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harrison-abbott · 2 years

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GORDO

Gordo had sleep problems all his life. Which was a short life: he lived for sixteen years. When he was young his parents took him to the doctor to talk about how he couldn’t rest. They did tests on him. With paper and they tried medication too. He ‘failed’ the paper tests. And the medication gave him these erratic side effects. So they stopped on those fronts.

At the age of ten, Gordo’s parents split up. The father left. Within the next six years Gordo saw his Dad four times.

Gordo got heavily into videogames. And because he could never sleep he explored the internet, at night, on his own, in his silent room. (This was the golden age of the internet; before any restrictions, before anything.) For limitless time he would sail the glorious prickly lights of the web.

His mates liked the net, too. And there were nerds, with it, too: and taught Gordo tricks and secrets; they had a forum where they sent each other goofy stuff. And they had a group game on the military videogame too. Shooting other people.

The famous shoot em up game. Gordo was the best at it. He got the most kills.

He was the best because he just had such an amount of time in which to practise.

There was one night, when the lads were playing games.

When they had the forum up and were chatting whilst they killed the men on the screen. Gordo posted up this photo. To the forum – and it wasn’t a meme or meant to be funny – it was real. And the image changed the mood in the group.

“What’s that, Gordo?” one of the boys typed.

“It’s something I found. What do you think of it?” Gordo said.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to show you this. To see what you thought.”

“That’s not cool, Gordo. Could you take that down please?”

None of the boys said anything apart from the one guy who challenged the image.

Gordo got angry. And left the forum. Stopped playing the game also, mid-war.

And stewed, in his room, embarrassed and ashamed, for days, because they hadn’t liked what he’d shown them. Then he thought up some apology to tell the buddies. He aimed to explain that what he’d posted had just been a joke, and he hadn’t meant to offend them.

But when he tried to log back into the forum, the friends had blocked him from it. And he was no longer in the videogame group.

Gordo wondered what to do. At first, the betrayal from his mates seemed the worst possible thing.

Then he began to fret that they might snitch him out – to someone else (who? who!) – who might place him in serious trouble.

There was nobody to speak to. Gordo only ever talked to his friends about things which bothered him [even if it were just mundane shit at school; the teachers who were mean, the girls who were meaner, that sort of thing]. He could not go and tell his mother about it. She would not understand. And would probably freak out more than he was, would most likely tell him to fuck off, get out, which she’d already done several times, after he woke her up accidentally at night. (“Fuck off! You insomniac bastard!”)

Gordo couldn’t go to school.

One morning he just didn’t check in.

Went into town with his laptop instead. He hung about in a coffeeshop, using the WIFI. He wanted to quit the city. Had a little bit of Christmas in his wallet. Just wanted to bail from this town, which had come to suffocate him.

Gordo looked up where to get a bus, heading north.

Then bounced down to the bus station and got on this bus with a nice blue 500 number atop it. And it was twilight when he left the city.

He stayed on the bus for two hours. With the vehicle rolling in dark countryside. Gordo was only one of three passengers on the bus, and he’d never been in this part of the country before.

And for almost no reason he could pinpoint, he started to feel sick. Put his bag on. And headed to the front of the bus, where the driver was, with that awful raging threat of bile. Assured he was gonna puke up.

“I have to get off,” he said to the driver.

“Huh?”

“I need to get off the bus.”

“Why?”

“Let me off!”

The driver was a bit scared of him. This looming, demented looking teen behind him. So he pulled over on the motorway.

And opened the doors and Gordo went out of them. He dry retched on the cold black road. Nothing came out. Was nought in his stomach.

“You all right, there, kid?” the driver called.

Gordo didn’t answer.

He just quit trying to vomit.

And got up straight, and walked away from the bus.

The driver got out of the booth and hovered in the air and called to him: asked if he wasn’t getting back onboard?

Gordo walked and walked. Then stepped off the road and went into the fields.

The driver stopped trying and drove on.

Nobody ever saw Gordo again. There was a police inquest into where he vanished, why he did so.

Suicide was the most probable explanation. They searched the forest where the boy got off the coach to see if he was in there somewhere, but nothing turned up.

Gordo’s mother died of cancer half a decade later.

She was his only relative.

Gordo’s old videogame buddies from school found solace in never mentioning him ever again. Was better to pretend he’d never existed.

#short story #prose #stories #creative writing

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theunaestheticstudyblr · 3 years

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UNIVERSITY WITH MENTAL ILLNESS

Mental health and illness is already hard enough, but adding school pressure on top is hard. High school was easier for me since there is a lot more structure and a lot less choice, which is why I'm targeting this towards college and university students.

Firstly is attending class. Getting to class is a major hurdle, especially with a commute like me (1 hour+) broke people problems lmao. Driving that long to go to a class just to drive back home is already exhausting and unpleasant, especially knowing professors will post slides or something after class anyways. But you have to drag yourself there. One thing I do to help is dress up. I'll do my makeup and put on nicer clothes. Why does this work for me? I hate wasting stuff, especially money and to me, putting on makeup is spending money essentially (same logic as using rare items in a video game idk). I can't just sit around the house and waste the money I just put on my face so I gotta go to class. Small things like this to trick your brain works so well. Before this, there was a restaurant I absolutely loved next to campus so if I went to every class for two weeks I would reward myself by going there. Another thing that helps is making plans with people ahead of time. They'll hold you accountable on days that you can't.

Take rest days. Schedule one whole day a week where you don't do school or go to work. It's a day completely off for anything. I use this day to do chores in the morning and then just lay around and do absolutely nothing all afternoon and night. This helps recharge and reduce stimulation and socialization. It gives your brain that little rest it cries for every day. I used to panic so much about this one day because I could be working and making money or studying or doing anything to be productive until I had a week where I couldn't do anything because I broke down completely, mentally and physically. Now I see it as a preservation day. I use this day to recover from everything.

Make your notes pretty. I hate going back and looking at my messy class notes. Everything is scattered and messy and I get frustrated. What I do instead is make a virtual, concise copy that is pretty to me. I'll add little sketches, color, pictures, etc. This helps draw my attention and allows me to study while doing it! Making the second copy forces you to go through the material after a class is over and review the material to decide what is truly important and then organize it all and then rewrite it all. This has been a huge help.

Use class breaks to snack or grab coffee. One thing I have found in many people with high anxiety is that food and drinks really help calm you down. I've found some research suggesting it's because food is a signal that things are safe and therefore makes you more relaxed, though I don't know much about anthropology and psychology fields. I find this really helps to calm me down after I had a very stressful test so that I can be more present for the next class. Gum helps a lot on high anxiety/panic days as well.

Download the notes or slides, especially if posted ahead of time. This way you have access even if you don't have wifi. You can even pull them up in lectures so you don't have to focus on the board the whole time. For my people with autism, this has helped me so much. There are times where you can't focus on the professor and the slides and the sounds and writing, so doing this cuts out having to watch the teacher and the board. Bonus points if you can record during lecture as well so you can revisit parts that you zoned out in or couldn't focus on.

Keep a journal or diary and list your activities, food, weather, etc in it as well as your mood. This can help you find correlations to hack shit. My favorite way of doing this is through the Daylio app (I wrote a post about it here). Like I notice that days when it's rainy, I study and read more and days where I walk more and eat breakfast, I focus better and am happier overall. This information helps so much. If I know it's going to rain tomorrow, I won't try to force myself to study a bunch today and instead save that energy for later. Instead, I'll take care of myself and go for a walk or something. Knowing how you work and why really makes a HUGE difference.

This might just be my autism brain, but finding cool things related to the topic at hand has helped me keep interest in at least a little of the subject, helping me study more. Like I don't like chimaeras (a fish group) BUT for some reason I love fish teeth and these fishes have a very unique tooth set. This at least let's me know something instead of just ignoring and forgetting everything. 20% is better than nothing.

Find a reason to study what you do, even if it's just that you need this class to graduate. Just taking classes for no reason seems like something neurotypical people are able to do. I can't do it. I need a reason and if I can't find one, I just give up. I used to always say it was useless and pointless and didn't understand why it was required. But I realized the reason to take it is because I want a piece of paper that says I traded lots of money and sanity for it. And that reason has to be good enough.

Make study games. Games are more fun than lifeless paper. Matching games, crosswords, coloring pages, whatever you like!

Feel free to add your tips to this post as well!! I always have room for improvement and experimentation, especially for really hard days. I still find myself skipping even online classes some days. No one had all the answers or has everything figured out. This is just an incomplete list of things that have helped me out a bit and made college life a bit easier.

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zee-writes-and-draws · 3 years

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Normal world AU where the different buildings are just random groups of people and all of them ended up moving to the small village near the supposedly ‘haunted’ mountain that Samon and Enki grew up on bc property values are low as shit, and all of the minors are adopted by the guards. Qi has basically just grabbed Upa and Liang and ran the hell away from the Chinese mafia. Samon sees this random man dragging two half-dead children with him and this is now the very first time any of the new residents of the village find out the ‘hauntings’ that lowered property values were just a teenage Enki post massive growth spurt and a very small and over-energetic Samon that haven’t been seen in well over a decade.

- Hajime has, unfortunately, agreed to look after Jyugo and Nico while Rock and Uno try to find legal jobs, but it’s a lot on him. He and Seitarou help Uno and Rock fight a case to get custody of the two minors. Yamato is helping Tsukumo get a restraining order against his former agent and various paparazzi, as well as going to therapy so he doesn’t constantly feel the need to put on a persona in front of others. Hajime is a teacher at the local school (since there’s a decent number of local kids and then the building children), Yamato is the school’s coach, and Seitarou sells uniforms/cute festival stuff but is also occasionally seen working with the age 7 and below kids because they’re all very small and nice.

- Kiji is trying to cure Honey of his anger management issues and Trois of his pyromaniac tendencies. His day job is making and testing makeup that everyone buys, like mascara and eyeliner and hair gel. His second in command is working in one of the other small shops, selling everyone clothes (he and Seitarou make the clothing together).

- Kenshirou is only here because some of his dogs are sick and this village has been weirdly good for their health. Along the way he lets Musashi and Hitoshi stay with him because they help on chores and the dogs love both of them very much. He helps with the local stray problem by opening a shelter and rehabilitating most of them (the few who can’t be fixed to near-perfect health are still loved and cared for). Hitoshi bakes lots of food and sells it at Shiro’s restaurant, which is also why his presence is appreciated. Musashi tutors online part-time after Mitsuru rigged up wifi for them. Between all three of their jobs they can afford a place that’s small but has four tiny rooms so each person can a private space. (They sleep in the living room that’s been transformed into the group bedroom).

- Mitsuru is considered the local nuisance in so many ways, but after all of his loudspeakers and amplifiers have been confiscated he’s forced to resort back to regular hand-made instruments, so he at least gets to learn something entertaining as he irritates everyone with his noise-making. He and Momoko live in the same house but there’s a line drawn on the inside and outside that splits the house in half so everyone realizes in all of ten seconds they’re not actually together together, just saving on rent as long-term friends. Momoko works on managing the more official stuff to keep the town from being erased. She’s the unofficial (until the next election of course) mayor of the town at this point. Mitsuru’s day job is rigging up stuff like wifi and helping Hajime with his shop class at the high school.

- Shiro moved here after hearing how wonderful the cuisine is. He approves of being able to gather fresh ingredients on the mountain. Rock is frequently seen at his restaurant, both as a customer and as a worker. Hitoshi was recruited within a week. (Hajime has some mixed feelings but Rock mostly stops acting like an idiot after the first day, so it works out well)

- Inori and Ruka moved here years ago (and dragged the Daisen brothers with them) and are pretty much the only residents who were here before everyone started moving out and the buildings moved in. They’re the only ones initially who know the story behind the hauntings and never shared it out of indifference. Inori works in construction of new buildings/clearing rubble from the old, the Daisen trio help train the different sports teams at the school, and Ruka technically co-owns the makeup business with Kiji but his preferred job is as an unofficial swimming instructor because the two of them don’t get along.

- Samon and Enki bring the village supplies and materials from the mountain and trade this way. Samon has a notable weakness for ice pops, popsicles, and zakuro shaved ice, which he gets to surprise Enki on days it seems like he might want it. The new residents are all pleasantly surprised by how sweet Noriko is. Shiro offers her a job after trying some of her desserts. She bakes on weekends and holidays only to avoid overexerting herself, but the rest of the time her jobs include checking people in, taking orders to Shiro and Rock, and keeping peace if someone starts arguments. Houzuki is the area acupuncture specialist and medic until the Otogi family moves in, but he switches to full time acupuncture and massage therapy after they take up the practice. (they’re better than him at medicine anyways and he’s ok with admitting it).

- Liang and Upa love training on the mountain. Rock joins them frequently, often chatting with Liang as they race up. Qi is marginally less interested in physical activity, but he’s willing to make the hike up with them because of the amazing plant both during the hike and at the arrival itself. In the long run, doing some exercise in this form helps him with his mental health a lot and makes him happier. Tsukumo joins occasionally and talking to Qi helps him gradually come out of his shell.

- Trois takes to the challenge of trying to be constructive in building things instead of weapons and explosives. The downside is he frequently teams up with Mitsuru (who has the most equipment necessary) and therefore there are unique ways of getting around the idea of non-destructive inventions. Honey figures out ways to get Mitsuru his speakers back on the condition that he can use the wiring for his capsules.

