘spare the rod to spoil the child and save the world’ schools that my mom has sent me to, because this is like being spanked with the feelings stick by a hormonally confusing drill sergeant in the lobby to military school.

“Because your horse,” she implies ‘and by extension you’ by jabbing me in the arm with a pointed finger, “costs money and time and space, and since no one else can get close to him, for some reason.” The jealousy is like a fresh americano from the fair trade café down the street from my old apartment, “so you have to pull the weight.”

“Can a horse really weigh four surplus stalls of horse shit?”

“Come tell me when you’re done, and I’ll teach you how to clean out the chicken coop.”

“You said I could have the medicine after the stalls were mucked,” I must say it right even though I was planning to make another joke, because she just crosses her arms and shrugs that tense shrug at me.

“He’ll need them again tonight, won’t he?”

She’s right, but not as a way to get me to listen to her, just as a fact, and I realize once and for all that she’s not someone to out-talk or out-logic. She won’t give me an inch because I make her laugh, and it’s so my luck that the only concrete proof I’ve had in a decade that my dad really, actually knows me, is that he somehow chose the right person to torture me into some brand of obedience so manually productive that it’s probably anti-union.

I get back to mucking.

The fact that I am not strong is really Mrs. Razorwhip’s fault for making gym so easy to skip. In fact, the only time I ever actually had to suffer through the weight room was sneaking through it to the emergency exit with the disabled alarm that let me out into the alley.

Back home, I would insist that I’m not useless. Not impressive, obviously, there’s not much to look at, but I’ve never struggled lugging groceries up the stairs.

Then again, four stalls of horse shit weighs more than enough tofu and kale to feed my mom and I for a month.

“Are you done yet?” Astrid comes back after some indeterminate, sweaty time and catches me taking a probably forbidden break, petting the black horse’s nose.

“Ma’am, yes Ma’am.” I salute.

She doesn’t appreciate it, and she doesn’t even try to hide the fact, and while I’m used to Heather jokingly calling me an asshole, the direct disappointment is different. A little bitter. Like the static emanating out of a missing rewind button in a dusty remote I lost years ago.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” She looks at the black horse then at me, taking a reluctant, peace-seeking step towards me, and I get the somewhat familiar feeling that she doesn’t want to be so mean to me, but I just make it easy.

She hands me his medicine and I guess her hand gets a little too close, because he makes an ear-splitting noise and attempts to bite her through the bars, nostrils flared and red-lined as Hiccup jumps back, fumbling with the oversized pill and barely catching it.

“Whoa there,” she attempts to comfort, voice low, hands held in front of her.

The horse gnashes square teeth at her, cry turning painful when he tries to pop onto his back legs.

“Whoa there.” I mimic Astrid entirely, stepping towards the stall, heart swelling with something important when he looks at me, breathing hard, gnashing his teeth but no longer crying.

“Devil maybe,” she suggests under her breath, jealous where she was just half-way decently ok with me, and my mouth has always been a few leaps and bounds ahead of my pre-cognition.

“Toothless.” I snort at my own joke and she stares at me like I’m stupid again. Still stupid. A fossilized kind of stupid that she or someone she knows probably wants to mine for crude oil. “Because he never shows them to me.”

She sighs then points at the wheelbarrow, which is already full again, because I actually did move more horse shit than her and I’ve got the exhausted back and shoulders to prove it, “dump this, then meet me at the chicken coop.”

The chicken coop is worse than the stalls.

I’ll never complain about horse shit again, as long as I live. Or at least until the next time I have to deal with it, more likely.

Which is the next day.

And the next.

The fourth morning in my own private Wyoming, she wakes me up earlier than normal, and I find myself completely unsecured in the back of the old ranch truck alongside giant flakes of hay, staring at Fishlegs as Astrid starts driving through the field.

For all my dad talks about loving his life and his cows, it really does feel like I’m just pelting them in the face with itchy dried grass that makes me wish I’d borrowed some of the thick gloves from the barn.

“You can throw them farther than that!” Astrid calls out the window and I grunt, tossing one as far as I can and turning back to Fishlegs.

“What is her problem?”

“What?”

“I said,” I clear my throat and try and take out the welling anger on another flake of hay, which falls apart in the breeze and ends up mostly in my face. And mouth. And hair. “What is Astrid’s problem?”

“Well,” he pauses, and he doesn’t get yelled at immediately, of course, “I did hear she failed math.”

“So, the ghost of unsatisfied Algebra II homework possessed her and turned her soul to pure evil?” I huff.

She can probably hear me.

I don’t care if she hears me, I don’t think. She can hide a body, probably, and she could skewer me with a pitchfork, but the only thing she resents more than me is Toothless and then she’d be stuck with him, so…

“I would have tutored her, if I wasn’t off at school—”

My glare cuts him off and he starts shoving hay off of the back of the truck again.

“No, I don’t care about her grades, I—she has it out for me.” It’s the only explanation. She’s probably operating under some misconception that my being here will have some impact on her being my dad’s favorite, or something. Which given how little he’s spoken to me for the last few days, is absolutely not true, and it makes me want to pound on the back window and tell her that she can have him.

Except my arms hurt. I don’t think I can ‘pound’ on anything, not in so many words.

And I bet I’ll have to muck stalls when I get back to the ranch. Maybe I can have a break if my arm literally falls off. I wonder if that would make me more or less symmetrical.

“She doesn’t,” Fishlegs assures me, sweeping the rest of the hay out of the rusted bed with his foot and thumping on the top of the cab before sitting down. Before I have time to ask why, Astrid speeds up and turns around, almost flinging me out of the bed, and I end up sprawled with a handful of stupid, itchy hay up the back of my shirt, ass throbbing from smacking the bed too hard.

“What was that then?” I spit out a piece of hay, finding some in my hair and knowing that this isn’t the time to shower. Not until she’s done with me. Or my arm falls off.

Or maybe she’d just show me how to scoop one handed.

And it’s barely past dawn.

“She drives fast.”

“I can see that.”

“I’ve heard she’s been driving ranch trucks since she was nine,” he leans forward, barely speaking above the roar of the engine. “Ever since she could reach the pedals.”

“I’ve been hot wiring cars ever since I forged a key to the teacher’s lounge,” I mutter under my breath, not competing in a race I can’t win so much as I wish I could shock and awe without my dad calling the cops. I’m still expecting a scared straight romp for stealing a stupid pack of gum from Gobber, but maybe he figures Astrid will kill me first.

I do have to muck when I get back.

Then I get cryptic instructions to ‘hand walk’ Toothless, to which I respond that I probably couldn’t get a very good grip on him with my toes. Astrid doesn’t laugh, just shoves an old horse-leash into my hand before telling me cryptically that she’ll find me later.

And that’s my life now. Living in fear of Astrid finding me, never able to avoid her. Like I’m running and screaming and looking for a quiet corner to nurse my wounds, but she always finds me, always calm, always stern. Usually holding something sharp.

It’s like if Michael Meyers was a really hot teenage girl.

The twins teach me how to milk their goats one morning, and at first I don’t think it’ll be that bad because at least I get to sit, but somehow, walking a horse around and lifting horse shit also makes my butt hurt. Who knew.

Also, the twins don’t shut up.

“Heard you were asking what’s up with Astrid,” Ruffnut sing-songs during a rare, nearly pleasant pause in the conversation, and I accidentally squirt goat milk at my shoe. It soaks through. Which is great. I understand boots now that I have goat milk between my toes. Couldn’t have aimed left, that would have been too pleasant.

“Mostly in a ‘what do I tell the priest?’ way.”

“She’s single,” Ruffnut raises her eyebrows, “but hasn’t finished high school yet, so the priest talk is probably pretty pre-mature.”

“What does high school or her relationship status have to do with the exorcism?” I snort.

“I’ve heard she can lift like five-hundred pounds,” Tuffnut adds, “and I’ve heard that dirt doesn’t stick to her. Like she could roll in a pile of dirt, and her very aura would just reject it.”

“I…don’t think that’s true.” I almost want to ask Tuffnut what geometric shape he thinks the earth is, but it’ll bug me too much if he’s wrong.

“She can talk to goats,” Tuffnut continues, “she’s said some very unkind things to Chicken, and Duchess here translated.” He pats the goat he’s milking on the butt and accidentally squirts more milk at my right foot. Great.

Awesome.

“She likes tall guys. Not historically, but I can just kind of guess that she would now,” Ruffnut grins, “she doesn’t need as much sleep as anyone else—”

“Because she got bitten by a radioactive spider and became a vigilante but it’s not very useful in a town with no crime,” Tuffnut cuts her off and Ruffnut squirts him with goat’s milk on purpose. He catches it in his mouth and proceeds to cough.

“She’s not Spiderman”

“Then why’d she get that spider out of my room that one time?” He wheezes, and I’d rather roll in the horse poop mound than be here right now.

“Because you were screaming.” Ruffnut grins at me again, and I get the feeling that she thinks I’m here for her entertainment. I’ve never liked that feeling, honestly. I don’t like expectation. I’d rather just force my antics on people and be rejected than never live up to the assumption in someone else’s head.

And I know for a fact that I could never compete with whatever Ruffnut is coming up with. More than that, I wouldn’t want to.

“Plus, I know Peter Parker. He’s holding the high rise down while I…do this.” I try and pet the goat I’m milking. It tries to bite me.

Toothless is about the only farm animal that is toothless towards me.

“So you’re asking for rumors about Astrid?” Ruffnut tries again, and I sigh.

“No, I’m just…wondering why she’s so…” there are a lot of words I could use. Bitchy, if I wanted Heather to slap me mentally from thousands of miles away. Demanding, if I wanted to complain, which I don’t, because it would all obviously get back to her and then my dad. “Against me, in particular.”

“She’s not,” Tuffnut sighs, “she’s like this with everyone, always trying to make us work harder, as if some of us haven’t already reached peak potential.” He squirts at Ruffnut and gets it in her hair before laughing.

She stands up and splashes the whole bucket she’d managed to collect on his face and my right shoe gets even soggier. Great. Fantastic.

“He’s right, for once,” Ruffnut assures between laughs, tossing the bucket itself at Tuffnut’s head and knocking him off of his stool. “She just genuinely wakes up every day excited to go do things and chores and she thinks everyone else should too. It’s bizarre.”

“You’ve disrespected the Duchess,” Tuffnut stands up, prepared to tackle his sister and I leave before it can get any worse, for once sure that I won’t get the blame for things not going perfectly.

There are an old pair of boots in the hall closet that fit me with a thick pair of socks and when I start wearing them, my dad looks almost proud. That makes it worse, but I can’t tell him that I’m not trying to fit in, because Toothless needs another round of antibiotics, and when he asks Astrid how I’ve been doing, she shrugs in some kind of silent acceptance that seems like it’s in my dad’s language more than mine.

I’ve lost count of my days in hostile solitude when I get stuck on my back under a tractor with Snotlout, trying to diagnose an engine that appears to be held together with duct tape and a water bottle full of amber liquid I don’t recognize.