- Nico ends up really sad about the lack of wifi so he tries to work with Mitsuru to improve tech, but he’s got a hard time reading the manuals so now Musashi, accompanied by either Uno or Trois depending on the day, can be seen teaching Nico how to read instruction manuals.

- Yamato is still very proud of his Japanese heritage, but he also frequently encourages others to appreciate the culture they live in and the culture they came from. Thanks to him, there’s a small festival hosted each year where everyone brings something like food or games or clothing from their culture and share it with everyone.

- Kiji takes it as a personal challenge to help teach normal world culture to at least one of the Gokuu brothers. Enki is far less willing to go along with the idea that he needs help from someone, so it’s Samon. Inori, who had a similar idea for the last eleven years, is currently trying to teach Samon how to drive. It’s yielding mixed results, but he takes really well to motorbikes. Hajme and Samon have a brief ceasefire whenever the subject of motorcycles comes up.

- No one is allowed to bring up the time that Hajime got lost in the mountain. No one.

- Kuu comes and goes as he pleases. Mostly he stays at Hajime’s house but sometimes he’ll somehow appear wherever Samon Enki and Noriko are presently staying and lies down in the lap of whoever is trying to meditate. Enki tries to ignore Kuu (and fails), Samon will give him small scritches and complain about Hajime in a quiet tone, and Noriko feeds and pets him.

- In their spare time, many of the adults critique the prison systems they rescued the others from. Kiji, Hajime, and Kenshirou work with Enki to fix things on a bureactraic level, frequently accompanied by Momoko when she isn’t a sole representative in front of various international governments. Hajime knows the prison model perfectly, Kenshirou understands the police aspect that ties into it, and Kiji has several decades of experience serving as a prison guard, and their combined knowledge leads to many of their proposals being pushed pretty far up the ranks.

- Samon is working on fixing prisons on the level of how each inmate is treated. All the official and formal changes in the world don’t change that there’s also issues with inmates not receiving care, sufficient entertainment, decent things for purchase and not just whether or not they can afford them, all sorts of stuff that slips past the cracks in the paperwork. He’s also the one who’s pushing for more rehabilitation programs with Kiji and Mitsuru’s help. Between Samon’s knowledge of physical needs of people, Kiji’s balanced addition of general knowledge of what kind of education and paperwork prisoners need for proper rehabilitation to stick, and Mitsuru’s experience in communication, they have a very solid structure. Mitsuru’s ability to middleman and talk to Momoko also helps push their ideas forward.

- Slowly the buildings become more friendly towards one another. Upa smiles more because Nico helped him get out of his shell, there is a photo of Tsukumo laughing as himself for the first time hanging on the wall of Shiro’s restaurant, and Kenshirou’s dogs all adopted different humans to befriend and bond with. Qi gradually gets over his fear of dogs thanks to Musashi and ends up adopting one who works as a service dog for him and keeps him away from panic attacks and self-harming attempts, as well as (gradually) learning how to tell what kind of health Upa and Liang are presently in and alerting the doctor if necessary.

- The time-honored tradition of feuds between the different non-inmates and adults in charge of them continues, but they added in some new competitions. There are now options for multi-building tug-of-war, kids vs adults (and variations) relays, one v one competitions, and general tomfuckery. Most of the time Momoko is the referee, Mitsuru commentates, and although they rarely join in, they tend to tag-team and secure a near-effortless victory. If it’s every person for themselves, Momoko wins unless distracted by Hajime, at which point the rule of funny is frequently used to determine a victor.

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gallavictorious · 3 years

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What staple fics of the fandom would you recommend for someone just starting to read gallavich fic?

Hiya there, nonnie – and welcome to the glorious world of Gallavich fic, if you're new to it!

On the one hand, I'm very much the wrong person to ask because staple fics tend to be AU:s and that's not really my cup of tea. On the other hand, I am a librarian, so never let it be said I balk at giving recommendations about stuff I haven't actually read or isn't necessarily to my personal liking. 😉

To make this list, I sorted Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich fics by bookmarks on AO3 and selected the first ten that I've either seen talked about a lot or have had at least a look at myself. This is admittely not a great way to curate a rec list, so for better and more initiated recommendations, maybe check in with the the amazing ladies of @gallavichfanficlibrary? They'll have you covered! If anyone else feels like chiming in with fandom classics for nonnie, I'm sure they'd be grateful. 🙂

Sexual Harassment in the Workplace by shamlessquestions

AO3 Summary: Mickey just needs to keep his head down and stay out of trouble at his new job. Still trouble always manages to find him and when it takes the form of his red haired boss, Mickey's not sure he can resist even if he wanted to.

Comment: The Gallvich fic with the most bookmarks and the most kudos on AO3. You’ll hear this one mentioned a lot! Fair bit of explicit sex scenes.

The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Ian Gallagher by shamlessquestions

AO3 Summary: "It's fuck all about heat or chemistry or any such shit, Gallagher. You and me...it's just a thing that cannot happen. The sooner we both accept that, the better off we'll be."

Comment: Mickey's the right hand man of a Chicago mobster. Club dancer (and college student) Ian starts ”dating” said mobster. Gallavich sparks fly. High stakes and quite a bit of action in this one. Explicit sex scenes.

Take Me In by MintSauce

AO3 Summary: Mickey's Dad finds out about Mickey being gay and even though Ian's not there, but he finds the Gallaghers are still willing to take Mickey in.

Comment: If you enjoy Mickey becoming friends with all the Gallaghers and bettering himself/beginning to heal from the abuse at Terry's hands, this might work for you. Heavy focus on Mickey, as Ian isn't actually there for most of the fic (though he's never far from Mickey's thoughts).

Like Real People Do by grayola

AO3 Summary: At the age of 26, Mickey Milkovich gets his first apartment, his first wifi connection, and his first kiss. How he gets from wifi to kissing is a complicated story. Mickey is socially anxious. Ian is a frustratingly lovable escort working through an app. Mickey downloads said app. The rest is history.

Comment: Fan favourite from last year. Very soft. Not a lot of plot, just Ian and Mickey falling very, very deeply in love (and dealing with their mental health issues in a lowkey, everyday sort of way). Heavy use of texts and messaging, making for something of an old-school fic feel. Explicit. A companion piece, told from Ian's POV is currently being published: Everything About You.

eighty-four by kissteethstainedred

AO3 Summary: “I slept with Mickey Milkovich last night,” Ian whispers.

“So?”

“So—” Ian stares at his phone for a second. “I slept with Mandy’s fucking brother.”

“Ian, what do you want me to say? Congratulations? You’ve been dating Mickey for almost a year,” Lip says, sounding confused as fuck. Ian blinks. That can’t be right. Ian’s only seen Mickey in pictures with Mandy. He’s never even met the fucking guy. How can he be dating him?

Comment: College fic. Time loop, so great if you’re a fan of that! Mandy plays a prominent role. At 13k words this one is way shorter than any other fic on this list.

Our Stubborn Love by TheWaywardBride

AO3 Summary: In which, after years of being separated by more than just prison walls, Ian and Mickey try to find their way back to each other.

Comment: Canon-divergent slow burn told from a bunch of different POV:s. Something of an ensemble piece, although Ian and Mickey are the focus. Doesn't shy away from Ian being in a very bad place post-5x12.

None the Wiser by loftec

AO3 Summary: AU. Slow burn. The real time accounts of Ian visiting Mickey's dingy diner and slowly becoming his friend.

Comment: WIP, with irregular but still happening updates. Domestic, with strong focus on the character's emotional lives. Mickey's a father to Yev, even though him and Svet are long since divorced. They're not kidding about the slow burn.

This is the Road To Ruin by bricoleur10

AO3 Summary: The day Ned asks Ian to rob his house the redhead almost says yes – why shouldn’t he, after all? Ned seems nonchalant enough about the whole thing, he’ll get some free expensive shit out of the deal, and if he plays his cards right maybe he can even convince Mickey to be his accomplice – but something stops him from going through with it.

The third-eldest Gallagher has never been much of a believer in fate or divine intervention or destiny or anything like that – can’t be, with the life he’s led – but he just might have become one, had he only known how that one seemingly insignificant decision had changed the course of his entire life.

Comment: Straight up canon divergence, capturing the early season Gallavich feels before hurtling down the road not taken. Some angst, but with a happy ending. Mandy and Lip play prominent parts.

Cooperative Gameplay by grayola

AO3 Summary: At nineteen years old, Ian Gallagher’s stuck. Stuck in a minimum-wage job he hates. Stuck in the same boring routine--sleep, wake, work, take your meds, Ian!, try not to lose it day after day after day. But after his little brother introduces him to MICK MILK, a frustratingly hot horror gamer he watches on YouTube, Ian's life will never be the same. ♥️

Comment: WIP (but with regular updates). Darker than Like Real People Do, but with a similarly emotional focus. Depicts online fandom on Twitter and Instagram in a rather knowing way. Explicit sex scenes. This fic, and these versions of Ian and Mickey, currently has its own fandom.

The Boyfriend Experience by anomalously

AO3 Summary: The Prompt: Ian: sex worker (male escort, explicit videos: stripping, masturbation, etc) Mickey: client who's an avid fan who gets up the courage to hire ian for "the boyfriend experience" I saw a porn star who said she only sleeps with 1 client & it inspired me.

Comment: WIP, last updated in 2017. Commonly held to be worth reading in spite of not being finished. Quite a bit of explicit sex, occasionally with a bit of BDSM thrown in.

#i hope this is helpful nonnie #i did my best #and wish you the happiest of reading <3 #fic recs #asks

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joe-young-stories · 3 years

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A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then. This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s. I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point. At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish? Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”. Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

#writers on tumblr #writers #short story #story #childhood

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devil-in-the-d3tails · 4 years

Text

It’s the End of the World as We Know It - Chapter 1

summary: During the international quarantine in your first-ever pandemic, the people around you slowly begin to disappear. As the world grows quieter and quieter, you find yourself all alone-- no power, no friends, and only one goal: to find whoever of your friends might be left and reunite with them.You're naive to think anything can be that simple. As you're faced with ever-increasing loneliness, you run into some boys who apparently went to the same high school as you. Will you join forces with them to figure out your strange circumstances together, or will you brave loneliness in a world that is slowly crumbling apart?

Link on AO3!

words: 4,452

rating: M - Mature

genre: angst/humor, romance, adventure, apocalypse AU, reader-insert

warnings: sort of depressing content, a smidge of violence, cursing

a/n: hello, hello! this is my first fic for haikyuu (originally posted on AO3), and i wanted to post it on tumblr as well just for shits n gigs. please enjoy!

- Beginning of the End -

It was a Thursday the day everyone disappeared.

The world was quiet outside, but it was loud in your phone, on account of the international quarantine. Everyone was tweeting, making dumb videos, playing video games. You would sit in your room for hours on end, scrolling through your phone as you mourned the loss of your senior year of high school. No prom, no graduation, no more arts and crafts club. It was bad enough that your closest friend group had been disbanded before your senior year even started-- it was just bad luck, but they all left to live in different states while you were left alone in suburbia.

You stayed home with your mom while your dad went to work-- he was considered an essential worker, as he worked in the grocery store. Your mom was much more active than you, constantly cleaning or cooking or going for a walk. It was admirable, but it irritated you how she would always try and get you to interact with her activities. She did it because she was probably worried about you, and she was probably lonely. You were lonely, too-- your friends lived miles away in the vast expanse of the suburbs, and your home was tucked into the fringes of soccer mom society. Your backyard was larger than most, and it was perfect for when you would host kickbacks with your friends. Recently, however, you had no reason to use the large space.

On Thursday, you decided to put down your phone for a while and play fetch with your dog. She was the biggest and fluffiest best friend you’d ever had, a german shepherd named Indie, short for Indiana, as in the archaeologist. You thought the name was fitting, because she could find almost anything with her nose-- you and your mom had trained her to do that a few summers ago.

Your mom had gone on a walk before you decided to play fetch with the dog. You had left your phone on the kitchen table. It wasn’t until the sun began to set and you felt your arm begin to ache when you noticed that she’d been gone for a while.

You gave Indie her stick, though she sniffed and whined at you stressfully. You frowned, and let her inside as you checked your phone. A few notifications from your friends’ group chat:

4:47pm

Kimi: Anybody else’s power go out?

Callie: omg i thought it was just Ohio!

Kimi: Nah, we got it in Connecticut, too.

Emily: New York, too!

They were asking if you had experienced the same thing.

6:48pm

Me: i didnt notice, i was playing with indie. wbu, sami?

Sami had moved to L.A., about two hours from your home, so you guys were able to hang out most weekends if you took the train or if she drove out to you. She didn’t even read the chat.

6:48pm

Me: bitch i know ur in quarantine smh read my message

[Kimi, Callie, and Emily liked your message!]

You dialed your mom’s number as you went to turn on the T.V., only to be met with static. You frowned, and surfed a few channels only to be met with more static before you turned it off. Her voicemail blared through your phone speakers, and that was when you started to worry.

You hung up, called your dad.

“Hey, honey!” He answered-- he must’ve been on break.

“Dad, did the power go out?”

“Yeah, for a couple minutes there. Did it happen at home, too?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off. Indie licked your hand, and whined some more. “Hey, mom’s not answering her phone and she’s been on a walk for a while. Like, three hours.”

“Huh.” Your dad let out a contemplative sigh. “Well, I’m sure she’ll be okay. Maybe she’s talking with the neighbors and her phone died.”

“Maybe.”

But maybe not. You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach, and Indie could sense it as you sat on the couch. She slowly tried to inch her way into your lap, as she never really had a good idea of her own large size. You just let her and scratched her ear.