“Well, I think I see the problem,” I point at the bottle and he snorts.

“That connects the thingamajig to the thing,” he points at what I believe to be the oil pan, “I fixed it last year, it’s fine.”

“It’s a water bottle.”

“So, I heard you’ve been asking about Astrid,” he gloats, and I hate that I’ve been mucking Hookfang’s stall and more than that, I hate that Hookfang is kind of nice, in a begging dog way.

“Does she know that the tractor is held together with floss and paperclips?” I scoot away from him, feeling bare dirt through my too thin jeans, back and side sore from the morning in the barn. “Because that seems like the kind of lack of perfection which would make her make me do fifty pushups while chanting some mantra about getting up before the sun.”

“I’m kind of the Astrid expert, ask me anything.” He reaches up and wraps a new length of duct tape around a leaking pipe and I wince.

“Alright, why does Tuffnut think she’s Spiderman?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“That does not take an Astrid expert to answer,” I roll out from under the tractor, sure that it’s above my paygrade, which is zero.

Actually, it’s less than zero, given that I’m working for horse medicine that isn’t even possible for me to have fun with. I’m an indentured servant working on behalf of a horse, next to an idiot who tapes tractors together like he’ll be opening an exhibit of redneck macaroni art called “John Deere, an American Journey” at the tri-county community center soon.

“Ok, ok, I’ll tell you a secret.” Snotlout is easy to read. He’s a ransom note of a man, put together from the Cheyenne Gazette, Laramie Chronicle, and Bum-Fuck Nowhere Times, then laminated with some deep-seated fear that I don’t believe his swagger. Which I don’t.

“Please, don’t enlighten me.”

“Astrid looks like she’s what? A B-cup?” He says with a straight face and I let myself imagine telling Astrid this, because while I don’t want her to headbutt me, Snotlout might be satisfying, “but you’d be wrong. C-cup. All the way.”

“No shit.” I deadpan, “I’m sure this tractor is in your capable hands so I’m just going to go…not here.”

“I know from when we dated.”

“Right.” I stand up, “I’m…bye. Maybe I’ll go clean the chicken coop, because it’s disgusting, and you won’t follow me.”

I don’t though. I go talk to Toothless. I smooth a brush over his fur the way I’ve seen Astrid do to Stormfly, carefully avoiding the nearly healed slash in his back leg. I tell him about fire escapes and self-destination and if it weren’t for Astrid finding me before dinner, I’d probably miss it.

I almost tell her what Snotlout said, just to watch the carnage, but I really don’t want to be stuck dealing with that tractor.

00000

It takes an hour and some not so dignified groveling to Fishlegs to convince my father that Skype isn’t going to give his barely half a tier above dial-up internet a virus. It takes two additional days to actually set a time with Heather because her social life has apparently boomed without me and because Astrid hid my phone yesterday until I finished cleaning out the chicken coop.

Because beneath her irritatingly beautiful exterior, she’s the reincarnation of a knuckle slapping nun who hates left-handedness and the suggestion of fun.

But almost two weeks since I left New York, I’m oh-so-generously given an hour off stall mucking duty before dinner by Commander in Chief Hofferson, and Heather’s brother took her fake ID, apparently, so I sit down at the tiny desk sized for my eight year old self and turn on my laptop for the first time since I’ve been here. It’s a little strange, how much has changed in the last two weeks, the dirt from Toothless’s fur caked under my fingernails, the sunburned skin tight across the bridge of my nose. Back home I used to never be outside enough to really get a tan. It was always muggy and Mom had it so ingrained that the smell wasn’t the river, it was slaughterhouse runoff up-river, that hanging around outside never really seemed appetizing. Here though, it’s cold until almost lunch and by then I’m pink almost to peeling even while I’m still shivering.

The internet takes three limping tries to connect. My dad’s password is Haddock. No numerals, just his last name. If that’s a Wyoming benchmark, I wonder how hard it would be to break into that tiny, old-fashioned-shootout looking bank in town to steal the price of a plane ticket home. I’ll ask Heather today if I could sleep under her bed.

I call her on Skype once the internet seems somewhat, tenuously solid, and she picks up almost immediately, the eyeliner smudged under her eyes exacerbating the graininess of the image somehow. She doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping much and she adjusts her screen, the window blurring as my connection flickers.

“Oh my god, this is so 2009,” she laughs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Is that the lighting? Or…oh my god, are you tan? That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s the lighting, I’m definitely sunburned,” I laugh, glancing at myself in the small front facing window. If it’s possible, I’ve lost weight since I’ve been here, all the stupid, draining manual labor, and my cheeks look as hollow as my plan to hitchhike back to New York without being caught or murdered. Or caught and murdered.

My dad would probably let Astrid do the honors.

“I didn’t realize there was sun in Wyoming.”

“As it’s on the planet Earth, it does occasionally experience direct sunlight, especially because I can currently see the only two trees in about a fifty-mile radius from my window right now.”

She laughs and I almost wish we hadn’t done this, because the pang in my chest is so distinctly homesickness. I hadn’t felt homesick before now, not really. Grumpy, sure, belligerent, always. Stubborn? All the time. But now I’m stuck on the way it used to sound when Heather’s laugh wasn’t filtered through two shitty speakers and she was sneaking in my window at 2 in the morning because her brother let some new crazy come in.

“Well, I solved global warming then, we just need to stop the sun from hitting places that don’t have trees or people.” She taps her temple with a dark polished finger, “why doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

“I really don’t know, all your ideas are so practical.”

“And I thought I missed you,” she scoffs, something treacherously close to a genuine expression tugging at the corners of her mouth, and even while webcams make me look yellow and scrawnier than normal, Heather looks great in all her smudged makeup, forcefully edgy glory. “I’m going to hang up, let you die in my mind as a happy memory.”

“Like that would convince anyone.” I laugh. She laughs. The bad connection whispers static and she bites her lip.

I don’t know how to tell her about Toothless.

I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t thought that I’d want to tell her about anything here because she’s separate, a relic reminding me of all the reasons I have to get back but now there’s a reason I almost want to stay and I’m not sure if it’s stronger than the brunt of Heather’s sheer, practiced cynicism.

“Things are boring here without you,” she rolls her eyes, holding long bangs in front of her eyes and checking for split ends, “Dagur’s on some new parenting kick because your mom had some scary conversation with him. I should get her a cat or something so she has someone to boss around that isn’t me.”

“What’d you do to make her talk to your brother?”

“It’s funny, because your mom used to be the one talking about how play based kindergartens in Scandanavia are so much better than the homework geared education system here, but if anyone tries to stay in your old room to protest the frankly ridiculous workload in an American high school, suddenly it’s cause for alarm.”

“Have you thought any more about law school? Because that’s quite the argument.”

“Right, because any individuality can be crammed into the stuffiest of stuffed shirt professions.”

“I mean, not the stuffiest, there’s a scarecrow in the pumpkin patch that has more stuffing in his shirt than any lawyer I’ve ever met.”

“You just haven’t been around enough lawyers. Because you’ve been spending too much time at the pumpkin patch, apparently.”

“It’s on the way to the…” I pause before saying ‘barn’ because barn feels like it means something more than it does. Like yes, a structure that houses animals, commonly cows or horses but also…somewhere I’ve been spending a lot of time. Somewhere I don’t hate quite as much as Heather hates everywhere. “The house, back from the chicken coop, where I get to spend my early mornings scraping chicken shit off of the dirt.”

“Ah, the charming calm of pastoral life,” she rests her cheek on her hand and flutters her eyelashes. I see the corner of some new tattoo creeping onto her wrist but if she hasn’t told me yet I probably shouldn’t ask, and it’s like she’s got her own Toothless.

I don’t think we’ve ever had secrets. Not since she dropped into my bedroom eerily silently when I was thirteen and I didn’t have the chance to get my pants back up before she noticed what I was doing.

There’s a knock on my doorframe and of course I forgot to close the door and of course when I turn around it’s Astrid, because she has an unfortunate sixth sense for when I have an uncomfortable thought in my head.

“What?”

She rolls her eyes, “I was just coming to tell you that we got back early so dinner might be early.”

“Ok.” I stare at her and she doesn’t leave, “I’m kind of having a conversation here, so could you shut the door on the way out?”

“You aren’t coming to dinner?”

“I’ll be down in a bit.”

She looks me up and down, pausing at my shoulder like she’s trying to see the laptop behind it and I glare at her.

“Fine,” she reaches for the doorknob, “it’s not my fault if there’s nothing left when you grace us with your presence.”

“Nothing ever is, Your Great Bossiness,” I mumble as I turn back to the screen, and Astrid might have heard me from the pause before she yanks the door fully shut.

For a second I think the internet glitched out, because Heather is staring at me with a near constipated expression, but her eyebrow quirks with natural fluidity and I shrug.

“Are you going to make me ask who that was?”

“If you ask are you going to make me answer?” I rub my forehead, “it was just Astrid, my dad’s most favoritest ranch-hand and the bossiest perfectionist I’ve ever met. As you saw, she cannot stay out of anyone’s business for a second.”

“So, not a new best friend, then?”

“God no,” I snort, “I might actually permit your careless use of the word ‘fascist’ in this case.”

Heather rolls her eyes, the big sort of eye roll she reserves for teachers and her brother when he claims not to know all about the permission slip he obviously signed weeks ago, “did you get an impenetrable coating of country dust in your eye or something?”

“What?”

“Are you blind?” She scoffs, crossing her arms so that I see a few straight delicate lines of the tattoo I don’t know about.

“Once again, what?”

“I didn’t realize you’d lost your ability to identify a hot girl, Hiccup, we’ve got to get you home asap, put you through some remedial training.”

I snort, “Astrid? Yeah, I mean, I’m not blind, but if she’s hot it’s in the ‘fire and brimstone’, satanic way.”

Heather’s staring at me like she can get my pulse from the flicker of her screen or something and I sigh.

“I have a horse.”

“What?” She laughs, “what does that have to do with Astrid being hot? That’s—oh god, Hiccup, I’ll get a psychiatrist note to get you back to civilization asap—”

“No!” I run my hand through my constantly grubby hair, “I—there was a horse when I got here. He was hurt and cranky and didn’t like any of them so they were going to put him down but he liked me and I gave him his antibiotics a few times and now I guess he’s mine and Astrid’s sure she knows everything—Like she thinks she invented horses, I swear—and…” I almost do jazz hands and say ‘ta-da’, but I hold that back. “What’s the new tattoo?”

I’m not as successful at holding back. Apparently.

“Oh,” she holds up her arm, upside down, “it’s that thing we talked about, the constellations?” She twists her arm and reveals thin black line stylizations of Lyra the harp and a slightly larger Aquila the eagle. The stars are careful dots of black on blank white skin and she traces her finger up the inside of her elbow, “and after it heals some, because this hurt more than my leg for some reason, I’m going to get the milky way up around here.”

“Right,” I laugh, “those were the two.”

“Gosh, back then you weren’t Mr. Cowboy yet and you thought your mom’s friend’s farm upstate was really roughing it.”

“So did you!” I shake my head, “you thought there were bears and you kept trying to climb into my sleeping bag.”

“I was cold!” She crosses her arms again, “no one told me we’d be sleeping in a tent. I thought it was a sleeping bag on the living room floor kind of deal.”

“And you hated it.”

“If I wanted to go camping, I’d follow the disillusioned youth to backpack across southeast Asia, where I know there are no bears.”

“Right, only occasionally man-eating tigers, much more manageable.”

“We’ll just have to bring your horse, they can outrun tigers, right?” She leans forward, like she’s interested, or trying to be, “they can hold two people, I know they can, my mom used to love ancient western romances.”

“Well, he can’t hold anyone yet, or maybe he can, I don’t know, he hasn’t yet. I don’t really know how to train him and he won’t let anyone else close to him so…it’s a learning curve. It’s not like I can take him apart and see how he works.” I look at the door, because if Astrid’s going to eavesdrop, this is probably going to be the time, “he’s black. There’s probably some fancy word for that like there is for everything having to do with horses but it just looks like black to me. And he’s smaller, I guess he’s like feral or something, and all the horses around here are super fancy quarter horses.”

“Does he have a name or are you waiting on something fancy for that too?”

“Toothless,” I snort, “because I’m the only one he doesn’t bite on sight. It drives Astrid crazy. She thought she was a bona fide horse whisperer before I came along.”

“Hmm,” Heather leans forward, like she’s tired, but not like I’m boring her. The strap of her tank top slips over her shoulder, flirting with where she wants that milky way and I clear my throat. She cocks her head. “What?”

“Your uh, your strap.”

“It’s two hours later here than it is there, excuse me for being in my grounded pajamas.” Her smile is too tight to be genuine as she continues and I can’t help but note it’s only 5 here, “and your mom locked your window after the whole skipping school incident.”

“You said skipping, not protesting.”

“Whatever,” she shrugs, “skipping is protesting.”

It’s too quiet. Heather and I are never this quiet. We’ve always struggled to whisper. Something feels wrong about it and I look at the time.

“I hate to do this but Astrid isn’t kidding, if I don’t get down there soon there’s not going to be any food left in this house.”

“No one could save you a plate?” She raises her eyebrow, head tilting to the side as the camera catches the shadow of her collar bone in particularly stark relief.

“I’d say it’s a fair feast for 20 people split six ways, including my dad. And then there’s me, scraping at the crumbs. Mom would kill me, I’m eating steak every night, my carbon footprint is huge without accounting for the gas guzzling farm trucks.”

“I’ll tell her, she’ll have you home and back on tofu in an instant.”

“If it were that easy, I’d be back already.” That feels like a lie, because I know already that I can’t leave Toothless, not now, not like this, but it also feels like something that I need to say. Like please and thank you and hello and goodbye. “Anyway though, I gotta go. But we have to chat again the next time you have a hole in your social schedule and Astrid isn’t flogging me to scrub dirt, or something.”

“Yeah, go fight for your steak dinner,” she snorts, “and I promise that’s hotter in my head than it sounds.”

“Yes, remember me like that, gallantly fighting for my dinner, not…sunburned and at an elementary school reject desk.”

“No promises,” she laughs before waving goodbye and hanging up.

My stomach grumbles and I shut my laptop, walking downstairs and out onto the porch where everyone’s staring at me just enough to re-energize old school middle school nightmares about going to school naked and legless.

“Saved you a steak,” Astrid points at the grill glaring at Snotlout like he’d made her argue for it.

“Thanks,” I put it on a plate along with one of the always hard freezer rolls dad keeps buying even though no one actually likes them and when I turn around, everyone is still staring at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” Snotlout shrugs, “just no one would save me food if I held up dinner while talking to my girlfriend.”

“Heather isn’t my girlfriend, who said she was my girlfriend?”

Everyone shifts slightly to look at Astrid. I’m overwhelmingly glad that my dad isn’t here.

“What?” She stands, setting her plate on the table, “you were being all cryptic and talking to a girl alone in your room. It’s not a wild assumption.”

“It’s sort of wild that you’d relay your assumption to everyone.”

“Not everyone,” she rolls her eyes, “I didn’t tell your dad.”

“Didn’t tell me what?” My dad walks out through the sliding glass door, “oh, and Hiccup, I went ahead and turned the internet back off.”

“Mr. Haddock, it’s perfectly safe to just leave it on,” Fishlegs starts, and for a second I think ‘thank god, someone partially on my side in all this’, but then he continues, “at U-dub the wireless only goes down a few times a year for maintenance and no one gets any information they shouldn’t—”

“That’s because no one wants it, Fish,” I cut him off, sitting down next to Ruffnut and stabbing the steak with my fork. I honestly don’t get the big deal. After a decade of halfway dedicated vegetarianism and occasional vegan adventures, I really don’t get the steak hysteria. I’d rather have a big mac right now, to be honest. Something unhealthy that actually tastes like it.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out to see a text from Heather.

Heather: Btw, sneaking out, if I don’t contact you in 48 hours, call the police, my brother probably killed me

“See? It’s totally his girlfriend,” Snotlout grumbles, “look at how focused he is on his phone.”

“Girlfriend?” My dad sits down next to Astrid who obediently scoots to make room, “Hiccup can’t possibly have a girlfriend.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

“Well he does and her name is Heather, allegedly,” Tuffnut leans back against the porch railing, “all of this is alleged by others than Hiccup himself, so it’s allegedness remains allegedful.”

“Heather? Your kid friend?” My dad raises his eyebrows, “I didn’t realize she was still around.”

“Still lives upstairs, still my friend, not my girlfriend, can we be done with this?” I glare at Astrid, because it is all her fault, anyway. Her fault for not knowing the meaning of privacy and her fault for telling secrets she has no place in.

“Yeah, shut up about it everyone,” she waves her fork around like she’s issuing a public decree and I narrow my eyes.

“I think me asking them to shut up was probably adequate—”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Her jaw flexes, a silent irritation not quite bordering on challenge and my dad clears his throat.

“Ruffnut, it’s your turn to do the dishes tonight.” He announces, standing up and grabbing his plate.

Ruffnut groans, “of course I get stuck in the kitchen the one time something actually happens.”

“Nothing is happening,” Astrid takes a near vengeful bite of steak before pushing her half-eaten plate towards Tuffnut, who grabs it eagerly as she stands up, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. 5am. Try to get up yourselves this time.”

She stalks off and I try to ignore the burning of the back of my neck from Ruffnut staring at me. I cave, glaring up at her.

“What?”

“Not your girlfriend, huh?”

“Don’t you have dishes to do?” I look back at my plate, trying to maintain some appetite after the long day I had but it’s all gone. I shove it to the middle of the table and stand up myself.

Toothless isn’t busy, at least that’s something I can count on.

#t:rttbposc #httyd fic #modern au #hiccstrid #horse girl hiccup #he's...so bratty #why is he so bratty #i love him #i do fear i'm going to have to explain wyoming to people though #just like the concept #it's a state with only 2 escalators #people refer to a place with two grocery stores as a city #always windy #coal and cows and yeah like yellowstone but at what cost?

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houseofvans · 6 years

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ART SCHOOL | IN SESSION WITH ROB SATO

From vibrant rainbows to familiar yet alien landscapes occupied by strange beings, LA based artist Rob Sato’s works are filled with creative energy in a loose minimalistic style. From watercolor, digital medium to acrylics and oil, Rob’s artworks and illustrations have been shown in various galleries from Giant Robot 2 to the Oakland Asian Cultural Center, where recently his original paintings for a comic called 442 were exhibited. We’re excited to chat with Rob about his work, his various collaborations and what he’s got coming up for the rest of the year. Take the Leap!

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself Hello, my name is Rob Sato. I’m an artist, illustrator, and writer. Something people might not know about me is that I was a kid I was so fanatical about the Oakland A’s that when they lost in the World Series I threw a tantrum so big that I destroyed my bedroom and after that I felt so stupid I quit following baseball. Also, I’m told I have maybe one of the great poop stories of the world. It can only be related in person, so ask me about it sometime if we ever meet.

How would you describe your work and style? Eclectic? Kaleidoscopic? I’ve never had a concise answer to this question. I tend not to pin myself down because I think if I did, I’d stop making things.

Art is my outlet for the cryptic and obscure as well as the gushing spillover of foolish idealism and wild fantasy. It’s the only place I’ve ever found where you can healthily play with unhealthy thoughts, where you can explore undefined emotions, things that lurk out in the corners of consciousness that may be embarrassing or uncontrollable.

I love to make entertainment and decorative work, things that tend to be obvious, that communicate very clearly and reveal all their cards, but I also love to make work that hides things, that actively resists easy understanding or recognition and risks being super personal or unrelatable and strange. This can make things difficult, especially in the ongoing deterioration of attention spans, but I can’t help but pursue things outside of a pop sensibility and logical thought. I have to be, much of the time, in mental wildernesses. It’s hard to get there, hard to be there, and hard to come back, but it keeps me going.

Tell us about how you really started getting into art, and how that turned into what you do now? Was it something you always intended to pursue? I’ve drawn every single day for as long as I can remember. I never really thought about it. It just seems to be what I do. It’s how I have fun, how I solve problems, how I think. I’ve wanted to pursue other things like make movies or write books, but I always find myself drawing. Before I know it, it’s time for bed again.

When you are working on a new piece or upcoming exhibition or show? What’s your process like? What themes do you find yourself taking on? I explode. I used to plan things in a very directed way, but lately I’ve just let my brains spill out everywhere. I make a ton of drawings and paintings, and try my best to be fearless and open. Most of it produces failure after failure, but it shows me what might be worth building on, plus many exciting surprises reveal themselves in the process. As a show nears I start seeing what things fit together, what needs to be edited out, and how it all might form a cohesive exhibition. Sometimes the subject matter is the glue that makes everything stick, other times it’s the aesthetics. Alongside the explosion I usually have 2 or 3 pieces going at any given time that I’ve had long term plans for. These pieces can take take months or even years.

Thematically I’m all over the place. War and peace, realism and surrealism, grim realities and escapism, sober observations and dumb jokes.

What are some of your go-to art making materials? Are there mediums you want to explore that you’ve yet to get your hands on? I feel pretty comfortable with anything you can use to make a mark on a piece of paper. I’ve mainly used watercolor and various drawing tools for the past several years. I’m been having fun with acrylics and oils again, and I’ve started to play around with photography a little. I’ve had ideas for sculpture and film for years that I’d really like to finally get to. What I really want to get my hands on is more time.

Where do you find inspiration? What kind of things or people inspire what you make? Watching someone pick their nose listening to headphones and singing softly to themselves in line at the grocery store. Just watching my cat live her weird life. Even though the final artwork may not really show it, these places are usually where my ideas originate. Art has also been a place where I can put memories that have some abstract need to be recorded.