“Listen, honey, I gotta go. But we can make mac-n-cheese for dinner, how’s that sound?”

“Good, dad.” You said, biting your lip. “Okay, see you when you get home.”

Then, you hung up, and you waited for your mom.

[-]

When your dad got home, you went out to search for your mom. On your tour of the neighborhood, you came across others who had broken quarantine and were searching for their loved ones, too. Saying they went for a walk, or to the store and they didn’t come back.

Your dad remained the voice of reason, saying things like well maybe their phone died, or this is all just some big prank we’ll all laugh about later. You stayed silent.

[-]

Saturday was when your dad didn’t come home. His car was nowhere to be found, but you didn’t trust yourself to drive your mom’s car just yet. Or rather, you didn’t want to drive it because you didn’t want to be reminded that it was permanently vacant. You walked all the way to the store an hour after he was supposed to have gotten off. Manager Dan wasn’t there, either-- nobody had seen your dad at all that day; he was a no-call, no-show.

You walked all the way back home.

9:52pm

Me: my dad’s gone now too

10:05pm

Callie: fuck.

Callie: my sister…

10:06pm

Kimi: I still haven’t heard from Sami.

Emily: Yeah, me neither.

10:15pm

Me: we should check in every day with each other

[Callie and Emily liked your message!]

10:32

Me: Kimi?

[-]

It’s Thursday again.

Emily has stopped answering by now, and the frantic search parties that used to pass by your window every now and again have stopped, too. Even Twitter is quiet-- it seems with every passing day, more and more people go silent. As you lay on your bed with Indie at your feet, you keep refreshing your feed on every social media app, but nothing changes-- all of the posts are old. It feels like your world is shrinking while at the same time expanding into a terrifying void.

5:38pm

Me: callie?

Callie: im here.

You breathe a sigh of relief, which turns into a sob into your pillow.

5:39pm

Me: idk how long we’ll have wifi or even electricity.

Callie: my parents are still here. Come to ohio, seriously.

You bite your lip. You think about Sami, and how many times she pried the truth out of you when you were sad, how she was the only one who would sing with you at karaoke, how you promised to move to New York together.

5:39pm

Me: i have to find sami.

Callie: please just come here. We need to stick together.

Me: i’ll find sami and we’ll come to ohio. Then we go to NY to look for em and kimi.

5:45pm

Callie: okay. Please text.

Me: i will. I promise i’ll come to ohio.

You bite your lip, and glance at your phone’s percentage: 43%. You sigh, and put it on the charger while you go downstairs to scrounge for breakfast. You only woke up about two hours ago, though you can’t sleep much, anyways. You think to yourself how your mom would be scolding you for waking up so late.

As you eat the last poptart, Indie lays down on your feet. You toss her a couple crumbs, she eats them gratefully. You sigh, and look at your now empty pantry-- you have to try and go to the grocery store, whether you like it or not. You only have your permit, but you know that you’re a terrible driver. Still, you get up and put on shoes and grab your jacket. You probably don’t have to worry about cops or the law anymore, anyway-- you suspect everything has disappeared.

You look at yourself in the mirror; you didn’t think your outfit for the apocalypse would be sweatpants and a hoodie. With a sigh, you change into jeans and a long sleeve, layer a flannel on top of that, and your favorite jacket on top of that. It’s cold outside-- much colder than you’re used to.

Based on the incredible silence on Facebook, you figure that most of the adults have disappeared. As you drive further and further into town, you notice some obvious signs of looting from once pristine houses: trash littering lawns, doors left wide open. You get the haunting realization that you’re perhaps the only person left in your neighborhood. It’s amazing how quickly things can turn in just a few days.

When you pull up to the grocery store, you notice there’s only one other car there-- a white van, stationed by the curb and still running. You actually pull into a parking spot like some kind of society bootlicker, and cautiously put the car in park and turn off the engine.

You watch the van for a moment, slowly becoming hyper-aware of the very real possibility that you might run into robbers. Your stomach growls, and you take a deep breath. You should’ve brought Indie.

Grocery bags in hand, you exit your soccer mom minivan and lock it. Steeling your nerves, you put one foot in front of the other. As if on cue, two figures hurry out of the store, glancing behind them before they notice you. The automatic doors have long since stopped running, so they just pause in the doorway while you freeze on the curb, the fumes from the van tickling your nose.

They’re both boys holding bags you assume to be filled with groceries: both around your age, one of them has gray and black spiked hair, and eyes as wide and aware as an owl’s. The one next to him has dark, short, almost curly hair, and his gaze is calculating and cold.

You take a small step back, unsure of what to say. They seem just as apprehensive, when the van door slides open forcefully.

“Hey, what are you doing? Get in!” Another boy, this one of a larger build than the two in front of you with jet black spiked hair, snaps angrily.

“Kuroo, we have a situation.” The curly-haired boy says evenly, though he’s tense. His knuckles are white holding his bags.

“Huh?” The one who must be Kuroo says, and cranes his neck to the side to spot you. “Oh, shit.”

“U-um…” You stutter out, and you suddenly feel extremely cornered-- it’s three against one, and what if they want to take your car? What if they have some kind of weird cult and need a girl for breeding? “I’m just gonna get some-- some poptarts and leave.”

“Holy shit!!” The gray haired one seems to have broken out of his stupor, and he rushes over to you, dropping his bags and their contents on the ground in order to grab your shoulders. “Another person! A-a girl!”

“Yes, she’s a girl…” The curly-haired one sighs, puts his bags in the van and begins to gather up the other one’s forgotten groceries.

“First one I’ve seen in a while.” Kuroo grins and hops from the car to stand beside the gray-haired one who still hasn’t let go of you. You don’t have the balls to tell him to get off-- you’re not sure how dangerous these boys are. “How long have you been hiding out?”

“Come with us! We’re at the high school.” The gray-haired one beams-- how could he possibly be smiling?

You don’t know what to say, so you look away. Your voice seems to be caught in your throat, and that’s extremely frustrating-- but you’re not about to cry in front of these guys.

“Quit it, Bokuto.” The curly-haired one is eyeing you carefully, though not as if you’re a threat. He seems to be the only one that can actually sense your discomfort. The one that’s holding you-- Bokuto-- sighs, and lets you go, instead putting his hands on his hips.

“We should at least help her.” He points out, and grins down at you. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“She’s not gonna tell you. Let’s just go home.” Kuroo shrugs, and you cross your arms.

You tell them your name, if only to spite the taller one. He turns with a grin, and it only just occurs to you that perhaps, that was reverse-psychology. You huff, and look away with a little bit of a blush.

“Like I said, I just need to get poptarts and some other things and then I’m going back home.” You mutter.

“We’re wasting gas.” The curly-haired one calls, as he has already sat in the front seat.

“Hold on, Akaashi!” Bokuto calls. “Listen, there aren’t anymore poptarts in there. None whatsoever.”

Your heart breaks a little, but you keep it together.

“There’s, like, rice and stuff, but I think that’s it.” He shrugs, and turns to get into the van. You bite your lip-- might as well ask rather than waste your time wandering around all alone.

“Is there any dog food left?”

“Huh? Dog food?” Bokuto is right back in front of you. He and Kuroo speak at the same time:

“You’re gonna eat dog food?” Bokuto says. “You have a dog?” Kuroo says, and the two boys glare at each other.

“Yeah…” You say, though you still haven’t gotten an answer to your question. “I mean, I have a dog.”

“Yeah, it’s in aisle five.” You hear the one called Akaashi tell you, without even bothering to turn to look at you.

“I know that.” You snap-- your dad used to work in this store, you know it pretty damn well. Akaashi glances back at you then, probably a little surprised by your defensive tone. You huff, annoyed at yourself for being so touchy. These were the first people you met after about three straight weeks in quarantine, and they might be the only people left for miles. You need to play nice.

“My dad works here.” You explain, looking down at your shoes. Kuroo nods, exchanges a glance with Bokuto. “Well, he used to.”

A silence falls over the group-- they know. You all know, now, what it’s like to lose a parent, or any loved one, for that matter. You blink quickly to fight back any tears that might threaten to escape.

“We’re staying at Karasuno High-- it’s the high school near Flat Top.” Kuroo says. “If you want to join us, we’re kind of setting up camp there.”

“There’s more of us!” Bokuto explains. “We’re gonna find some mattresses after this to bring ‘em back so we can all stick together.”

“Oh, cool.” You say half-heartedly, unsure of why exactly they’re inviting you over as if it’s some kind of fun sleepover. “Wait, you guys went to Karasuno?”

“Yeah! You, too?” Bokuto lights up, and you look at the three boys a little closer, though you don’t seem to recognize them.

“Yeah… but I don’t think we were in the same circles.” You finally smile a little, albeit sadly, now that you’re remembering all the things you’ll never be able to return to now that school and society are essentially gone.

“You ever go to any volleyball games?” Kuroo asks, obviously encouraged by your smile. You shake your head.

Akaashi has exited the van by now with a sigh, coming to stand beside his two friends as he takes a look around. “We need to get going. If you want to join us, you know where to find us. But it’s gonna be dark soon.”

That seems to smack some sense into the other two, and they exchange glances with one another. Kuroo nods, Bokuto sighs, and the two get back into the van. Akaashi pauses, and you accidentally lock eyes with him.

His gaze betrays nothing, and you wonder for a moment how he ever became friends with these two. He reaches into the van, and pulls out a familiar blue cardboard box, gives it to you.

You take the poptarts, and glance up at him questioningly-- he puts a finger to his lips with just the hint of a smile. You smile back.

“Listen, it’s great you have a dog-- keep him close. And get home before it gets dark. And…” He glances to the side uneasily. “Get a baseball bat or something.”

A chill goes up your spine at that last part, and you frown, but nod to the boy in front of you anyways. He returns the nod, and gets in the back of the van. You both share a glance at each other one more time, and it feels as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. He just slides the door closed, and Bokuto waves to you out the window.

“Byee! Hopefully we’ll see you later-- hey, where’d you get those poptarts?!” Bokuto’s voice fades away as the van drives off, and you are once again left alone.

[-]

You gather a fair amount of stuff-- rope, for some reason is included in your loot. You always saw people in the movies get rope, so you figure you’ll find some use for it.

There aren’t any baseball bats, but you do find a hammer and a paring knife. It’s small, but better than nothing. You load up on the dog food, and even manage to haul two huge bags of kibble into your car. As you load it up, you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you. Even though you look around and make certain that you’re the only person present, the feeling doesn’t go away. You sort of wish you’d gone with those boys now.

You aren’t surprised when the street lights don’t turn on, but you take that as your signal to leave. Even though you want to scrounge for more supplies, you don’t want to risk it. Akaashi’s words of warning hang over your head like a humid fog.

As you drive home, you can’t stop chewing on your lip. Even with your headlights on, it’s hard to see, but you don’t want to turn on your brights and draw more attention to yourself. Just get home, lock the doors, and check in with Callie.

You park the car in your backyard because the garage door won’t open-- the power’s finally gone out. You close the backyard gate and lock it as soon as you’re out of the car, but somehow you still feel uneasy.

As you enter your dark home, you softly call out Indie’s name, and you hear her scamper up to you.

“Good girl,” You whisper, and scratch her ear. You decide to leave the larger groceries in the car for now, as you don’t want to go back outside and keep making trips of transferring the supplies into your house. For now, you need to sleep so that you can ignore the hunger in your belly and stretch out your rations just a little further.

Indie guides you up the stairs and into your bedroom as you set your bag down heavily. You come across your phone with dismay, finding that it hasn’t charged at all since you left, and is now at 7%. You bite your lip, and open up the almost abandoned group chat.

9:57pm

Me: callie im gonna come to ohio soon. I think we are gonna lose connection tho. Idk if this will even send, but ill see u in ohio. I love you.

The message doesn’t send. You shudder out a sigh, and you’re grateful when Indie nuzzles into your side.

Your phone finally shuts off, though it’s useless now, anyway. You crawl into your bed and Indie curls up next to you, and you fall into an uneasy sleep.

[-]

“Shh!”

You jolt awake at the hissing sound that’s coming from downstairs. Indie is tense and alert, and she licks your elbow. You sit up, and vaguely note the time: 3:37am.

There’s some shuffling, and you see the beam of what you assume to be a flashlight shakily illuminate the walls downstairs. You didn’t close your bedroom door when you came in, because you assumed that you were alone.

‘Stupid…’ You think to yourself as you grip Indie’s collar. She begins to growl, but you shush her quickly, though she flattens her ears back at you. Letting out a shaky breath, you crawl off of your bed as silently as you can manage, and reach for the hammer and paring knife in your bag.

Indie follows you as you venture into the hallway, and you perch behind the bars of your stairs as the hushed conversation down below becomes clearer.

“Just find whatever food you can and let’s go.” A deep male voice cuts through the silence.

“We need to check the car! There’s nothing here.” A stranger male voice answers, and giggles. “We should find the girl instead.”

You tense, and grip the hammer a little tighter.

“I don’t care about her. I just want her stuff.” The deep voice asserts, and you wonder what you should do next. Storm downstairs and hammer them to death? You’ve never fought anybody before, let alone killed someone. Your hands are becoming clammy, and you don’t notice the pregnant pause in the conversation downstairs.

It isn’t until you see a head of brown hair come into view that you’re snapped from your thoughts. Indie can’t help herself-- she barks, and bolts down the stairs before you can stop her. The two boys yell in surprise, and you watch as she tackles the tall one with brown hair. Meanwhile, the other one comes into view-- he has large, droopy eyes with spiked red hair, and he looks excited when he catches sight of you.