I made this series of drawings called “Bad Hands”, which started out with me laughing at these dumb hands I was drawing with academically incorrect anatomy. Abandoning correctness felt so good. In the process it triggered a memory from High School. I had been forbidden from drawing in one of my classes, so I was contorting my hands into different shapes at my desk to amuse myself. There was a hysteria over gang activity in the school at the time and the teacher freaked out thinking I was throwing gang signs and I ended up getting sent to detention.

At detention I was talking with a friend and made fun of the teacher for her mistake. A kid who was in a gang overheard and then HE misunderstood and thought I was making fun of gangs or something. On my way home from school he and a couple dudes punched and kicked me for a bit while I tried and failed to explain. I think it’s funny.

So embedded in that piece is this tumbling series of misunderstandings, these multiple layers of hands being perceived as bad, speaking in an absurd language that communicates different things to different people. I know people aren’t going to see all those layers in the final piece, but that’s where it comes from and I hope it at least sparks some thoughts about talking with our hands, and where else can you follow this kind of train of thought except in art?

I get inspired by artists who seem to approach art as an intuitive discovery process rather than a pursuit of mastery, that play is one of the more important aspects of making things. My wife, Ako, has been a huge influence on me in this respect. She’s continuously playing with various materials around her at any given time and finding out what she can do with them. Everywhere she goes she abandons a nest made of fresh creations she’s manifested out of mud, string, packaging, plants, uneaten rice, her used drinking straw, lint and whatever else was within her reach

You’ve done a lot of collaborations with companies, museums and art galleries. Do you have a favorite collaboration, and what about the collaboration do you enjoy the most? I’ve recently been collaborating with Tiny Splendor, an indie publisher and printer who have studios in LA and Oakland. It’s been really great working with them, Cynthia Navarro in LA on risographs, and with Max Stadnik, who runs the print shop in Oakland.

Max has been returning to lithography, my favorite traditional printing medium, and he printed a piece of mine inspired by mushrooms called “Growerings". It’s a full 5 color print, which means it took five separate plates and each print had to go through the press 5 times. It turned out more beautifully than I could have hoped for. Litho is a super difficult but also very fun process and the results are so rich.

I think I particularly love this collaboration because the image fits the medium so well, and the combination of the two elevates the final piece of work, When it works, the artwork and the print become more than just an image on a piece of paper. It’s more alive in some undefinable way.

Since we’re called Art School, we always ask the artists to give us their favorite art tip? Never force the thing you think you want, you’ll probably miss out on the really interesting thing that’s happening. Also, don’t drink too much coffee. I have trouble taking both of these pieces of my own advice every day.

What do you enjoy doing when you’re not making stuff? How do you chill out? I read and run. I love coffee and I love gossip and talking nonsense with friends. Also, I cannot stop watching Terrace House.

What is the last art show that you went to? What artists should folks keep an eye out for? I recently went to the Velveteria in LA’s Chinatown, which is one man’s collection of paintings on velvet. A very entertaining and very fucked up experience. I went to a life drawing session at Subliminal Projects and got to draw surrounded by Chad Kouri’s fun abstracts. I’m actually typing this interview inside an art show right now.

I’m here at my wife, Ako Castuera’s, show “Soil” at the Weingart Gallery at Occidental College. We’re here feeding worms. She sculpted this beautiful ceramic vermiculture composter for the show. It’s a grand temple for worms. The show is an act of gratitude for the exchange we have with the soil which provides the clay for ceramics, and for the worms who turn decay into healthy earth to grow new life in.

She sculpted a menagerie of creatures out of the worm poop that also populate the show. Super fun. Speaking of Ako and Subliminal, her show there with Hellen Jo and Kris Chau this past December was one of those once-in-a-lifetime powerhouse gathering of forces. That may have been the best show I’ve ever seen.

What advice would you give someone thinking about following in your footsteps? What’s something you learned that you want to pass along to art making newbies. Don’t listen to advice if it is extremely quotable. Pay no attention to it especially if it accompanies a photo of a famous artist and fits perfectly into an instagram post. If it’s easy to remember then it’s probably empty, crap inspiration. Those things are entertainments and not words to live by.

If you’re interested in making art you’ll keep making it. It takes day in, day out patience and exploration and mutation to discover how you really work, not some idea of how an artist works.

Sometimes it will be very hard, sometimes it will be so breathtakingly easy you think that your problems have been solved forever. Neither situation ever lasts, but cultivate and nurture your curiosity and what you love, and you’ll find ways to make it through the rough times and keep on making things one way or another.

Who are some of your favorite artists to follow and/or see in a show? Lately I’ve been really enjoying the work of Nathaniel Russell whose work makes this great space where funny, grounded matter-of-factness and sweet nothingness sit comfortably together. His drawing also reminds me of Ben Shahn, my all-time favorite drawer.

I really like Amy Bennet’s oils, these intimate studies of isolation in suburbia where mundanity overlaps with quiet drama and melancholy. Her work obliquely reminds me of Edwin Ushiro’s work, though his stuff is the opposite of melancholic. He captures almost incidental but haunted moments from growing up in Hawaii and infuses them with warmth, and it’s in a style influenced in a super personal way by animation. It reminds me of Satoshi Kon’s movies in its well observed, slice-of-life elements. Edwin’s sketchbooks are a treasure too. Esther Pearl Watson’s recent autobiographical paintings, Hellen Jo’s latest badass watercolors, Amber Wellman’s funny, playful oil paintings, and Matthew Palladino’s watercolors are also favorites.

Megan Whitmarsh’s work is some of my favorite to see in person. Her installation with Jade Gordon at the Hammer’s “Made In LA “ show was maybe the funnest work I’ve ever seen and interacted with. I went to see the Ai Wei Wei show at the Marciano Foundation, which I thought was impressive in scale and execution but still somehow lame, but I stumbled on a Mike Kelley installation/ video piece I’d never seen before in the upstairs collection and loved it so much, but I can’t remember the name of it at the moment.

It’s 2 videos shown side by side of the same guy wearing a cape singing almost the same song simultaneously, but each version has different words at different points. It’s a love song but one version is more bitter and mean and one is sickly sweet. Anyway, highly recommended!

What do you have coming up the rest of the year that you can share with us? For just a few more days there’s a show up at the Oakland Asian Cultural Center with a bunch of my original paintings for a comic I illustrated about the 442, the Japanese American Army unit of World War II. Plus it has some personal work about Japanese American Incarceration and images from my family’s experience in the concentration camps. My grandfather was incarcerated in the Arkansas camps, and he was a soldier in the 442.

Next up, I’m in a slew of group shows all happening within a few weeks of each other this month. Poor scheduling on my part as usual, but it’s nice to be invited to so many. I just sent off my piece to the “Seeing Red” show curated by Jeff Hamada of the BOOOOOOOM art and culture blog. That show will be at Thinkspace in LA. Giant Robot has been kind enough to host another solo show for me in September.

I’ve been busy experimenting with some more 3d stuff that pushes the more narrative side of my work which I hope to show there. We’ll see how the experiments turn out. I’ve also been working on a ton of prints and ideas for books. This year I want to focus on working in print, making zines and comics, and writing a lot more.

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#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Rob Sato #Art School #painting #interview

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

In the Beginning

Summary: Baby Thomas trying to find his place in the world, and Logan finding endless joy in the little things in life. For Thomas’s birthday.

A/N: If Thomas is in quarantine and protecting his team by not forcing them to film stuff, then I’ll have to give him content instead. Not that this is really the best content, but hey it’s what I’ve got.

Sides: Creativity [both Roman and Remus together], Ethos [Deceit], Morality, Logic, and Vigilance [Virgil]

On the school yard, Thomas was excited. His seventh birthday was going great so far, his friends were amazing, and after school they were going to his house to have cake.

He was young and inexperienced with the world, as were his little Sides.

The Sides were overlooking what Thomas was staring at, the little caterpillar he’d picked up from the ground. It was a little green crawler with a yellow stripe along the sides, and tiny blue dots all over it.

Thomas was inspecting it as Logic leaned in to inspect it.

“What is it?” Morality asked, bouncing up and down, trying to look over Thomas and Logic’s shoulders.

“Is it poisonous?” Vigilance asked, the purple Side hiding behind Creativity, the young prince had a stick in his hand.

“I don’t think so,” Logic held the caterpillar carefully in his hands, it was the exact same caterpillar as the one on Thomas’s hand. He was leaned in so he could see the insect closely. “I think they turn into butterflies.”

“Do you think we can eat it and gain the ability to glow in the dark?” Creativity demanded. “Or maybe we’d poop rainbows.”

“Gross,” Vigilance frowned at him.

“Keep talking,” Ethos grinned at Creativity, he had a yellow shirt with a black salamander on it.

“What’s it going to turn into?” Morality asked, grabbing onto Logic’s shoulder and jumping up and down again.

“I don’t know, but we can look,” Logic was excited.

They were so distracted, and by extension Thomas was so distracted, that they didn’t notice one of the other kids walking over and slapping the caterpillar out of Thomas’s hand and towards the ground, harming the little creature in the process.

“Hey!” Thomas shouted, Creativity mirroring him. Morality was crouching over the caterpillar, clearly distressed. “What was that for?”

“I don’t like bugs,” the kid told Thomas angrily.

“It was my bug,” Thomas shouted. “I found it.”

“Well I’m gonna squish it,” the kid threatened.

“No!” Thomas defended.

“Hit him,” Ethos offered.

“But we’ll get in—” Logic began to refuse.

“Yeah!” Creativity grinned, Thomas smiling as a reaction.

“You don’t move, then I’ll hit you first,” the other kid ordered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Thomas shouted, Ethos making him yell as loud as possible.

Then the bully ran forward, and Ethos spoke up, looking over at another part of the recess field, “Not yet.”

“But you said,” Creativity complained.

“Wait!” Ethos wrestled for control over Thomas and as a direct result Thomas got hit across the face, knocking him to the ground. The other boy jumped onto him.

He got hit again before the boy was pulled off, the recess aid pulling him away as another aid was tending to Thomas. Ethos putting the tears on especially thick, helped by the fact that Thomas was actually rattled and the tears were real.

Morality tried to complain but Ethos made sure he kept control of Thomas during the ordeal. The caterpillar was already trying to escape and Thomas took the caterpillar to the fence and helped it to crawl to safety on the other side. His parents were called that he had been punched but Thomas didn’t get into trouble, which Ethos was patting himself on the back for.

The more emotional side was becoming increasingly upset. “You meany,” Morality told Ethos. “You hurt Tommy.”

“No, I hurt Derek,” Ethos told Morality. “Cause he was mean and he deserved it.”

“No one deserves to be hurt,” Morality reminded.

Ethos just glared at Morality, “What about Thomas, does he deserve to be hurt?”

“No!” Morality shook his fists.

“If they’re not hurting, then Tommy hurts, and I don’t want Tommy hurt,” Ethos hissed. “And I didn’t get him in trouble, Derek got in trouble.”

“That’s even worse, Tommy didn’t ever try to talk,” Morality accused.

“He talked enough, I protected him,” Ethos boasted. “I didn’t see anyone else helping.”

“I protect him better, people actually like Thomas when he’s not being mean and getting people in trouble,” Morality frowned. “I’m going to make sure you don’t hurt Tommy again.”

“Yeah right,” Ethos rolled his eyes. Morality stomped away, clearly angry.

The yellow Side just let him walk off, promising, “I’ll be there to protect Tommy, even when you don’t.”

Logic walked over, holding the butterfly book that Thomas was reading. A yellow butterfly on one shoulder, and the butterfly Thomas had found on his other.

The instant Morality saw Logic, his attention narrowed in on the insects. “He found it?”

“Yes,” Logic smiled, his eyes almost glowing with happiness. “It is a cloudless sul-phur, and since it lives in Florida, we should see more of them.

Creativity ran up, he was wearing huge yellow butterfly wings, then jumped at Logic, “Look at me! I can fly!”

“No! Wait!” Logic shouted before he was tackled by the more rambunctious Side. Morality and Ethos watching, looking uneasily at each other while Vigilance was asleep on a bean bag chair. A tentative peace between the sides.

A peace that unfortunately couldn’t last.

#Thomas Sanders #Patton Sanders #Deceit Sanders #Logan Sanders #Creativity #Virgil Sanders #Thomas is baby #kid!Sides #Patton and Deceit want the same thing they just don't know it #birthday post

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Siegemas Day 24

Happy holidays everyone, it’s me again! I stepped in for this day :) Once again, thank you @dualrainbow, this event is a delight 💝💝

Today, my prompt is the very first line of the fic you find below. I hope you all enjoy it, and have a wonderful time no matter what or whether you’re celebrating! ✨ (Twitch/IQ, Rating T, fluff + emotional comfort, ~2.8k words)

“We made… too many cookies.”

The comedic timing is impeccable, the line delivered with perfect hesitance as to imply awareness of the understatement while hiding its undoubtedly practised nature. She’s a born people person with a knack for being charmingly endearing, and IQ is absolutely and horrifically powerless.

“This is ridiculous”, she states, deadpan, not giving away how amused she is in reality – it’s not often that she opens the door to a stunning young woman with pretty cheekbones tinted pink from the cold outside, clad in a flattering deep purple coat and holding several tin boxes in gloved hands. Patterned gloves, a row of snowflakes adorning the fabric. A very familiar row of snowflakes.

“I know, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t know anyone else who’d appreciate these.” Her hair is laid in neat waves framing her pale freckled face, light make-up completing the elegant look. She could be a film star, certainly possesses the same unselfconscious attitude one would expect, even though she’s displaying embarrassment right now. Her slim figure hugged tightly by her form-fitting clothes is visible clearly despite the frankly laughable amount of cookie tins and IQ can’t help herself.

She invites her in.

Twitch is a waterfall, bubbling excitedly about how or why she came across certain recipes, casually throwing in a French or German word amidst the usual English, and it’s impossible for IQ to follow her but she smiles and nods anyway while relieving her visitor of her cargo and placing it gingerly on the kitchen table. So far, this last Sunday before Christmas – the fourth Advent, as it’s called in her mother tongue – had been almost serene, began with chores and continued with a quiet cup of coffee and a good book before slowly tilting over into planning and researching for her next chapter. A regular occurrence. As a result, IQ is mentally somewhere else still and needs a few minutes before she can concentrate on her unexpected guest.

“Good to see you”, she chimes in during a small pause (wouldn’t you know it, even Twitch needs to breathe), and the two of them hug as a greeting. Twitch always gives her a good squeeze, really presses the two of them together, which is one of the reasons IQ looks forward to meeting her every day: it makes her feel appreciated. No one else comes close to these embraces, not Blitz, her decade-old friend, or even her own siblings. In Twitch’s arms, she closes her eyes and finds peace for a brief second.

It might be the absence of her family which has left her this sentimental – normally, she’s too busy to analyse her friends, to scrutinise them to this amount, but today an odd sort of nostalgia and possible bout of loneliness has overtaken her. She did light four candles on her wreath, the first one almost burnt out completely from being lit on all the previous Sundays, yet instead of providing warm illumination, it caused subtle brooding. Their house was always lively around Christmas, bustling with fights, pretend fights, singing, louder singing, future plans yelled through the staircase, raucous laughter, and various songs on repeat trying to drown each other out.

Here, in her small apartment in England, the silence felt foreboding.

“I tried my hand at spéculoos, which Marius called a German staple, and let me tell you – the dough I had was a nightmare to work with, much too sticky. I wanted to roll it out and use Julien’s cookie cutters but it wouldn’t cooperate, so you now have small poop piles of what I think you call Spekulatius. It’s in the blue tin, right on top there. I also made vanilla… uh, vanilla croissants? Shaped like moons? They’re Dom’s favourites, apparently, and Gilles begged me to help him, but he got the recipe wrong and we got so many that he just gave me half. Elias really wanted pain d’épices, um, spicy bread? No, gingerbread, that was it. You guys have the best name for it, by the way, Lebkuchen, it makes it sound like you’re Frankenstein: live, cake!”

Twitch somehow manages to wander through the flat while babbling on, accepting a cup of lukewarm coffee IQ puts in her hands and instinctively helping to pick a few cookies from each box to create an inviting-looking decorative paper plate which IQ carries into the living room where they settle down, fingers curled around warmed ceramic and eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“You need to try these, it’s actually one of James’ mum’s recipes. Poppyseed and chocolate, they turned out better than expected, but after Liza told that story about her acquaintance failing a drug test because of poppyseed bagels, people refused to eat more than one and I definitely can’t stomach all of these alone.”

She watches, expectantly, as IQ dutifully picks out one of the spotted cookies shaped like a flower and bites into the crumbly bakeware. Surprising no one, it’s delicious – if there’s anything Twitch can’t do, IQ hasn’t found it yet.

“Really good”, she agrees, allowing for Twitch’s instant beaming smile to tug the corners of her own mouth upwards while she chews. “Manu, these all look lovely. You know I’d die for good Christmas cookies, so thank you. Even though this is way too much for me.”

Her laugh is melodic and as contagious as her constant sunny mood. “You should see how many I still have at home. Elias claimed he needs to watch his figure, Julien should be watching his figure, Doc doesn’t really like sweets, and Gilles eats maybe one cookie a day. Which you know is illegal at Christmastime.”

“Still, this is a wonderful present and I’m afraid I have nothing to give in return.” IQ isn’t being entirely honest. Still testing the waters; maybe Twitch will manage to read between the lines and they can finally address it. The moment the Frenchwoman stepped over the threshold was the moment IQ decided they’d talk it through today. It’s been going on long enough.

“Not true, you gave me the gloves!” Twitch’s triumphant gotcha! expression is self-satisfied and smug and sweet. Sweeter than the cookies calling to IQ – they really do look fantastic, a variety of shapes, sizes and colours, all together smelling of spices and memories and Christmas.

“Someone had to, you kept complaining about your icy fingers.”

“And you were probably sick of warming them up.” Twitch hasn’t caught on yet, her tone is still breezy and carefree. “Have you written some more? Any new scenes for me to read? I need to know whether the captain really is dead or not.”

IQ laughs, half embarrassed and half delighted – when the news broke in Rainbow that she writes stories in her spare time, she expected an outcome way worse than what she ended up facing: Castle immediately expressed interest in reading them, no matter the topic, and once word got out that it was usually science-fiction-centric, even more people approached her out of curiosity. None of them as enthusiastic as Twitch, however, who dove into the narratives like an age old fan into new material, sparking an unknown productivity in IQ which has yet to subside. Knowing there’s at least one person who devours anything she dreams up has been fantastically motivating, and they’ve begun spinning yarn together now and then. Twitch is the only one whom she trusts enough to proofread for scientific errors or inconsistencies, and she’s helped develop a character into a much more compelling version of themselves several times.

The next hour is spent on discussing IQ’s research, involving frantic googling and article hopping on Wikipedia to help with finding the correct jargon – Twitch knows most of the technical terms in French, which doesn’t mesh well with IQ’s rusty school French, whereas her German accent makes it difficult for the other woman to understand her, so they try to meet in the middle somewhere by using English, despite the laborious process involved.

They’re on one wavelength. Always have been, from the moment they came across each other in Rainbow’s workshop, when Twitch still dyed her hair auburn and IQ barely spoke a word with the other operators: a friendly smile, an engineering-related question, a brief introduction, and they were a house on fire. Inseparable at work.

Twitch made sure it bled into their private lives as well, even if it took considerable effort. IQ never asked, but she’s sure her friend secretly celebrated that one day when she finally said yes to one of her suggestions of meeting up.

And it’s exactly why it hurts so fucking much to think -

“Manu.”

Twitch stops talking mid-sentence, probably caught off guard by her serious tone of voice. “Yes? Is everything alright?”

It might be. She hopes it will be. Her fingers stray to a loose thread peeking out of the seam of her trousers, picking at it. “We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Several years, in fact, an unimaginably long time. Not that IQ hasn’t been able to keep friendships alive for this long, but never one this close. The level of intimacy usually kept declining after a certain point, usually prompted by nothing, sometimes spatial distance, sometimes emotional. There aren’t many people who keep up with her over a long time, and even fewer she keeps up with – Blitz is a great friend, but he just doesn’t share her passions.

“And you’re one of the most generous people I know. Your first instinct when you have too many cookies is to give them away. I’ve always admired this about you.”

Twitch is listening intently. She knows something is up, yet can’t put her finger on it. Her brows are furrowed. IQ knows this from a brief glance before her gazed drops back down to her restless fingers.

“Julien and I had a conversation about you, not too long ago. And some of what he said was… unexpected.” Rustling; Twitch is beginning to fidget as well. “Unrelated to that, Dom overheard you voicing your frustration about your being single and mentioned it to me. I didn’t know you were that unhappy. You never said anything.”

She really likes you. Yeah, don’t wave me off. I’ve never seen her fawn over someone like this. You get special treatment all the time.

And then, more poignant: At this point, I’m basically ready to fuck anything that moves.

The second quote echoes in her mind as if she’d heard it herself instead of it being delivered second-hand. Both of them made her look back at the past months and re-evaluate some events. Showed them in a very different light.

Twitch is radiating anxiousness. It’s easy to pick up.

“I realise now that I’ve received a lot of special attention from you, and… I just have to wonder.” It’s harder and harder to push the words out, her throat closing up. “Wonder whether your present today is cookies and friendship, or cookies and a confession, or cookies and an expectation. Whether there’s some kind of motive attached.”

Her entire life, there’s never been anyone outside her family who understood her better. Being a woman in a male dominated field is difficult enough, especially as a competitive one, and her experiences aren’t easily conveyed to her guy colleagues – Twitch understands, of course, has faced the same obstacles and prejudices. Seeking patterns everywhere, striving for excellence, despising complacency, the overwhelming need to reverse engineer anything new or remarkable, exploring new places, wanting to always keep moving and improving – Twitch understands, has had a similar upbringing and equivalent goals.