“There she is!” He coos, and begins to walk upstairs. You gasp, and you know in this split second that your home is no longer yours-- you need to get away. In one fluid motion, you run into your room to grab your single bag of groceries. It’s heavy, but you don’t notice as adrenaline rushes through your veins.

When you turn to run down the stairs, the red-head catches you by both of your upper arms. He licks his chapped lips, and your knee jerks out to hit his groin. He yelps and doubles over, and you fly down the stairs.

“Indie!” You whistle, and she actually bounds from the living room over the couch, to skid by your side. You swipe the car keys off the counter, rip the sliding glass door open, and use the fob to unlock the car. You open the passenger for Indie, she leaps in as you toss the bag and your hammer and knife in behind her, you slam the door closed, and hop over the hood of the car.

As you turn to open the driver’s side door, you watch as the red-head runs in slow motion from your stairs to the exit to your backyard. You don’t breathe or shake as you turn the ignition, throw the car in reverse, then drive, and plow through your flimsy backyard gate as you push your little soccer van to its limits.

Tires skid as you swerve onto the street, and you press down so hard on the gas, that a few minutes later, you don’t register that you’re going 90 miles an hour in the suburbs. Houses pass you at incredible speed, and you ease up on the pedal when Indie licks your cheek. You stare straight ahead, and subconsciously, you drive towards your high school. Those three boys were nice to you-- they warned you, and you didn’t listen. They even tried to help you and include you, and you flat out denied them.

You slam on the brakes as you turn into Karasuno High’s parking lot. It’s only now that you realize that you didn’t fasten your seat belt, and you shut off the car with a shaky breath. The front of the school looms over you, and you wonder for a moment if they’re even here-- was it all a joke? What if they turn you away because you were such a bitch earlier? No matter how many scenarios you run through your head, you come to the same conclusion every time: you can’t go back home, and you’re already here, so you may as well investigate. You grab your hammer and get out of the car, and Indie follows behind. You close and lock the doors, pocketing the keys, and turn towards the school you’ve known for three and a half years.

The front gates are locked, of course. You wander the perimeter of the school, Indie trotting beside you the whole way. The school looks different in the dark-- it feels different, too. It’s like you’re walking in a dream, or some sort of in-between space. You shouldn’t be awake, and you definitely shouldn’t be here, but you are. It’s strange. Everything is bathed in moonlight, so it’s all a very specific shade of blue that makes you feel like you’re underwater.

You come upon the gym in the back of the school, and you’re startled to hear voices coming from inside. You tip-toe up to the doors, and Indie sniffs curiously.

“If your leg gets cut off, would it hurt?”

“Please just go to sleep.”

“Duh!” A third voice chimes in, and the second voice groans.

“How, though?” The first voice presses.

“‘Cause your leg got cut off, dumbass.” Third voice answers.

“Where’re you gonna feel the pain?”

“In your leg…” The third voice trails off.

“Exactly, man. How’re you gonna feel the pain in your leg if--”

“--if your leg is gone?!” The first and third voice finish together, and you hear the second person groan.

“I’m going outside.” He says, and as his voice gets louder, you stumble away from the door just as it opens.

You blink rapidly and your jaw drops-- Akaashi stands in front of you, brows furrowed and eyes wide. You can’t believe they’re actually here.

“Akaashi?” Someone calls from inside. Akaashi opens his mouth to respond, but glances at Indie when she sniffs his hand curiously. He pets her absent-mindedly as his gaze wanders back to yours.

Bokuto and Kuroo pop up behind him a second later, and they’re just as surprised as Akaashi. Indie sniffs them in turn, and her tail begins to wag.

You drop your hammer with a thud, and sniffle like a toddler before letting out a sob you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“C-can I stay with you?”

#haikyuu fanfiction #hq fanfiction #haikyu fanfiction #akaashi x reader #kuroo x reader #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #bokuto x reader #reader insert #haikyuu x reader #slow burn

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cowboylikedean · 4 years

Text

folklermore spn finale: the last great american dynasty

Okay so this post took forever to write for a couple reasons.

First of all, this one is special in that it has two readings for my grief.

The first one is terrible and heartbreaking and honestly I don’t want to spend a lot of time on it. I see Andrew Dabb as THE great villain of Supernatural, and he truly had a marvelous time ruining everything. The sarcastic nature of the song goes in to speak to the fact that I feel legitimately crazy for how much I blame him. It’s sad and heartbreaking. I think about it sometimes when i hear this song and instantly force myself to stop thinking about it and go back to the other view.

So the other view is more what you might expect with the vibe of the song... but it is SO HARD for me to put into words, I found. So I’m sorry if this is messy and disjointed and all over the place.

I spoke in cardigan’s post about how I’m not the fan the show wanted and there’s a large part of the narrative in the folkermore-spn-finale feelings for me that expresses not being the fan the narrative wanted or needed.... Most of the time this is brought up in this, it’s angry, or sad, or whatever... but this time... this time it celebrates it.

I had a marvelous time ruining everything.

Putting this under a cut because it’s very long. I didn’t mean for this to get this long rip.

I let myself sink into the feelings of wonder and awe I felt when I first fell in love with the show and then let myself find the conclusion that IF I did in fact “ruin everything” (aka the show) by not being the fan the show needed me to be to enjoy it, at least I had a good fucking time!

From that first bit where Taylor sings that Rebekah’s salt box house took her mind of St. Louis.... Supernatural took my mind off my life too. I remember when I first watched the show, I was 20 and I’d just failed out of school (the first time). I was lying to my mother and her husband (who I lived with) about going to school. I rode the city bus at the time because I didn’t have my license yet. I’d leave the house and say I was going to the bus stop down the street. Instead, I hid in the woods that separated my neighborhood from my grandfather’s back yard. I worked at his house “after school” every day from 4-6, taking care of his house, doing light cleaning and cooking, helping him adjust to being a double amputee so it worked out nice. Every night I pre-loaded 5 hours of episodes on my computer so I didn’t need the internet and every day I would sit in the cold on a log and put my computer on a slightly bigger log and curl up in my warm coat for a day of Supernatural before heading inside to Pappou’s house at 4. Sometimes, I just waited until the afternoon when I knew my mom would be gone and I could go home where it was warm and I had wifi. Sometimes though I got wrapped up and I just stayed there.. all day.

Supernatural is, what I would consider, one of the last great american TV shows. Like... It’s right there with Grey’s Anatomy as the last TV shows that have an actual following where people watch it and it’s a thing that haven’t been corrupted by the streaming world. Television is so important to me, it’s my favorite medium of storytelling and it’s been lost. Streaming destroyed it. People say we’re living in a “golden age” because there’s “so much good TV” but there’s NOT! What we have is high production quality on a lot of mini-series and long-format movies that have been randomly split up into “episodes” but don’t make sense if you space them out in any way. The episodic serial format of television has been LOST and that’s heartbreaking...

But to me... this song... it’s about The Last Great American TV Show, The Last Great American Fandom, The Last Great American Dynasty over my life, my fandom, my relationship with tv, and my world view.

The line “How did a middle class divorcee do it?” also just... First of all there’s something so distinctly American about it... We all know Supernatural is itself a sort of lover letter to Americana... it’s the aesthetic of Nowhere USA which is part of what makes it so effective and heartbreaking. The line in the song is about how Rebekah was just... boring, average, a little sad. Someone unremarkable you feel a little pity for. That’s the Nowhere USA of the aesthetic of the show... THAT’S the heartbeat of “Americana.” It’s boring, average, unremarkable, a little sad, you kinda pity it, it shouldn’t be that deep, but it is. It’s when the unremarkable accomplishes the remarkable. And that’s the whole myth they fed us as kids, isn’t it? I could never explain the beauty of this line inside or outside the context of Supernatural to someone who isn’t US American so I’ll just stop trying... but it’s just kljasfkd

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that first stanza in the first verse... When I fell in love with Supernatural, I was boring unremarkable, a little sad... and the show was a wealth of possibilities... but also I was at a point where I was getting over the main fandom I’d had for the past year and a half (Buffy) and I had just fallen in love with Sherlock and I had nothing but time. I wasn’t bogged down with the anxiety of school, I got to devote my whole life and existence to this show. I was also a wealth of possibilities, and as we know the show was also boring, average, unremarkable, and a little sad. Both me and the show were Bill and both me and the show were Rebekah.

So when the wedding between me and the show was charming, if a little gauche it made sense cause there’s only so far new money goes. For me, this represents 2012-Mishapocalpyse: The Golden Age... Look... It’s no secret 2012 was my favorite year of all time... Tumblr was small and fun and hadn’t been corrupted by wanting or trying to be “cool” or “edgy” or “interesting.” I chose the mishapocalypse for the end of this era to me because that was the last time I felt like I could come on tumblr and really just LET GO into insanity. Almost instantly people were shit talking it as if it was not the single most fun 24 hours this website had ever had. In 2013, we saw the rise of YFIP and people trying so hard to “””prove””” they were “”””cool”””” unlike ~those~ tumblr people!!! It was pathetic. But in 2012, we just... had fun. And it was charming, if a little out there. But there really is only so far that the youthful innocence of an online community that’s new goes.

But I picked out a home on tumblr. And our parties were tasteful if a little loud. Tumblr in 2012/2013 was..... Fun. From mapcrunch to the mishapocalpyse. Some would argue about taste, but I’d say... “if a little loud.” I really just can’t separate the fun I had on tumblr back then from spn and I can’t separate spn from the fun I had back then.

But then of course, we all need to settle down some times because the fun doesn’t last forever. In this line, I hear myself in both Bill and Rebekah and I hear the show in both Bill and Rebekah. Both of our hearts gave out and the other way to blame.

So then the chorus... “who knows if she never showed up what could have been?” I CHANGED because of the show, I don’t know who the hell I’d BE without it! And likewise, I don’t think *I* personally changed the actual show, but the show WAS changed by each one of us. The show itself is folklore, changed and shaped in each retelling. There’s a creative freedom to the chorus that lives in that love.

So then there’s the second verse. After the rose colored glasses came off, Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever and I gave up on the greater spn fandom forever. I dropped the hellers and joined the tight knit Dean stans. This verse is about living in spite. It’s that wild American rebellion mixed with a little bit of sensual romanticism. In season 9, it was us against the world. And the reality is we were angrier than this verse gives and less free and fun... but looking back, it felt like A Time. I don’t know how to put it into words really but it was like... We found ways (and continue to find ways) to celebrate Dean when we weren’t supposed to. Fuck everyone else Dean is perfect.

And then in the second verse, we celebrate that rebellion. The change from “the maddest woman” to “the most shameless woman” in the chorus is so important here... In the first chorus, Rebekah and I were mad and crazy and wild. In the second chorus, we had no shame. We lived IN SPITE of the state of the world around us and fucked anyone who had anything to say about it.

In the first chorus, “who knows if she never showed up what could have been” paired with “maddest” has this creative potential. Like who knows who I would have been without spn and who knows what the show would have been without us, the fandom. And in the second chorus, that line changes to this destructive force. Like the show and I were both shameless to just exist, you know? because we would have been better without each other... but even as it acknowledges that, it’s still... sweet.

So then we have the time I left the fandom. Here we only hear bits and pieces of Rebekah’s life and Rebekah’s time in Holiday House. She was only seen “on occasion.” And on occasion, you could find me reblogging some Dean stan posts, getting into spats with Sam stans, posting about how the writers suck, calling out a heller. But 7 years is a long time and my fandom sat quietly in the history of my blog... And then it was picked up by me.

Rebekah, in the song, refers to my past. My previous relationship with the show. Taylor’s part refers to my current relationship with the show.

Who knows if I never showed up what could have been? If I never came back, what would my life look like? It would have been healthier, I’m sure. But then again - I needed this. And if the show hadn’t came back who would I be?

But there goes the loudest non-woman this fandom has ever seen. I will scream from the ROOFTOPS! and what I want to scream is EVERYTHING from the past but with my full grown adult context. I know now more than I knew then that I had a MARVELOUS TIME ~ruining everything~!!! And I get to CELEBRATE THAT! I get to let go and have fun. I get to sit and think of Nov 5 and how that night, I relived those parties that were tasteful if a little loud. And then every day since I relived flying in the Bitch Pack friends from the city. I get to CELBRATE!

I may not have been the fan the show wanted. I may have fucked shit up. I may have lived in spite of this show even when I lived because of it. But damn I had a marvelous FUCKING TIME Ruining. Everything. Everything this show built it wanted me to see and love and appreciate with these toxic fucking relationships and the destruction of Dean Winchester can KISS MY ASS cause I had a MARVELOUS time fucking that shit up. Everything this show wanted from me that I refused to give it. Every SPEC of growth and learning and fun and enjoyment I have had from this show.... was toxic. It ruined it. Because it was not the growth and learning and fun and enjoyment the show WANTED ME TO HAVE. But damn did I have fun.

The show and I are the last great American dynasty full of rebellion and spite and damn is it fun.

#tlgad #taylor analysis #putting this in that tag because i mean #folklermore spn finale #personal #i SPENT FOREVER on this #god i'm so glad i got this out #but i don't know if it will make sense to anyone but me #tlgad spn finale

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the-general-hux · 5 years

Text

@finishwhxtyoustartxd

Armitage Hux rested his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger side window. His parents had stopped talking hours ago, his mother was asleep in the front seat and his father was driving with white-knuckled fingers crimped around the steering wheel. Hux shared the backseat with luggage that wouldn’t fit in the trunk of their rental sedan. His knees pressed against the back of the driver’s seat and he longed for chance to stretch out his legs. His eyes blinked open and shut as he looked out the window at the endless procession of trees.

Traffic slowed down and his father spat out a string of curses at the other drivers’ abilities to keep stopping distance on the rain slick road. The air smelled damp, even through the filter of the air conditioning. A small town appeared and a sign declared it Bayport. Perhaps the settlers had never heard of redundancy, Hux thought. A smiling whale spouted a flourish of water on the sign. Hux gritted his teeth and put in his headphones.

Tourists crossed the highway, oblivious to oncoming traffic and the increasing frequency of his father’s cursing. A bead shop. Souvenirs. Weed shop. Rinse and repeat. Hux caught a glimpse of some amazing biceps in front of a coffee shop and he wrenched his neck to see if the potential face matched the muscles, but his father turned a corner and Hux lost his sight line. He huffed out a sigh. Probably just a tourist, maybe one of those bikers that cruised up and down the Oregon coast. Doing what? Whale-watching?

They pulled into a driveway that was marked with a jaunty lighthouse, Driftwood Cove. They named the rental house. Of course they did. His father stopped the car, turned off the ignition and announced. “This is our home for the next month. Let’s try to not kill each other.”

“No promises.” Hux said and his mother shot him a warning look. “Fine. You work on your book, you work on your paintings and I’ll work on growing a thick coat of mildew.”

“Now darling, it’s not that bad. The ocean air is marvelous for my health and I only have so much time with you before you go off to college and leave me behind.”

Forty two days, six hours and twelve minutes, Hux thought as he got out of the car. He sighed again and nodded because that was what you did when your sick mother guilt tripped you. This wasn’t his idea of a beach holiday. The sky was painted in shades of blue and gray, the whole landscape looked angry and battered into submission by the relentless coastal wind. Then he turned to the ocean. There was a haze covering the entire Pacific Ocean, as far as he could squint. “Twelve hours in the car and I can’t even see the fucking water.”

Hux claimed the room at the very top of the rental, it had a window overlooking the ocean and a stupid sign. “The Crow’s Nest.” He dragged his luggage up the stairs. The whole room smelled musty and forgotten. He sat down on the edge of the queen bed and flopped backwards, staring at the rafters. There was no need for a bed this big in such a small space— Hux scrunched his face up in disgust. Do not think about how many people have had sex in your bed, just don’t. That way lies madness, Hux thought. I am not going to look under the mattress pad.

“Boy!” His father hollered up the stairs, “Come help your mother with her junk!” Hux blew out the breath he was holding and descended the stairs.

It started to rain.

It continued to rain for three days. Drops splattered on the window panes and wind shrieked through the eaves. Hux made a bet with himself about how soon the roof would fly off. It was even money. He curled up on the bed, surrounded by fifteen decorative pillows that some poor soul had embroidered with seagulls and a two year old copy of People magazine. He’d read it cover to cover three times. Cellular service was complete shit and WiFi was apparently an alien concept in rustic vacation rentals. His father’s laptop had not survived the road trip and Hux’s had been commandeered, so no jerking off to his carefully curated archived amateur Alpha porn. The television downstairs had a dial to change the channels. All three channels.

“I’m going to start talking to myself. I am. I’m going to start talking to myself and go find a great white whale to have a battle to the death with. Honestly, it’s inevitable.” He could go talk to his parents. See what they were doing— Hux shook his head. Mother was sleeping, exhausted from her medication and Father was writing. He could write for days at a time, eating what was brought to him and pissing in a milk jug by his desk. He had a bestselling series, it was Regency romance of all things and the royalties were sending Hux to a very good school.

“Yet another thing for me to grateful for.” Hux told a decorative seahorse on the wall. “I have to get out of here. I have to.” He grabbed his coat and one of the guest umbrellas from the hallway. “I’m going out!” He called to his father who grunted in response and waved him off.

Hux made his way down the driveway towards the town center. He paused in front of the map of the town, drawn in a cartoon fashion that made the library and the police station look like equally jaunty places to visit. His sneakers squelched with wetness as he made his way to the coffee shop. It seemed like ages ago that he’d caught a glimpse of those glorious biceps. Everyone was wearing shapeless polar fleece and practical galoshes that he coveted with an practical intensity he’d never truly felt before.

He ordered a hot milky tea, something to chase the cold away from his bones and wrapped his fingers around it. “It's June,” he reminded himself and the counter girl smiled at him and then at his Omega Pride lapel pin. “It really is June, isn’t it?”

“It usually clears up by now. It’s not so bad. Just remember to take your vitamin D pills until the sun comes out again.” She pulled another shot of espresso after that bit of unsolicited advice. Hux pushed his sopping wet shock of red hair out of his face. He was not a natural sun worshipper, but the next time he saw the sun even he might offer up a few prayers of gratitude.

Hux wandered over to the small shelf of used books that lined the back wall. A hand lettered sign read, “Lending Library”. Out of habit, he looked for his father’s name on the spines of the books. Only one volume this time. The fourth. Savage Unbroken Hearts. Hux couldn’t read his father’s writing, it was far too intimate an act. It was worse than the time his father had walked in on Hux taking a selfie, wearing glitter and a rainbow thong. Hux cringed at the memory and selected a paperback space opera that boasted about galactic conquest. He sat down at a table and thumbed through the yellowed pulpy pages. The previous owner had scrawled his name in childish block letters on the interior cover. Ben.

The counter girl gave him a plastic bag for the book and Hux stepped out into the rain. It wasn’t going to defeat him. “You hear me?” Hux muttered to the weather as he made his way down the boardwalk. He rolled his eyes at the tiny salon and a candy store that was only open on the weekend. He paused in front of a photograph studio that specialized in pirate portraits. Skywalker Studios. Tourists grinned in tawdry costumes and posed in front of pirate flags. Rain dripped from the tip of Hux’s nose and he snorted in disdain. There was a 90% chance that his mother would drag them all in here for a souvenir portrait.

The beach access stairwell was just beyond the photography studio and Hux gripped the guardrail as he wrestled with both the slippery seagull shit smeared steps and the wind that threatened to steal his umbrella. The ocean was surging, the tide rolling in. Hux stared out at the dark, seething waters and felt begrudging respect for the power and intensity of the storm. Also for the warning signs posted all over the beach. Rolling logs that could kill you. Rip tides. Sneaker waves. Tsunamis. This was not the ocean that was in the brochures. Icy spray hit him in the face and he blinked saltwater from his lashes.

There was a man strolling along the pebbled beach. Long dark hair whipped around his head. What kind of Alpha bullshit was this? It was a stereotype of course, but the only person who would have the sheer ballsy stupid confidence to be walking on that beach would be an Alpha. A shameful thrill trilled up the back of Hux’s neck and he tasted the salt on his own lips.

The man reached the stairwell and as he ascended, Hux hid behind his Driftwood Cove umbrella. The man paid him no mind as he passed, Hux peeked out from beneath the umbrella shade. He swallowed hard as he caught the hint of a defined, youthful jawline, speckled with interesting moles that reminded Hux of constellations. The man unlocked the door to Skywalker Studios, stepped inside and flipped on the OPEN neon sign.

Oh god dammit. He wasn’t going to follow that weirdo guy, no matter how broad his shoulders were, no matter how bored Hux was, no matter— he stood on the steps of the photography studio and pushed open the door.

A bell jingled announcing Hux’s presence as he folded up his umbrella in the entry way. “Just a moment!” A deep voice called out from behind a curtain. “Be right out!’

Hux looked at the puddle of rain water accumulating around his feet and he flushed with embarrassment. He glanced to the side at a mirror for the tourists to check their costumes. His hair was plastered to his head, water dripped from his ears. No, no, no this was a mistake—

The broad-shouldered stranger walked out in a muscle baring tank top, drying his hair with a towel. The lack of fabric made one thing painfully clear to Hux’s libido. This was the owner of the Glorious Biceps. He wrapped the towel around his hair in a makeshift turban and looked at Hux. For a long moment, the Alpha’s plush pink mouth fell open as he took in the bedraggled, soaked ginger making a mess of his shop floor. If the Earth could open up and swallow me whole right now, that would be just dandy, Hux thought. He turned to leave.

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wizardnuke · 4 years

Note

tell me absolutely everything about your marvel oc

u said everything. u did this.

okay do u know what the avengers are missing that they really REALLY REALLY should have like It Bothers Me bc I worry about fictional fucking characters

they need a combat medic. technically sam could count but like the man's usually way up in the air, so, may I present to you: leena kyles

originally she had a certain set of powers but they were so fuckin similar to amatw's ghost that I a) lost my goddamn mind when I saw amatw and b) redesigned her out of spite

so I changed her powers and now she's the world's worst goddamn energy bender type deal and it's fantastic. its best described as like electrical telekinesis but with a very spotty wifi connection ie yes in theory she can like, blow up electrical devices, but she might just end up boosting the signal and like alerting bad guys (or, worst case scenario is that she misfires and fucks up someone's suit/arc reactor/metal arm) so really she just sticks to her endurance/agility/blind stubbornness and leaves her electrical powers to dramatic emotional breakdown moments

she's peter's age! but like, infinity war peter. in a world where infinity war never happened and neither did civil war FUCK the mcu the avengers split their time between the compound and the tower. she bonded w peter first, originally she was doing a vigilante thing but unlike peter she was kinda perceived as a threat and he was sent out to like do an assessment of her (mini mission!) and she kicked him in the head so needless to say it was the start of a beautiful friendship

how did she end up in nyc? fucking beats me. how did she get her powers? fucking depends on what I'm feeling when I'm writing her bc there's the traumatic option and the Traumatic Option and the eh she's just fuckin like this option but any way u slice it she was around doctors for the first 16 years of her life and she picked up a lot and also took classes and stuff but anyways there was a Tragic Occurrence and she had to get out and far away from where she was and nyc is a good place to disappear in

yes irondad features heavily in her storyline no I do not take criticism of any type

but anyway. she takes her secret identity very seriously bc she knows that peter is highkey monitored and like she agrees that he should be but She's Different, Okay, anyway she's a dummy, and she really doesn't want her identity to be discovered bc of people stalking her bc they want to experiment on her bc of her powers and That Can't Happen so she's a high school dropout vigilante that's friends w spiderman and she knows his first name is peter bc she accidentally overheard part of a phone call he was having w tony fucking stark and, goddamn it, she feels bad for not telling him her name when she knows his and she says her name is leena and he's like oh hi!

and then she like gets hurt-ish it's honestly not even that bad but peter worries and also he's a terrible liar and he snitches to tony and says that her name is leena. she does not find out about this. meanwhile tony is working on what little information he has on her to like find a missing person file on her and like, he isn't certain that he finds her bc leena kyles is from south carolina and that's kinda uh what the fuck and he has no frame of reference for when she went missing or if she's missing at all, really, so he doesn't say anything

and then peter gets fucking murked one day, he gets shot, like, five times in the abdomen, his suit goes offline, and tony gets a frantic call from a certain vigilante that isn't peter and she tells him their location and stuff and then starts rattling off his vitals, including ones that can only reliably be measured with a device of some sort, and, surprise, she's very attuned to the pressure levels/heartbeat/other electrical signals that the body produces, she's not good with her energy powers because they're fine-tuned to picking up stuff on people's bodies and keeping them alive, not to controlling electronics, and stark I can keep him breathing for another twenty minutes but he's lost a lot of blood and regenerating blood cells is not something I'm capable of get over here, please, I'm doing everything I can, and it's the start of a beautiful friendship. tony confirms her identity but doesn't do anything about it bc he doesn't know her situation and she doesn't suspect anything, so, whatever, right

anyways the expected thing happens, she has to give up the act and say hi her name is leena kyles she's 16 she's enhanced and she can't go back home and there's nothing for her there anyway

tony, bc he is a saint, is like okie dokie wanna meet the avengers and she's like What and he's like c'mon let's go you're one of us now

(he knows that she needs a support system, and she needs people that'll protect her)

anyways it's messy but unlike peter, leena doesn't really have contact with people her own age and she needs that too but it's hard to do that when she's supposed to be invisible so they take the risk and tony gets guardianship over her.

cut forward eh not even a week later there's an avengers call and bc this is a weird world where it's like 2012 avengers plus the others dr doom is fucking up nyc and they have to go. leena doesn't go bc she knows that she doesn't know how to work in a team that has more members than just her and peter and good lord she doesn't know how to take orders but uh. It Goes Wrong. and someone, probably steve or natasha, comes back hurt and post-hulk bruce is not helpful and idk 2012 world has SHIELD medical but they couldn't get there. idk. so they bring let's say steve in and he's ah not doing well, he's bleeding all over the couch, and they're like yelling over the phone for help and leena bolts into the room and they're like "shit leena no don't look at this" but tony's like oh SHIT wait no let her through let her through and she gets to work and saves his ass and by the time shield medical gets there steve is stable-ish and leena is casually washing blood off of her hands/arms at the kitchen sink

steve asks her if she wants to help in the field. she says yes. tony argues that he should really have a say in this, but it's for show and he agrees that she can help as like emergency backup/as a substitution if someone isn't there or has to go/their civilian herder/as their field medic.

leena is a crackhead. if someone goes down or she sees a civilian that can't get out alone she can and will run through fire and bullets and fuckin poison gas for all she cares. if she isn't needed to help but she's on the field she'll fight. it turns out that she's good at sensing heat signatures and vibrations in buildings so she knows when things are about to collapse so she's good at giving warnings that way too.

anyways she's full of love and besties with peter and lives with the avengers and has powers that make her an incredible medic and combatant so it's natural for her to be the avengers combat medic and she's damn good at it thanks for coming to my ted talk

#nadiapym #ask #long post #oc stuff #*infodumps*

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cockbiteproductions · 4 years

Note

all prime numbers in the Misc section and all multiples of 10 in the other sections

we shall go backwards as the question list was posted backwards...... (and also why i rbed it.... why is it backwards? i dont know but i love it. edit: now that ive seen question 1 it looks to me like one of those forum profile copy pastes where you fill out the entire thing and put it in your profile.)