They share almost everything at this point, have been on holidays together, mastered several projects with each other’s help, stayed up till sunrise because sleep was the inadequate alternative to exchanging ideas and pushing each other further than they’d go by themselves. Others have always tried to slow IQ down, force her to relax, take her mind off something she enjoyed chewing on, and it was infuriating.

All Twitch does is encourage her. Which paradoxically calms IQ more than any massage or empty-brained film ever could.

She doesn’t want to lose all this. Her chest hurts with the pressure of potentially losing someone this dear to her. But at the same time, she doesn’t want Twitch to get the wrong idea.

When silence is all she receives, she looks up to find Twitch fighting for composure – wide eyes filled with moisture and lip quivering. It’s a stab in the guts. IQ has never seen her cry.

“I don’t -”, Twitch chokes out, adding more quietly: “This isn’t -”

IQ sits next to her, reaching out but retreating when Twitch shakes her head, so all she does is take her hand. As always, her fingers are cold, so IQ closes her own around them. This isn’t at all what she intended, but she needs to know.

“Your friendship means the world”, comes a much more composed statement after a minute. “You should know this.”

She nods. She does know.

“And – and yes, if there was more, I’d be happy. Even happier than I am now. But there doesn’t need to be.” Twitch is speaking faster now, rushing the words, her melodic French accent thickening. “I’m fine with everything staying the way it is. I love being around you, no matter how, so if you’re not okay with – with anything else, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get over it, no worries.”

“Manu. Breathe.” Seeing the other woman in a panic is a rare sight and IQ doesn’t enjoy knowing she’s the cause. “I love being around you, too. You’re my best friend, by far. But… I don’t want anything casual.”

Twitch needs a moment to digest this and IQ readies her responses: she’s had bad experiences with it in the past, and as far as she knows, arrangements like friends with benefits tend to make everything messy and awkward. Staying friends is the better option.

“Yes. Me neither.” A beat. Their eyes meet, Twitch’s still glistening.

There is an even better option, as far as IQ is concerned. And it seems to slowly dawn on the nearly perfect woman next to her.

“And… what about something not casual? But still more?”

Oh. The pressure begins to lift off her chest with every passing second, with every second that Twitch stares at her, hopeful, unsure. Slowly, she clarifies: “You mean – cookies and a confession?”

The nod is nearly imperceptible, and IQ probably almost breaks her fingers by squeezing so hard. The next thing she knows is she’s leaning forward and pressing their lips together, tasting the saltiness of perceived rejection as well as the disbelieving smile of actual acceptance, and then Twitch is laughing as well, crying in between relieved giggling, almost hysterical, and IQ joins in, and before they know it, they’re a mess on the sofa, hugging, seeking physical contact, pressing kisses to temples and hair and cheeks and lips again, wrapping arms around warm bodies.

Her heart is singing because while she so fiercely hoped, she barely dared to, was used to disappointments and therefore expected the worst, even ascribed traits to her best friend in the whole world who’d never stoop so low as to demand something from her she wasn’t ready to give. No, Twitch understands her and vice versa. Even so, it took them an embarrassingly long time to get to this point. In their shared joyousness, they barely manage to finish their sentences:

“What Dom heard me say wasn’t, I mean, I was just -”

“Yes, I figured, but it still got me thinking -”

“I was having a bad day, I’m not that frustrated -”

“Oh? That’s a shame, you know, I was actually looking forward to -”

“Monika!”, Twitch exclaims, scandalised even though they’re both aware IQ is joking, and by now they’re laughing like mad, especially because Twitch only uses her full name when she’s done something, so IQ resorts to tickling her in retaliation or maybe to distract her, and they both yelp when Twitch’s foot shoots up, gets caught on the rim of the cookie plate peeking over the coffee table’s edge, and catapults its contents everywhere. One manages to hit IQ in the face, the rest is scattered all over the floor, which sets them off again after a second of total silence.

“It’s fine, it’s fine”, Twitch gets out in between breaths, “I really do have tons more at home.” Which IQ believes her in a heartbeat.

Even though she��s pretty sure she got the lion’s share of the leftovers.

And just a second before they notice that the napkin on which the cookies were presented has caught fire, IQ thinks about how she dreaded spending Christmas at Hereford without her family – and she realises now she’ll be in great company regardless.

#rainbow six siege #twitch #iq #twitch/iq #fanfic #oneshot #siegemas #this is the last couple perfecting my quartet of german/french ships #check out their new bios btw #in my head they fit so so so well together #I'm looking forward to reading all the entries I've missed!!#I hope I'll have more time after Christmas

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arpmemething2 · 5 years

Text

Markiplier Starter Sentences

Send one in for my muse’s reaction.

“I want to live in a world where every person gives far more than they take”

“You do you, I’ll do me, and we won’t do each other. Probably”

“Be good to everyone. You never know who might be suffering alone”

“This is the first time you and I have spoken, moon.”

“It’s so peaceful and pretty I think I’m going to vomit.”

“To infini-nope and beyond.”

“If theres anything I like to do in my old age, it’s fuck a lot of melons”

“THERE AIN’T NO BAILING ON THIS PAIN TRAIN”

“You’re not alone in anything that you’ve done.”

“O-whoa-K balls? In my face? Did not request balls in my fa-yaa…balls in my dinner. Who t-bagged my di-oook.”

“nO! DON’T DO THAT! Accoording to the colors of the rainbow: FUCK OFF! Binky boinky oinky, pop goes the fuck you!”

“I beg of you. I beg every single fibre of your delicious, fluffy body. Please let me have as much time as you can give me. Please take, your sweet-ass time”

“I haven’t even begun starting and I’m already winning.”

“Let’s just nope off to Fuckthatville!

“Hello new world, how’s it going? I’m here to wreck everything.”

“We’re gonna pretend like that’s not a problem until it’s already eating me”

“Plant trees yo know you’ll never sit udner the shade of.”

“Hey! How’s it goin’, you friendly fuck?”

“Bing bong, bing bong, here comes my ding dong!”

“I’m back at the red dildo! AGAIN!”

“FLOOF THE HAIR FOR POWER !”

“It’s not like I’m trying not to be worse! I’m trying to be gooder!”

“Hi… I’m sorry were you naked? Is this the bathroom? Am I coming out of the poop hole?!”

“What I do is temporary, but what I leave behind is forever”

“No mini chainsaws up the butt”

“I want to dance like an epileptic squid on acid.”

“I thought I was fast but it turns out I’m dead”

“Stork flies out of your vagina? Isn’t that how it works? Just, "BWAKAAAAW!!!” and then all the sudden you had a baby! And a stork. Better feed that stork.“

"Life is just a bowl of cereal”

“I’m going to shove this ball so far up your ass your gonna be coughing up green.”

“That’s so cool!”

“I’m fubbernucked”

“What a bunch of ass baloney!”

“Together, we make two halves of a whole idiot.”

“I just thought random screaming would help me out.”

“Glass houses shouldn’t throw brick rocks.”

“Oh I’m so boned!”

“Can we do it? No we can’t! …Maybe. I don’t know, I’m not very committed to this decision, but whatever.”

“Why are there nipple penises?”

“That’s cool and all but also screw you”

“All your life, you’ll meet people that only want to break you down. Forget them, stand strong with the people who build you up”

“SHUT UP NURSE! I KNOW WHAT’S BEST!”

“Cream! These are all canon now, everyone. Write that in my Wikipedia.”

“You are important, never forget that.”

“Even people you hate deserve opinions. And sometimes they’re going to have better ideas than yours. Keep an open mind to everyone.”

“Instructions not clear, got dick stuck in ghost.”

“How do I put thrusters on a baby?”

“Never give up, no matter what may set you back, and know that at the end of the road, you’re going to have something that you can be proud of.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter!”

#You'll have to bare with me on this one #I don't actually watch Markiplier #But this was requested several times #It's about the only request I've gotten in the last few weeks

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dangseulgii · 6 years

Text

trouble in paradise | one shot

mark lee x reader

A/N: sorry it’s so late @thepizagurl! i had finals week and so i was really pressed for time! i hope you like it anyway! this is fluff with a wee bit of angst! (just like sadness lol) 2.2k words! [i love that gif wow he’s beautiful] (this is somewhat of a continuation of ticking time)

Whoever said that when you’re with your soulmate everything is perfect was clearly lying through their teeth or under the influence. When you found out Mark was your soulmate, you didn’t just think like would be unicorns and rainbows from then on but you did assume being together would be easy. But the sound of your soulmate slamming his room door on you would beg to differ.

“Mark,” you pleaded, “open up please. Let’s talk about this.” You knocked on the door but when there was no answer, you slid down, your back to the door and put your head in your knees. You felt tears starting to build up. How did your day degrade so quickly, you thought to yourself, reminiscing on the earlier events.

XXX

You woke up to soft mummers and kisses peppered all over your face. You were shaken softly.

“Wake up,” you heard and you grunted, squeezing your eyes shut and whipping the covers over you so you were completely covered.

“I have breakfast,” your soulmate taunted you and if it had been anyone else you might’ve stayed in bed. But it was Mark and you couldn’t help but grin at his act of kindness as you forced yourself to sit up and open your eyes. As you cracked your eyes open you saw Mark smiling at you, eyes dancing with warmth, and his hands was a tray filled with pancakes and a cup of coffee. You noticeably perked up at the sight of food and Mark chuckled. “Knew you’d come out for the food,” he teased and you glared at him, grabbing the coffee swiftly and drinking it despite the hot temperature. Mark sat down next to you in bed and laid the tray at your feet.

You coughed, hoping to get the morning raspiness out of your voice. “What’s this all for?” you wondered before narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. “Did you do something bad?”

He threw his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. “I didn’t do anything! Why do you assume I did something?” he complained and you shrugged. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

You glared at him before shrugging. If he wants to be nice and do things for you, then you’re not going to complain. He watched you with a fond smile as you devoured the food and slurped down the coffee. When you were done, you sat back with a satisfied groan “So full,” you moaned, rubbing your stomach. He chuckle at you and you grinned cheekily in response.

“Now go take a shower,” he commanded and you pouted.

“Why?” you whined, jutting our your bottom lip and trying to give him puppy dog eyes. Couldn’t you lounge in bed a little longer?

“We’re going shopping!” he announces and winces when you squeal in excitement. You jump out of bed and jump with anticipation.

“I’ll be out in a bit,” you announce and bite your lip, trying to contain your excitement. Mark loathes going to the mall so today is a very special day indeed. You showered quickly, changing into a black, kind of tight, sporty dress and some boots. You put of some cute necklaces and hoops and stepped out, clapping your hands like a young child. “We’re going to the mall!” you chant and Mark shakes his head, a fond smile creeping upon his face.

The whole ride there you are buzzing with love and Mark feels pride that he can make you as happy as you make him. As the two of you step in the mall you turn to Mark. “Where do you wanna go first?” you ask, your eyes already scanning the area for stores you like.