200: My crush’s name is: hmm...... well. i would rather not say!!!! they could see this post!!!!!!! and we do not want that happening.......

190: My 1st job was: lifeguard in the summer after 9th or 10th grade i think? it was decently fun. i grew up swimming competitively so the swimming part was a breeze. the remembering what to do if someone is drowning part? a bit harder. memory bad. what to do if someone has a potential broken spine/head injury when they’re in deep water? i don’t know bud. but it involves 3 whole people to get them out. 2 in the water, one person at all times holding their head in line with the rest of their body, the other one strapping them to the board (these two people in the water switch off, too) and then one person standing on the side of the pool looking very concerned. also don’t tell anyone but sometimes if i had like a 6 am shift i would get really groggy and almost fall asleep on the stand.

180: Marriage is: whatever people make of it but unfortunately bogged down with like a lot of societal expectations. to me it just sounds like hanging with your “best” friend until you die but a lot of other people interpret it differently.

170: What did you do yesterday? LOL wouldn’t it be nice if i remembered. wait no i do remember. i woke up “early” and watched a dnd livestream and struggled through buffering from my shit wifi. then i took a nap. then i had a chipotle burrito that was way too spicy. and i played a lot of minecraft. and i wrote a bit. and i also did like another 2-3 pages of the codecademy html intro course im working on.

160: Soul mates: nope. [taylor mason voice] i don’t believe in the concept of a soul. you are compatible with some people more than others and that’s based on your values and interests and personality. nothing Soul about it. it’s fun in fanfic and fiction though, but that’s because it’s fiction.

150: Blondes or Brunettes: brunettes..... i like brown hair! but blonde is nice too.

140: Mac or PC: clown face emoji. mac. It’s A Unix System. more convenient for me. my current mac is a giant piece of shit though. though i think that’s my own fault for keeping all my old files from my old mac. shoulda started over. i think i might try to get this one factory reset or something.

130: Wal-Mart or Target: idk walmart. i go there a lot during college. walmart just has a larger selection. i used to go to target a lot as a kid though because my mom liked it more. i think it’s like slightly more bougie?

120: Gay Marriage: fuckin go for it pals. sad that it took as long as it did to become legal.

110: My Neighbors: they are nice i think. the ones to the right are teachers or something. the ones to the left are.... idk. their kids were like maybe 5 years older than me and my brother when we were growing up though and sometimes they would indulge in us tiny annoying kids and hang with us

100: Cried in front of someone: when the finale of the clone wars came out a few months ago and i was sobbing and i ran into the living room to tell my roommate and friend that i was sobbing. i was sobbing. i also recorded myself watching the entire eps and i Sure Was Sobbing.

90: Texted: actual sms text, yesterday in response to a friend who texted me a tik tok. instant messaging like 20 minutes ago to milo. i havent responded yet because im answering this and i cant multitask for shit.

89: Who makes you laugh the most: me obviously. i think i’m fucking hilarious. me aside, @redvsblue is the funniest person on this planet. also my friend holly irl who shares my incredibly dumb sense of humor. also you!

83: The most difficult thing to do is: hmm........ in general or for me personally? idk..... a lot? i am not a very courageous person. so i guess being brave.

79: First time you had a crush: >:( not appreciating this line of questioning that lines up with the prime numbers/mult of 10. i will not be saying as they ALSO follow me on tumblr. though they don’t use it often. shout out to middle school.......

73: Tomorrow: hopefully wake up around 1 pm at the latest. make a plum smoothie. play some more minecraft and get more netherite (new update slaps). do more coding tutorials. get some writing done. the same ol same ol.

71: Next Summer: hopefully i will have a job lined up for the fall and the pandemic is Over. i would like to just [do nothing] for the last summer Ever before job starts. if i don’t have a job then it’s Job Hunting Time.

67: The person that makes me cry the most is: what the fuck...... like in a bad way? good way? cry of laughter? sadness? me, probably. my own damn brain be like “well it’s time to think about Yourself and be sad!” i know. very narcissistic of me. also dave filoni (director, producer, writer on clone wars).

61: My Car: not really mine. i just use it. beige 201? toyota camery. my brother tried to convince my dad he needed it more than i did last school year. my brother, who lived on campus in boston and flies to school from nc when he goes there, needs the car more than me, who lived off campus and drove to and from school to get back to nc, thinks he needed the car more than me. what a guy.

59: The movie I cried at was: last movie huh......... when was the last time i saw a movie? idk probably the rise of skywalker when leia died. i don’t know. i sure as hell didn’t cry at cats.

53: How do you like your steak cooked: i am vegetarian.

47: Who’s your best friend: @worthyghouls i guess. but also concept of “best friend” is so weird. No Best Friends. just lots of people i am good friends with. feels weird to all my other friends to pick One of them and be like “well i like you more than everyone else” :)

43: Do you have a 5 year plan: only in the vaguest vaguest vaguest sense. i would like to graduate with my bs degree. i would like to live in a city (doesn’t have to be a super big one. where im at rn is fine). i would like to have my first or second job i feel comfortable doing related to the degree i am getting. i would like to live in my own apartment (with roommates)/not with my parents. i would like to not be rent burdened. i would like my roommate to know how to take care of a cat or be okay with helping me learn how to take care of one. i would like to have a cat with said roommate. and that’s about it tbh. not very ambitious, i know. i just want a simple life......

41: Have you pre-named your children: bold of you to assume i will have children. no. if i ended up with child it would be like that tag on ao3 called “accidental baby acquisition” and i would name it on the spot.

30: Actress: hmm..... lauren marcus. lauren lopez. does fiona nova count if she’s going to be in rvb zero? also lindsay jones. aubrey plaza. idk. not many actresses i follow from project to project. it’s more i will see them in something and appreciate them in that role immensely.

20: Holiday: halloween is pretty chill. just getting candy from strangers? dope. scary aesthetic? amazing. i also like christmas just for the sole fact that i get time off from [life].

10: Restaurant: a favorite restaurant??? who has one of those???? i sure don’t. and i’m not gonna say something cringey like olive garden or mcdonalds. i simply do not have one.

#not rt #teresa answers stuff #tyty for sending in #soph with the primes as always...#nothingunrealistic1

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minyoongleschimjoongles · 5 years

Text

Windfall 1

Pairing(s): Poly!BTS X OC, Sugar Daddy! BTS X OC

Warnings: Implied sexual situations

Note: In this fic, Zara can’t speak very much Korean. Until the language barrier is closed, Bold Text indicates that a person or an app is speaking in Korean.

Masterlist

The way Seokjin tells the story, the day he and the boys met Zara was foretold for centuries. He distinctly remembers the clouds parting to reveal the shining sun, and a choir of angels singing praises to the heavens. The moment her green eyes met Namjoon’s dark ones, the world stopped spinning for a noticeable moment, then her eyes swept over the rest of them, and their fates were sealed forever.

Jin’s full of shit.

The truth of the matter is this; the sky was downpouring, the clouds inky grey above pedestrians, locals and tourists as they ran for cover into stores and under awnings. It seemed to Zara like they’d never see the sun again.

The small coffee shop she was sitting in was overcrowded, but the wifi was free, and the Chai Tea was cheap, a blessing to Zara’s depressingly thin wallet. On the laptop in front of her was the essay that was due at midnight, the half-edited blog post scheduled to go up in two days, and the raw footage for her latest youtube video. When you were a content creator in college, multitasking was key.

Jin’s “chorus of angels” was actually the squealing of a group of prepubescent girls that had caught sight of the Boys as they moved through the shop with their coffee orders. Polite as they were, they were taking photos with the fans as they passed, though Big Hit would surely yell at them when they find out.

Zara was paying no attention to the commotion, eyes on her computer screen, listening to the audio of her video through the chunky headphones she wore. Had she been paying attention, Zara might have been able to prevent the disaster that occurred right at that moment.

Namjoon, still smiling at the young fan he’d just taken a selfie with, made to take another step towards the door. His foot caught on a table leg, his long, clumsy limbs pinwheeling in an attempt to recover his balance. The coffee was released in favor of the edge of Zara’s table, his eyes widening in horror as they followed the downward trajectory of the beverage, straight onto the keys of Zara’s computer. The screen flickered once, twice, then blinked out completely.

The world did go still when Zara’s eyes met Namjoon’s for the first time, but that’s because of the fury that surrounded the small young woman.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi’s words were carried with a nervous exhale. Zara’s angry gaze swept over him briefly before going over the other five young men, before finally settling back on Namjoon.

“What,” she reached up to pull her headphones off her head, “the fuck?!”

“Oh, shit!” Namjoon straightened to his full height, grabbing for napkins to sop up the coffee before it began to drip into her lap. “Fuck, I am so sorry!”

Zara stood quickly, and despite being half a foot shorter than he was, the look on her face made him take a step back. He watched as she began to fiddle with her laptop, trying to get it to turn back on, to no avail.

“Oh, no,” she whined softly when she realized how screwed she actually was. “Oh, no, no, no!” She hung her head and brought her hands up to her face, thinking over her options. Her essay and her blog post weren’t an issue; anything she had to type, she did in Google Docs before submitting or posting. She didn’t need to worry about the unedited video footage either; her personal channel was nowhere near as popular as her family’s, so there was no uproar if supply didn’t meet demand, and her “fans” would understand. But the memories, and the photos she’d saved on her computer couldn’t be replaced, and to be honest, neither could the computer. At least, not for a long time. She quite simply couldn’t afford it on her meager part-time retail salary.

Namjoon reached out to gently brush her shoulder with his fingertips. “I’m so, so sorry. Are you okay?”

Becoming aware of the whispers and the many eyes on her as she had a quiet meltdown, Zara stepped away from him, shoving her ruined laptop into her bag. Namjoon watched her with guilty eyes, casting a pleading look at his brothers over his shoulder. Taehyung, the epitome of ‘no help’ shrugged his shoulders. Namjoon turned back to see Zara had shoved the rest of her stuff into her bag, leaving her half-finished tea on the table.

“I can make it up to you,” he said, as she hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and made for the door.

“Look man, don’t worry about it, okay?” Zara’s voice shook as she called over her shoulder. “I gotta go, I gotta get out of here.”

Namjoon was quick to follow her out the door, his long legs carrying him over the distance between them in record time.

“Hey, hey!” he looked down as he matched her stride. Zara’s eyes stayed on the sidewalk, her hand tightening on the strap of her bag. “Come on, let me make it up to you.”

Zara’s cheeks burned, and she glared up at him.

“Oh my gosh, you’re not going to use this as an opportunity to hit on me, are you?”

To her surprise, Namjoon laughed, bringing out the most adorable dimples Zara had ever seen. “No, I’m going to use it as an opportunity to get you a new laptop.”

That stopped her in her tracks, and Namjoon grinned at her wide green eyes. “That’s better, Speedy. Hi. I’m Kim Namjoon.”

***

“How about this one?”

It had taken Namjoon the better part of an hour to convince Zara to agree to letting him buy her a computer and to come out to lunch with him and the boys, swearing up and down that they weren’t going to kidnap and murder her. Now she sat in a huddle of attractive young men, Namjoon’s phone in her hand, scrolling through the laptops Amazon offered with a frown on her face.

Namjoon looked up from the book in his hand at the price of the laptop on the phone screen and shook his head.

“No way, pick a more expensive one.”

“A more expensive one?!”

Namjoon just shushed her, a small smirk on his face.

Zara gave the boys a few more options, none of them going over $200. Finally, Jimin sighed and snatched Namjoon’s phone out of her hand.

“If you’re going to be unreasonable, I’ll have to do it myself.” He scrolled back up to the top of the page, clicking on a Macbook. Though Zara didn’t understand his words, his actions spoke loudly enough for her to understand.

“No, hey, that’s way too much!” she cried, as he clicked, ‘Buy now.’ “I’m never going to be able to pay you back!”

He completely ignored her protests, completing his order. When he had confirmation that the deed was done, he spun around to face her. His eyes darted over her face, taking in the blush, the slackened jaw, the frustrated tears.

“I can’t afford-”

“We can afford,” Taehyung assured in broken English, taking up her hands and shaking her gently.

Namjoon closed his book, accepting his phone back from Jimin, before fixing Zara with a smile. “Look, I messed up. You don’t owe me anything. Come on, Zara, don’t cry. I hate it when girls cry.”

“I’ll find a way to pay you back,” she promised, wiping her eyes. “It’s not right to let you spend so much money on me when you could certainly be using it on something more important.” Over Zara’s shoulder, Namjoon connected eyes with each of his bandmates, his brow arched high. Jin’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. It wasn’t every day that they met someone that didn’t know who they were. It was certainly refreshing.

“You don’t have to.”

“I’ll pay you back!”