Mark rises his hands and looks to you. “Your day babe. You decide.”

You grin and give him a quick kiss to express your gratitude. “I love you soulmate,” you say with a wink and he chuckles.

“Love you too,” he says.

As the two of you are whisking around stores, you can’t help but reflect on the fact that the two of your are soulmates. It was like you never knew how good it was, until you had it. Mark seemed to know your needs before you even knew them. He could read your face and make you laugh effortlessly. He knew how to calm you down and when the two of you were together, a piece of you fell into place. You were whole when you were with him. You cringed outwardly at you cheesy thoughts but gazed at Mark. He was standing there, fingers grazing the tops on the rack and you appreciated, for a moment, how perfect he was for you. Soon he realized you were staring and he shot you a funny face. You shook you head as you giggled and continued to look for clothes.

Needless to say, you walked out with more bags and less money than you walked in with and while Mark could’ve been happier about it, seeing your pleased face was worth it to him. You clambered in the car, “Where to now babe?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume there was somewhere else.” When you pout and bat your eyelashes, he relents. “A picnic,” he says and you smile brightly.

You hum to the radio as he drives to your next location. He stops by a gorgeous park with flowers blooming and trees a vibrant shade of green with the leaves rustling gently in the wind. It wasn’t that cold today and the beaming sun provided you instant warmth as you got out of the car. You shaded your eyes and followed Mark to a tree, where he laid down a blanket and took out a basket. You clapped in delight. “You even got a basket!” you squeal. You shake him back and forth. “This is so cute!” you say as you poop yourself down. Mark gets his bearings after the shake you gave him and sits down besides you.

“You like it?” he asks cautiously, peering up st you to see your reaction.

You look at him reassuringly. “Mark I love it,” you emphasize and the smile on his face speaks volumes. He clearly wanted to make you feel happy and carefree today and he exceeded expectations.

You lay down in his lap and munch on the sandwich he made you. He runs his fingers through your hair with one hand and eats with the other. The two of you chat and fall into silence in a comfortable flow that has you bursting with affection. Eventually, Mark leans against a tree and you fall asleep on his lap, lulled by the peaceful bubble you have both created for yourselves. Mark wakes you gently and you open your eyes lazily and a smile stretched across your face. He stands you up and you rub your eyes, body swaying a little bit as you try to get your bearing after your impromptu nap. But then you are slapped awake by the sight of Mark getting down on one knee in front of you. You gasp, your heart already speeding up with panic.

He gazes up at you, a box in his hands. “Y/N, you are my soulmate. You complete me in a way I didn’t know was possible. You make me the happiest man on earth, and I want to make you the happiest woman in earth. Will you marry me?”

The world pauses and your mind races a mile a minute. You should say yes, right? That’s the right thing to do. But you aren’t ready for marriage! You aren’t ready for children and the preparation for the so-called ‘biggest day of your life’. You are nowhere near ready for this. But you love Mark. He, as cheesy as it sounds, makes you feel the way no one else ever will. But… marriage? Isn’t is too soon?

Mark gently reaching for your hand has the world snapping back to reality and your head seems to spin. “Y/N?” he asks gently and your heart aches at the concerned expression across his gorgeous face.

You pull your hand from his grasp and a flicker of hurt flies across his face. “I- I,” you stutter as you begin to back away. “It’s too soon,” you say desperately trying to explain why you have to say no.

His face hardens, brown furrowed in confusion, mouth in a deep frown. “What?” he says and you feel the brewing confusion and annoyance stirring within him.

You take a deep breath. “Mark, we’re young still. We still have so much to learn about the world and each other. I love you okay and I’m not saying no. I’m saying not right now.”

He purses his lips and his face becomes expressionless. You know he’s put his guard up and your heart sinks as you realize how much you’ve wounded him. He probably thought the two of you would be basking in happiness right now because he knew you would be spending your lives together. You follow him, head hung down in shame. The drive is silent back to your apartment. You want to reach out but you don’t want to hurt him more. As he climbs out of the car, his voice meets your eyes and you snap your head up to see him looking at you from the porch, eyes red with tears. “Do you not love me enough?” he says, voice thick with emotion.

You shake your head profusely because that’s the farthest thing from the truth. “No!” you cry out and he just stares at you, eyes drooping with sadness. “No baby, trust me that’s not why. I- I love you so much,” you choke out and you feel him soften. “I just can’t marry you,” you say hopelessly and then he’s backing away from you and you’re wishing you could back time.

He stomps upstairs and you trail after him like a lost puppy. “Mark,” you whine. “I didn’t mean not marry you at all, I meant not now.” But the guest room door is slamming in your face and you’re left staring at a door wishing more than anything that it would open. “Mark,” you pleaded, “open up please. Let’s talk about this.” You knocked on the door but when there was no answer, you slid down, your back to the door and put your head in your knees. You felt tears starting to build up.

You hear sheets rustle inside the room and footsteps coming closer. “What’s there to talk about? You don’t want to marry me right now. You need to give me time,” he mumbles through the door.

You sniffle. “I do love you Mark. I really do. I want to marry you. I’m just worried. You know how I am. The world scares me. Love scares me. I always feel like I have to be prepared for everything and I definitely wasn’t prepared for you to propose,” you chuckle bitterly as you berate yourself for being the way you are.

The door creaks open and you scramble up on your feet. As soon as you see Mark’s tear stained face, every emotion in your body comes crashing out. You let out a loud sob and pull him into a tight embrace. He starts to shake in your arms and the two of you comfort each other as you let out all the pent-up tension and emotions the both of you have built up.

You don’t know, and you don’t particularly care, how long the both of you have been standing there. And suddenly you’re struck with a billion thoughts all flying at light speed to hit your heart. You love this man. More than anything in the world. So why are you so scared? Because you shouldn’t be. This man saved you from a loveless life and showed you how beautiful life is. You exhale into him and mold your body to his. “I love you,” you say and then you are grinning. You pull back and caress his face with your hands. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. “I love you,” you say again and he opens your eyes. You smile sweetly at him and give him a kiss. He smiles and kisses you back, slotting your lips together perfectly, like the two of your were designed for each other. You pull back and hope your eyes are conveying everything your words can’t. “I want to marry you,” you say and his whole body freezes as his eyes widen.

“What?” he says, his mouth an ‘o’ shape as he stares at you in confusion.

“I want to marry you,” you say again firmly. You know without a doubt that this is what you want. How could you have been so stupid as to say no? “I love you and I want to marry you.”

“I-I,” he stutters and you chuckle lovingly. Then he’s slowly bending down on one knee, taking your hand tenderly and gazing up at you. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

You grin and pull him up into a sweet kiss. “How could I say no?” you tease and he chuckles.

“You already did once before,” he grins and you giggle, leaning your head on his shoulder.

You take the hand of your soulmate and the world clicks into place.

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ineedthisforcnf · 5 years

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𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.

With a heavy heart yet a fulfilled one, I bring to you the story of this rather long journey. I had a start, an ending, and another beginning. This ending gave me new doors to open, and a new beginning to explore. This ending being the end of my junior high school and the new beginning my start of senior high school. We were given two years, two years to open up our hearts to these people we were going to treasure for the rest of our lives, two years to store the most possible knowledge we can. Starting my senior high school years was like waking up from a terrible nightmare, a relief as you might call it. This relief gave me new experiences, memories, friends, family and a better outlook in life. There was times where it wasn’t at all the best but I had my family with me, my section. The two years I have spent in this institution might have treated me like utter dog poop but I wouldn’t have done it with the 35 humans and all the professors I had. It made me realize that I was strong because of them, I kept fighting because of them, and for them. And I will keep doing so.

The end. Let’s start of with this, shall we? Junior high school days. Not to be OA but I really had chills run down my back. One of the best-worst years of my life. Leaning towards that worse. Junior high school was like having the worst hair day ever, plus a big pimple on your forehead on graduation day. The eyes were all on you, everyone had something to say, and whispers were following you everywhere. I studied in a catholic school, yet I didn’t know why there was so much demons. Yet there was still good in the world, my five best friends. We call ourselves the dumb b******. Censored for our catholic household. With them, we felt invincible. We didn’t fit into the casing of a “popular teenager in high school” but we didn’t care even one bit, not at all. We were happy laughing in the halls, getting reprimanded by teachers, then laughing again, this time louder. But it wasn’t all this, not all sunshines and rainbows. No. There was a time where a traitor came into our lives. She practically destroyed everything, our so though unbreakable friendship? Was shattered in a matter of months, I was left all alone. She made my 9th grade the worst. I was bullied all through out junior high and I couldn’t believe how she had added up to that. But to cut the story short, she ruined my friendship. But when we were in 10th grade, she was cut off from our circle of friends, she moved sections wherein me and my five best friends were too but two were with me, and the other three were upstairs. We managed to rekindle our friendship and start anew. Without her, it was better, but it was not like before. So much for a peaceful last year. We did have that, but there was still some shortcomings, I didn’t mind, I was just excited to get out of that hell hole and finally move on to another chapter in my life and restart.

The starting over again. First day. I was with the only friend I know, Trishia. We had decided to study at the same school, same section, same schedule, even same binders and pencils. But eventually, we had gathered up the courage and release our inner social butterflies, fluttered our wings, and met new people. As usual, there was a gap in the class. There were two groups, mine and the other side. Constantly backstabbing and hurting the other group through our words. But, enough was enough. We had to take things to a higher level. We were all consulted, talked to. Me and Trishia were the two in the group who didn’t really follow this trend since we didn’t really know what was going on, so we took matters into our own hands and talked to them ourselves. We apologized for the means things that had happened throughout the months, they apologized too for any inconvenience. And just like that, everything was much better. It was my first time being the bigger person. I even experienced dating someone older than me, it was my first time doing that, dating, the age was just a bonus. I had people interested in me, it was a first time too. Had my first heartbreak that I was open about to my dad. But my first favorite was when we had an open forum, we shared our thoughts about the class. Everyone’s comments was positive. I shared that it was my first time feeling accepted. It was the first time I met people that I felt I belonged with. It was the first time I actually had meaningful conversations with my classmates. It was my first time fighting for our rights, screaming that we have a voice. It was the first time I loved the people around me. It was the first time I had energy to go to school because I would see them. It was my first time to have actual friends. I felt teary eyed to which they gave me a hug, a big class hug, which was my first time too. It was my first time feeling love and feeling loved by my peers. It was a relief.

From all the friends I have gained, the acquaintances I have, my most treasured ones are Trishia, Alex, Genevieve and Nazareen. All my classmates are important to me, yet they’re like the stockholders in my big company. the main people. They hold a special place in my heart. They’re my favorite. They’re the ones I can say anything to and I know I will be judged, but you know, in a good way. A funny way. They accept me for being a noisy, bossy, meticulous, perfectionist, complaining, and witty friend. I know that whatever happens I’ll have them with me. Always supporting and watching over, like how I would with them. No less, but always more. I know that we might go different paths after this but, I know that we will always be together. We’ve been through a lot too. We’ve seen the worst and the best sides of each other and I couldn’t be any more thankful. I thank all the starts in the heavens that I have met these people.

The lessons I have learned, not too many, not too little. These two years have taught me love, determination, perseverance and of course all the other lessons we had in class. I learned that I had a voice. I think that I was a kid when I went into this institution, and I’m leaving as a kid, with knowledge about the real world. I learned that I can speak up and fight for myself when I know I am in the right. I learned that it’s okay to have opinions and rights. I matured this way, I grew up with my classmates, we grew up together. With all the battles we fought together, the final bosses that just seemed to be like a hydra, kill one, there goes another. But, we never gave up. We stood tall and placed our foot into the ground. But suddenly, a boss came. One that we thought we couldn’t defeat. Then a new character came up, it was some sort of mage, tank, shooter all in one body. Our dearest adviser. I don’t know what we would have done without him. Would have probably succumbed to that one last boss. But no, he came and saved us like we didn’t expect him to. He was by far the best, we are very thankful for him. A million folds thankful. We wish we could keep him but there was another level and we were going to be given a new character. But no worries, we’d replay that stupid and hard round all over again just to meet that very special character once again.

And here we are now, writing this. Crying on the couch from reminiscing everything. Separation anxiety creeping in. If I had to take way from this essay, it would that I am someone better now because of the people I have met. I may have experienced a lot of hardships just to get to this point and have to experience more after, I know I can do it. I have you, them and me. I have gained more than knowledge. I have gained values, a family and a better perspective in life. I have gained a voice, love and myself. I regained myself. Someone whom I thought I had lost a long time ago. But yet, here she is. Even better than before. I don’t know what else to say with this being our last year. I don’t want to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. Especially if it’s with them. I hope that we all get to see each other often. I hate to part ways with them but I know that I just have to look back and smile at the memories. We will grow up and have families and roads of ours but I will never remember the big island, the biggest pit stop, HU121. I would probably have kids in the future and tell them about the crazy antics I did when I was a child and all these are going to be in it, even more that we will make. A big thank you to the wonderful people in my life that I call HU121 and you, sir. Thank you for molding me into who I am and who I will become in the future. You are all of ours special character, thank you for coming in and saving us. Let’s all hold hands and beat all the final bosses until we’re the only bosses left.

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poppibranchlover · 6 years

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The Queen and the Butterfly II: The Witch’s Curse - Part 9

This story is a sequel to “The Queen and the Butterfly”.

The story: Poppy offers Branch some cupcakes with butterflies in it which turns out to be mysterious. When the two Trolls eat them, they got transformed into butterflies themselves and realize that the cupcakes were actually cursed by an evil witch! Now they must try to find the witch who made those cupcakes and get a cure to get themselves back to normal, while encountering obstacles in the process along the way.

You already seen what had happened in Part 8. Now get ready for Part 9!:

That night, Poppy and Branch grew tired and decide to rest for the night again. They found a giant white flower to settle in and they sat there, watching the moon and the stars twinkling through the night sky. It was a peaceful yet beautiful.

“Branch, this feels so beautiful and peaceful!” Poppy said, awestruck by the pretty scenery around them.

Branch sighed as he snuggled himself next to Poppy’s wings and told her “Yeah, it is. Just look at that view! If only we can see it when we’re bigger.”

Deep down, he knows that as a butterfly, it can be a little hard to see the twinkling stars, and as a Troll, some can use telescopes, binoculars or those with good eyesight to gaze upon them. But yet, he didn’t mind because he can see the stars more clearly. Poppy and Branch sighed happily as they took a rest on their flower. “Ahhhhh!!”

After a while, everything felt silent at first. But then, Poppy asked Branch “So you like being a butterfly? It’s amazing to be one!”

Branch turned to her and made a face. “What? Not really,” he replied. “I just always think those wings behind me look annoying to me. And they don’t suit a man like me.”

Poppy grinned at him and told him “Butterflies’ big wings are very important for those creatures! Our wings are just very beautiful when we flap them! Isn’t it great?”

“No, it’s not!” Branch protested. “Why are you saying that?”

“You know, it’s because we are cute little butterflies now!” she said. “And I think we can stay like this forever!”

Branch stood up and bounced to her like a tiny jumping bean. “Poppy, please stop telling me we will live like this forever!” he said. “Being a butterfly makes me uncomfortable and I really hate being one! I don’t look adorable with this!” He said the last words when he stared at his wings.

“Oh, but butterflies are always cute, just like us!” said Poppy. “To be honest, I like being one whenever I fly around!”

She giggled but Branch hopped closer to her and protested “That’s quite adorable! But I keep losing sight of you whenever I try to fly after you. I think it feels dangerous for most butterflies.”

Poppy wasn’t going to give up finishing her conversation with Branch when she begin explaining how butterflies behave like, such as fluttering to flowers and smelling their pollen, camouflaging around the atmosphere and mating with other butterflies so they can gain caterpillars by laying their eggs...

However, Branch is disgusted when she explained the part where butterflies lay eggs and he shook his head, saying��“Poppy, we’re not supposed to lay eggs and have caterpillars! It’s more like Cooper pooping cupcakes out of his butt! Ugh!”

“So what?” Poppy asked harshly, her eyes narrowing at Branch. “You want to be a Troll again when we manage to find a way to turn us back, right?”

“Yeah!” Branch said, his voice even more harsh than Poppy’s. “Right after we ate those cupcakes you bought from that hermit and they turn us into tiny butterflies and we came all the way here lost in the woods because of you!”

These words hit Poppy hard like a rock. She sat down and, with tears in her eyes, she stared at him and asked “You mean...you’re blaming me because of all this?”

Branch immediately shook his head, regretting what he had said. “No no, it’s okay! I just get harsh sometimes whenever I get mad. At least you did feel that...”

“Why? After all this time, you don’t get what life feels like?” said Poppy.

“No!” Branch told her. “It’s not that. My life was all cupcakes and rainbows back when we rescued our friends from the Bergens.”

“And you let out your feelings along the way.”

“Yeah, true thing to say. But I’m feeling like nobody would think about how harsh I am if I keep yelling like this.”

“Branch, you wouldn’t yell at anytroll,” Poppy said. Then she hopped to his side and put a wing to his shoulder. “I’m sorry you felt so cautious. I think maybe we need to change back right now, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Branch murmured sadly. “I think I feel what you’re saying. It’s okay to be so caught up with my protests. Sometimes as a safety nerd, I’d rather spend my days alone in my bunker and just play video games and harvesting food and supplies...”

Unable to utter another word, Branch wistfully stared at the ground with defeat, sighing. He felt that he had really made Poppy disappointed because of what he was saying. But she smiled at him, hoping this is the time to cheer her boyfriend up with something. Then without warning, she leaned in and gave him a hug. A big butterfly hug. She wrapped her big wings around Branch.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said. “What are you doing?! It’s not Hug Time! Butterflies don’t even wear Hug Time watches!”

“No, it’s okay,” Poppy told him. “Even if I’m a butterfly, I just though you could use one.”

Branch looked at her, touched. Poppy hugged him even warmer and cuddlier and he felt her wings touching his little body. He sighed again.

At least he can also make her happy too. Not even if he did that one bit or sooner. So he turned to her and puts his lips closer to her face, as if he was going to kiss her.

But as his lips are getting closer to Poppy’s...

SPLASH!!!

A big burst of raindrop came down on the flower, taking Poppy and Branch down with it! They screamed as they plunged into a stream of rushing water below!

SPLASH!!! SPLASH!!!

Poppy and Branch landed into the water with a splash! As soon as there are signs of life after a few moments, Branch bobbed his head to the surface, gasping for air and coughing some water out of his mouth. He struggled to pull himself up to the surface but the current of the rushing rainwater is too strong! He looked up at the sky and saw that it was already raining heavily!

Which means...Poppy and Branch must get out of here or else...they’ll die here!!

Branch managed to stay afloat in the current, then he looked around the rushing waves he was being pulled in by. He began to call out “Poppy?! Poppy, where are you?! Poppy?! POPPY?!”

Then a wave engulfed him like a tidal wave, knocking the breath from his body. Branch panicked and moved his wings around, reaching for anything to grab on to, but all he felt was the sensation of being submerged in deep rainwater.

He was still holding his breath and desperately needed air. Branch wanted to attempt using his hair to get himself out, but his hair is so wet he couldn’t do it! He couldn’t even remember how to do it until...

He saw something pink in the distance! Poppy.

“Mmmm!” Branch mumbled through the water. Then he managed to swim to the pink little dot before him. Within moments, he bobbed his head out of the water and saw Poppy holding on to the rock, nearly half-conscious. She is groaning out “Branch.....Branch....?”

“Poppy! Hang on!” Branch yelled, swimming up to her. “I’ll save you!”

He swam up to Poppy, putting his teeth closer to her as if to grab her in his mouth. But the current was pulling Branch backwards so this is making it harder for him to rescue Poppy.

“No no no! Come on!” he muttered while gasping for air and choking some of the water. “Come on! I can’t fly! Must....rescue.....my...girlfriend!!!”

Taking a deep breath, Branch pulled himself harder to fight away the strong current of the water stream. Poppy was almost closing her eyes. But soon, after a minute, Branch had his mouth clenched on one of her wings!

He struggled to pull Poppy out the rock as hard as he can. The raindrops splashed on the water and almost pulled Branch backwards and made him lose his grip on her. But he managed to hold her tightly in his mouth.

Then the current became even more stronger than before, pulling Branch and Poppy underwater!

They just floated in there as the water picked them up and twisted them around and around. They were struggling for air.

They were going to drown like butterflies.

They were going to drown in the dark.

There was water everywhere. Tumbling them over and over, hurling their bodies against the sides of the dirt, until their lungs are about to burst.

Branch swam to Poppy and tried to pull her upwards to the surface. Soon they were hurtled out of the stream and were dived heads first into a larger stream of water.

Only this time Poppy and Branch couldn’t swim. They were too exhausted. They felt themselves sinking into the surging, sludgy water, deeper and deeper, swept along in the tide. They managed to hung onto each other’s antennae so they won’t get separated.

Branch and Poppy found themselves floating towards a rectangular drain hole! They continued gasping for air just as they tried to fight the current and get away from the hole.

But the current was too strong they couldn’t fight against it. They just kept choking and spluttering, as the roaring water carried them to the hole, sending them to plummet down to deep darkness.

Poppy and Branch screamed as they plummet to their certain doom.

To Be Continued...

Stay tuned for Part 10!

Note: This is the most dramatic cliffhanger ever. Guys, it’s definitely a cliffhanger. Don’t worry, Poppy and Branch are going to be okay as soon as I make the next part in the future.

#dreamworks trolls #poppy and branch #broppy #poppy #branch #butterfly #butterflies #butterfly poppy #butterfly branch #moon #nighttime #flower #rain #water #drain #fanfiction #the queen and the butterfly 2 the witch's curse

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