Taehyung rubbed her arms again, and seeing that she wasn’t going to cry anymore, he let her go.

“Yeah, you can try, Speedy.” Namjoon said, “Come write your number down so we can let you know when your laptop arrives,” he paused, and his grin widened a little more. “By the way, this will be the opportunity we’ll take to hit on you, Pretty Girl.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she scoffed, but now she was smiling too.

“Oh, you haven’t met incorrigible.”

***

PJM: What are you doing right now?

Zara looked away from the paper notes in front of her, a tiny smile appearing when she saw Jimin’s initials pop up. Over the past week, the boys had stayed in contact, painstakingly Google-Translating every text to ask her questions about herself, telling her stories about themselves. Jin admitted they’d googled her when she told him about her family’s Youtube channel AHillofaRide, and she admitted she’d googled them too, as soon as she’d gotten home that first day. She’d been more than shocked to discover how famous they actually were, but it got a lot of the awkward stuff out of the way and she found herself grinning like a fool every time her phone buzzed with a message from one (or all) of them.

Zara: I’m cramming for my WWII History Midterm.

PJM: I thought you were in Art School, Z?

Zara: I am, but I’m double majoring in History.

PJM: That’s amazing, Zara, you’re amazing. Art and P.E. were always my favorites in school, but I guess History was okay too.

Zara: You’re a monster, History is the best. Stop lying to yourself.

PJM: Yes, Ma’am.

PJM: So, Speedy...

All the boys had taken to calling Zara by Namjoon’s initial nickname for her, and it had begun to make her heart flutter.

Zara: So, Jimin...

PJM: Your laptop’s here. Did you want to come pick it up from the arena, or did you want me to drop it off with you? I can come by now?

Zara glanced up from her phone screen to look at the messy floor of her dorm room. She and her roommates had had a study party the night before, and the floor was covered in pizza boxes, candy wrappers, soda cans and a mixture of dirty and clean clothes. She imagined much of their suite looked the same.

Zara: I don’t want to be a bother.

PJM: It's no bother. I’m just hanging around doing nothing right now, anyway.

PJM: You’d be doing me a favor, really.

PJM: I’m getting stir crazy.

Zara: Well, we wouldn’t want that. Can you give me 20 minutes before you leave?

PJM: Sure thing. See you soon, Speedy.

Zara slammed her notebook shut, bolting to her feet. She shot a quick message to her roommate, Ji-yoo (who, conveniently was originally from South Korea), and their suitemates Jane and Clara, letting them know she was having a guest over, that she was purging the disaster, getting only positivity in reply. Apparently it was about time she had a boy over.

She started with the pizza boxes, breaking them down and putting them aside to be recycled. She moved on to the garbage in the floor, gathering the wrappers and shoving them into the overflowing garbage can that she and Ji-yoo shared. She let out a grunt and scoured the top shelf of their closet for any garbage bags, letting out a victory screech when she found the roll of bags wedged between the shelf and the wall. The garbage was dumped and she moved on to the soda cans.

The clothes were a lost cause, so she tossed them all into the hamper to be dealt with later. She made the beds, folding blankets and fluffing pillows and tucking in the sheets, before moving on to their desks. Ji-yoo’s desk wasn’t awful, just a little cluttered with her notebooks and textbooks. Her makeup sat in an overflowing basket on the corner of her desk, but other than that, all Zara had to do was put some papers in the drawers.

Her own desk was covered in pallets of paint and sketchbooks and pencils, the drawers of the organization caddy she’d bought for her supplies were open, their contents scattered across the desk and the top of the caddy. With a huff, she cursed her disorganized tendencies. By the time she had everything back in the right drawers, and the desktop cleared, she knew her 20 minute head start was over, leaving her only another 15 to clean the common area.

The dorm suite was a simple set-up, consisting of a small common area; no more than a long hallway with a counter top spanning the length of it. There was a toilet room at one end, a shower room at the other, and the two dorms between them. The door to the suite had an electronic lock on it, as did each of the dorm doors, but the girls usually left the doors open during the day.

Sharing such a small space between four girls wasn’t difficult for Zara; she had younger siblings, so she was used to lots of people living their lives around her. Living in the dorm actually helped her with a bit of her home sickness. Having three people there to talk to made living on the complete opposite end of the country from her home, made living in a strange, huge city bearable and for that she would always be thankful.

Due to the common area being the most shared space, it was the cleanest. Jane had gone out and bought the recycling and garbage bins and Clara had brought a shoe rack from home that she let all of them share. Command hooks held various jackets, hats, and accessories, and Ellie’s art had been proudly sticky-tacked to the wall by Ji-yoo.

There was a microwave on the counter and a mini-fridge on the ground beneath it. A TV sat haphazardly next to the microwave, with Zara’s blu-Ray player and Jane’s Xbox next to it, cables a tangled mess around it. There was a lone circle chair between the two dorms, upon which a large Scooby-Doo plush sat standing guard, courtesy of Zara’s younger sister Scarlet.

She’d just finished tying off the top of the garbage bag when her phone vibrated on the counter.

PJM: They won’t let me into the building without you here with me.

Zara: That’s because you’re a random 4 foot tall stranger.

PJM: Ouch.

Zara snorted and lifted the bag, grabbing her key card and student ID from her jacket pocket on her way out the door. She dropped the trash in the bin at the end of the hall and started down the stairs at a light jog, her slippers echoing quietly in the silence.

It was easy to see Jimin standing at the security desk, an easy-going smile on his face as he made large hand gestures to the security guard, one hand holding the Amazon box. He looked nice in his plain white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, his hair tousled from the wind. His eyes lifted to meet hers and his smile turned into a full on grin.

“There she is!” He exclaimed in Korean. He quickly set the Amazon box on the counter and, to Zara’s surprise, wrapped his arms around her, sliding between her tank top and the flannel shirt she wore. The next sentence was spoken in slow, careful English, clearly something he’d practiced. “It’s nice to see you, Pretty Girl.”

Zara could feel her face heat up against Jimin’s t-shirt.

“Zara Underhill,” the security officer said, causing Jimin to break away from her. “You’ve never had visitors before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Zara sighed, reaching for the sign-in sheet and signing her name. She slid the clipboard in front of Jimin and held out the pen to him. He filled out his information and signed his name with a flourish.

“Okay, Miss Underhill, he’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Phil,” Zara smiled and started back up the stairs. Over her shoulder she called, “This way, Jimin. Follow me.”

Jimin wasn’t the only one who had been practicing. Zara had enlisted Ji-yoo to teach her some Korean, sensing that her interactions with these boys would last longer than the short time they’d be in California. Although, Zara was far from fluent.

Jimin grabbed the Amazon box and followed after her up the stairs. On the third landing, he gave a little whistle. “You live so far up. Which floor do you live on?” When he saw Zara turn to blink back at him stupidly, he searched his brain for his limited English vocabulary. “What Floor?”

“Five.”

“Elevator?”

Zara shook her head and pulled out her phone, the Google Translate already open and at the ready. “It’s always crowded. I get enough crowding at home, you know, so the stairs are easier.”

Jimin nodded, smiling. He pulled out his own phone, “I guess it’s good exercise!”

When they reached her suite, she let them in and he lingered awkwardly in the doorway, looking at the art in the small common area.

“Yours?” He looked at the perfect colored pencil rendition of Rapunzel, a grin working its way onto his lips.

“Yep,” Zara replied, quickly tapping on her phone. “My sister, Scarlet, really loves fairy tales, and she was on a real Rapunzel kick. She’s got a picture of Flynn Rider I drew framed next to her bed.”

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jimin mumbled to himself. Zara grinned at him, and nodded to her dorm room.

“Come on, Legs.”

Obediently, Jimin followed her in, setting about opening the computer box as Zara settled herself at the head of her bed. She watched him quietly as he plugged it in and began the setup, letting her type in all her information, jokingly looking away from her passwords.

“There you go, Miss Zara,” his phone droned as he scooted back so that he reclined against her headboard next to her. He watched her fingers moving lightly against the keyboard as she scrolled through her Twitter. She placed her hand on the top of the screen and paused, before closing the laptop and setting it gently to the side.

“Jimin,” She said, sitting up on her knees. In response to the slightly serious edge to her voice, Jimin straightened his back a little. “Tell me what you want in return for the computer.” This is the phrase Zara had practiced.

They were back to this again, were they? Jimin’s lips twisted into a pout, and his fingers tapped across his phone screen.

“Zara, I’m serious, you don’t have to pay us back.”

“No, Jimin, I’m serious. Why won’t you let me pay you back?! It’s not like it’s a sex thing...”

Jimin, who had already been shaking his head and typing before Zara’s phone had even stopped translating, froze abruptly, lifting his eyes slowly, and Zara’s own eyes widened as realization took root.

“Oh my gosh, it is a sex thing! Jimin, you’re a total Sugar Daddy! Or would it be Sugar Daddies? Is it all of you?”

Jimin winced at her tone of voice, not needing her to translate the words, ‘Sugar Daddy,’ at all. His fingers finally typed out a response, “That’s not exactly the situation, but I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Zara stared at him a little longer, before coming to a decision. She reached for her flannel and ripped it off. Jimin started, dropping his phone onto her bed.

“Zara, what are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, reaching next for her black tank top. This action is what spurred Jimin into action.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” He grabbed her wrists gently, forcing her down onto her back. She gazed up at him as he hovered over her, stress showing in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

This, Zara understood.

“I’m paying you back.”

“Jesus Christ, Zara,” it was a long suffering sigh that left him, as he moved himself off of her. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Silence, and then Zara joined him on the side of her bed. She stayed quiet for a few more seconds before typing out, “We could do it, you know? All of us... that would be okay.” He glanced at her and nudged her with his shoulder, reaching back for his own phone.

“The laptop really was just a gift. Hyung killed your first one, we don’t want you feeling obligated to sleep with us just because we replaced it. And it really would be all of us, Zara. All seven. I can’t explain why right now, but I promise if you decide you’re okay with it, we’ll explain right away.”

“Okay,” Zara agreed, but Jimin shook his head and stood up.

“No, we want you to seriously think about it. I want you to think long and hard about if this is really what you want. It doesn’t matter what the guys and I want.” He looked down at her and smiled, “I’ll see you around, Pretty Girl.”

And he left, leaving Zara to think.

@snowythellama @stskpop

102 notes · View notes

yasxgamal · 4 years

Photo

Basic Information

Full name: Yasin Gamal Pronunciation: ee-ah-ceen gah-mah-l Nickname(s): Yas, E. Birthdate: November 20th, 1986 Age: 34 Zodiac: Scorpio Gender: Male Pronouns: He/him/his Romantic orientation: Panromantic Sexual orientation: Pansexual Nationality: English Ethnicity: Egyptian Current location: London, UK Living conditions: Yas' place is a one-bedroom mess. It's a good flat, spacious and in a good location, all things considered, but he's not the best at decorating. Apart from the very odd artwork or two hanging crookedly on the walls, there isn't much more to it. He keeps his space clean and tidy when he has the time to do that, but it's not a very personal place. Also probably smells like smoke most of the time -- or, air freshener if he's trying to impress you.

Background

Birthplace: London, UK Hometown: London, UK Social Class: Wealthy if you count the parents' money, Middle if you consider his own money and lifestyle currently, and his tendencies to waste it all on cigarettes. Educational achievements: A really fancy degree in Computer Sciences and Computer Engineering at the most expensive college in the UK Father: Omar Gamal Mother: Safiya Gamal Sibling(s): Samir Gamal and Aisha Gamal. Birth order: Samir, Yas, Aisha is the youngest. Pets: Ramen, the stray cat that crawls in through his window and occasionally spends weeks sleeping inside, and then disappears for months on end. Previous relationships: One big relationship in college for 3 years, a miserable breakup. Then mostly only casual things after that, none he would consider true relationships. Arrests: N/A Prison time: N/A

Occupation & Income

Current occupation: Programmer for the Time Machine project Dream occupation: Programmer for the first working Time Machine Past job(s): College Era: various internships, waiter, freelance photographer for kids' parties, freelance I.T., tech teacher for the elderly, tech teacher for children, coder and manager for a pornographic film company's website. Post-College Era: has helped coding and programming several apps and softwares independently, then a stable job at GoodCore Software Ltd. as SQA Lead. Spending habits: Yas spends a lot on cigarettes and technology, but everything else he doesn't care enough for. In debt?: No Most valuable possession: Emotionally, his own laptop or phone, and all the photos and memories stored in them, as well as his work. Legally and monetarily, though, it's the BAFTA statuette from his sister, which he now gets to keep for a year because he won a bet (it's fine, she has more than one).

Skills & Abilities

Physical strength: Average Speed: Average Intelligence: Above Average when it comes to all things technology, Average on some other subjects. Accuracy: Average Agility: Above Average Stamina: Above Average Teamwork: Great in environments where everyone is delegated a certain job and he gets to do his thing in his corner to add to the mix. When it comes to people wanting to mess with his codes, he gets a bit stubborn and difficult to deal with. Shortcomings: often lets his pride ruin things, a bit of an inflated ego when it comes to his work, bad at communicating. Languages spoken: English, Arabic Drive?: Yes Jump-start a car?: No Change a flat tyre?: Yes Ride a bicycle?: Poorly Swim?: Yes Play an instrument?: If you count the guitar lessons in his childhood (he does) Play chess?: Yes Braid hair?: No Tie a tie?: Yes Pick a lock?: No Cook?: Yes, the very bare minimum, and he hardly does it.

Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Rami Malek Eye colour: Greyish green Hair colour: Black Hair type/style/length: Shaved on the sides, originally short on top but it grows out too fast and he can't be bothered to get a haircut, so it grows out curly. When it starts to become a mop and look like he has a helmet of hair on, he cuts it short again, and repeats that cycle. Glasses/contacts?: No, but they're needed. He has shit eyesight and no one ever forced him to get glasses so he never did. Don't ask him to read any signs that are far away. Dominant hand: Right Height: 5'9 / 175cm Weight: 154 lb / 70kg Build: Slim Exercise habits: Nonexistent, but he does a lot of walking Skin tone: Olive (Type IV) Tattoos: The initials of his siblings, A.S. in a simple font, on the bottom of his ribs on his right side. They all have matching ones. He continuously tells them the joke that they should get a fourth sibling with an S name, so he can get A.S.S. tattooed instead. Piercings: None Marks/scars: Several small scars around his legs and arms, from climbing around and getting into trouble as a middle child desperate for attention. A more notorious scar runs up behind his left elbow from a night in college when he got wasted with his friends and had an accident with a knife (don't ask). Clothing style: Black, a lot of black. The most colourful thing in his closet might be a dark grey jumper. Very minimalistic in the sense that he never wears patterns or colours or graphic tees, it's always just very dry and kind of bland. He probably could get into fashion if he wanted to, but he feels bad spending so much of his hard-earned money on the high-fashion stuff. Also he can frequently be spotted wearing those compression gloves/braces on his hands, for carpal tunnel syndrome Jewellery: A couple necklaces that have no emotional attachment besides "I thought they were cool so I bought them", but he's never without them, even when they mostly just hang inside his shirts. Dabbles in rings if he's feeling fancy. Allergies: None Diet: Consists of mostly snacks. He occasionally buys the healthy kind, like a couple granola bars or some fruit, but if he's going through a big project, he'll only snack. Anything easy to eat with one hand goes. He does, however, understand the value of nutrition and that he needs to fuel his body properly every once in a while; when that happens, he resorts to ordering food from some healthy restaurant nearby. It's basically a couple salads a month and then nothing but Doritos for days straight. Physical ailments: Carpal tunnel syndrome happens often enough that it's almost chronic, because he doesn't usually take breaks or stretch his wrists out like he's supposed to. Back pain from sitting all day (and bad posture) is also so present that he barely notices it anymore.

Psychology

MBTI type: INTJ Enneagram type: Type Five Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Temperament: Somewhere between Phlegmatic and Melancholic? Element: Water Emotional stability: Who is she! Introvert or Extrovert? Introvert Obsession(s): Outdoing his siblings, no matter how much he loves them Compulsion(s): Working to the point of forgetting to take care of himself Phobia(s): Acrophobia and atychiphobia Addiction(s): Cigarettes/Vaping Drug use: Sometimes wrongly and terribly pops an Adderall when pulling all-nighters. Has smoked weed before, but he doesn't love the slowness of when he gets high. Alcohol use: Not very often nowadays, but the occasional blackout still happens. He's known to become a completely different person when he drinks, much more loose and fun and happy, so he does it sparingly Prone to violence?: No Prone to crying?: No Believe in love at first sight?: Yes, but doesn't think he's the type to ever experience that, since it takes a while for him to get close to people, so he believes in it as an abstract concept

Mannerisms

Accent: RP English Speech quirks: A lot of pauses between words and sentences, since he often thinks a lot before he speaks. The occasional ums and uhs and some stuttering if his mind is working faster than he can speak, too. Hobbies: Photography, playing video games, reading novels (graphic or otherwise), finding passive-aggressive memes to send into the Gamal siblings groupchat Habits: Stealing wifi, smoking and vaping, ordering delivery of everything instead of getting it himself Nervous ticks: lip chewing, tapping fingers, bouncing one knee, scratching his neck/jaw or touching his nose Drives/motivations: It's all for the glory, babey Fears: Never achieving anything grand Sense of humour?: It goes as far as memes and roasting his loved ones, but not much further than that. He's usually not comfortable enough to crack jokes, but you might get a sarcastic comment or two if you're lucky. Deep down, he can be sharp and quick-witted, but it doesn't come out often, unless he's having drinks. Do they curse often?: Hecc yes, probably as a form of rebellion against his posh parents

Favourites

Animal: Tarsier Beverage: Strong black coffee with two spoons of sugar Book: Don Quixote, by Miguel de Cervantes Colour: Green Food: Zalabya Flower: Jasmine Gem: Peridot Mode of transportation: Walking, and if not, the metro Scent: Oranges Sport: Tennis Weather: Rainy enough that he doesn't feel anyone's judgement for staying inside all day Vacation destination: Japan

Attitudes

Greatest dream: Finally being famous for his work Greatest fear: Never achieving anything big enough to make him happy, and being forever miserable because of it Most at ease when: Left by himself or enjoying someone else's company that he's truly comfortable with, probably in silence, doing his own thing Least as ease when: Forced into environments where he has to put on fancy clothes and pretend to be enjoying himself when he's not. Alternatively: when he's going on hour 32 without any sleep and he's denied more coffee Worst possible thing that could happen: Achieving greatness but realising he needs something else in order to feel fulfilled and be happy Biggest achievement: His degree and hopefully the first working Time Machine Biggest regret: He doesn't like to say he regrets things, so there's nothing he'd call a huge regret. But if he had to say something, he'd probably say it was not telling that one high school crush that he liked them.

#yes i did choose a borderline pornographic photo that has nothing to do w my character #in hopes to thirst trap everyone #and what about it??????#rami deserves this #( task 001 )#( task )

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octothorpetopus · 5 years

Text

I Forgot That You Existed (Part 1)

Link to part 2

"Yeah, we're not so worried about you not 'getting some.'" Frank put air quotes around the words.

"Well, we kind of are. It's just that the 'some' we're worried about you not getting is emotional fulfillment."

"True." Richie looked back and forth between his friends.

"Guys, I'm not getting a fucking online dating profile. I'm not forty. Stop bugging me."

"Richie, we're worried about you."

"What the hell are you, my mother?"

"Just download the fucking app, Tozier." Frank snatched the phone out of Richie's hand and held it just out of reach. Nina held Richie back as he reached for it.

"You motherfucker, give me my phone back!" Frank didn't respond.

"Say cheese!" He snapped a picture of Richie, who had sat sullenly back down. He typed speedily for a few moments (Frank's typing skills were the envy of all rapid-fire texters), then pressed a button. There was a soft whoosh as the profile was posted, and Frank tossed Richie his phone back.

"Fuck you, Frank." The phone chimed and all three of them gathered around to look at it.

"Holy shit," Nina said softly. "You got a match."

Meanwhile, in an LAX waiting room, Eddie Kaspbrak's phone buzzed in his back pocket. He ignored it, focusing instead on the pitch he was mentally writing and the steady sound his suitcase made as he rolled it back and forth in short paces. He hated investor meetings, but it was his company, and he had to get it off the ground if he ever wanted to be anything more than a 34-year-old asthmatic business major with no friends, no life, and no idea where he was going. Metaphorically. Literally, he was going to the Los Angeles Hilton, if his cab would ever get here. His phone buzzed again. He sighed and pulled it out.

YOU HAVE ONE NEW MATCH read the notification. He swiped and opened the phone. The wheel in the middle of the screen spun for what seemed like hours. Shitty airport WiFi. Finally, a profile popped up. The guy in the picture was... alright, he guessed. There was something a little oddball about him. And a little familiar, too. But then, maybe he just had one of those faces. Or, he realized, maybe he was a stand-up comedian that he’d seen in New York last year. Eddie smiled to himself, amused by the coincidence. At the time, he had no idea just how deep that coincidence really went.

“He’s kinda cute,” Nina offered and shrugged.

”I don’t know. He’s got sort of a sad puppy look. It’s a little off-putting.”

”Nobody asked you, Frank.”

”Nobody asked you either, Nina.”

”Both if you shut up.” Richie held up a hand to silence them. “Look, if I go on this one date, will you promise to get off my ass about getting a date?” Nina and Frank looked at each other and nodded.

”Deal.”

”Fine, then.” Richie’s thumb hovered above the LIKE button. “But what if-?”

”Oh, just shut up!” Nina exclaimed, and pushed the button for him.

Eddie considered it briefly. He was only in LA for a few days, maybe a week. There would be no second date, no relationship to come from this. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the voice in his head telling him yes, that this was important. And besides, what was the harm? Lots of people only went on one date. He pressed the LIKE button too.

”Fuck me,” he whispered as a message popped up on the screen.

CONGRATULATIONS!

Both of you liked each other!

Now you can start chatting.

Make a date, and hopefully, a connection.

Eddie rolled his eyes. This was the exact kind of cheesy bullshit he hadn't wanted when he had signed up for this app a year ago on a whim. A chat window opened up.

This is the start of your messages with RICHIE TOZIER

RICHIE TOZIER IS TYPING...

Richie had sent Nina and Frank away. He was tired and annoyed and frankly, talking to strangers on the internet (something he vaguely recalled his mother telling him never to do) sounded far more appealing than trying to deal with his friends at the moment. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. What could he... say? "Hi, you're kind of hot?" "You ever date a comedian?" Maybe he'd just skip words and go directly to emojis. And then it came to him, a line he used to use on girls all the time back in school (girls who were well-above his league, and he knew it).

This is the start of your messages with EDWARD KASPBRAK

RICHIE TOZIER: I could use some spare change, and you're a dime.

He felt stupid even as he wrote it, but he pressed send before he had a chance to give it a second thought. Well, he thought, there goes that idea. And then, Edward Kaspbrak started typing.

Eddie was in his cab now, staring down at the absolutely asinine pick-up line he'd just been sent by a man who was at best a 6 and a half. But once again, he had a sense of déjà vu. Not just like he had heard that line before, but like it was somehow meaningful. If it had been anyone else, he was sure he would've ignored the message and moved on. But it wasn't just anyone, and even if Eddie didn't quite know why he remembered Richie Tozier, he wasn't giving up quite yet.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: You use that line on all the boys?

RICHIE TOZIER: I've got a whole library full of them, I don't need to reuse that one.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: Hey, this might sound weird, but have we met before? I have the weirdest feeling that we have.

RICHIE TOZIER: I'm pretty sure I would've remembered meeting you, dude.

Eddie flushed scarlet in the back of the cab. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said something like that to him. Truly, he couldn't.

EDWARD KASPBRAK: I'm probably wrong. Anyway, are you free tonight?

Richie thought for a moment. He was supposed to go get drinks with some other comedian buddies of his, then maybe crash an open-mic night that they had frequented in their early comedy days. But then he looked back at the man on his phone, the one who looked just a little bit sad even though he was smiling as widely as can be in his picture, and typed out a quick reply.

RICHIE TOZIER: I actually am. I know a good place, pretty quiet. I'll text you the address. You eaten yet?

EDWARD KASPBRAK: Yeah, why?

RICHIE TOZIER: The drinks are good, but the food... it's good that you already ate.

Eddie fussed with his hair one last time in the hotel mirror. It just... wouldn't sit right, even though it looked exactly like it always did. And his clothes, all he had was what he’d brought for business meetings and casual dress, nothing like what he’d normally wear on a date. He checked his watch again. He had given himself fifteen minutes to get there, even though the concierge at the hotel told him it’d take maybe ten, if traffic was bad, and since it was a Wednesday it probably wouldn't be.

To say Eddie hadn't been on a date in awhile would be an understatement. He hadn't been on a first date in seven months. He hadn't been on a second date in a year and a half. He hadn't been on a third date in three years. And as for his last real relationship... well, Eddie had never been in a real relationship. Not that he could remember, anyway. In college, there had been a four-month thing with a girl, but that was mostly just to please his mother. He and the girl (Rosa was her name) had been good friends, and still were, but their whole relationship had been something of a friendship with a few awkward makeout sessions thrown in for good measure. The fact that he didn't like women was probably a factor in his disastrous relationships, both with women and with his mother, but she had been dead for three years this October and he was finally living the way he had always meant to. He just... hadn't gotten around to it when she was still alive.

He took one last look in the mirror. He wasn't satisfied, but then, when was he ever? It was a warm early summer night, so he thought he'd walk. Or maybe he shouldn't. There would surely be people smoking outside, and with his asthma...

Similarly, Richie was trying on his third outfit. He had tried just the Hawaiian shirt, then just a T-shirt and leather jacket, and then all three simultaneously. Funnily enough, the multi-layered look was his favorite.

"You got this, Richie." He looked himself in the eyes (through the mirror, not any kind of crazy witchcraft shit), and cracked a grin. "Except that you're talking to yourself. Fuckin' weirdo." But he grew sober, and his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his leg.

Richie didn't date, per se, but he went out a lot, and then went home, usually with a different guy, although he had been known to call up an old flame from time to time. He had dated, and he wasn't necessarily opposed to the idea, but he was, not to toot his own horn, famous. And usually, famous guys, especially ones that weren't classically hot, didn't get dates. They got laid.

His Mustang was parked in the driveway, and even before he started it the wind off the ocean whipped his hair into a frenzy. As he sped off into the Santa Monica sunset, the butterflies in his stomach began to dissipate. This was going to be different. He could feel it.

Eddie had been waiting outside the bar for almost ten minutes. It was his fault, of course, for getting there so early, but the pacing outside the front door did nothing to calm his nerves. Nor did the gentle roar of the cherry-red Mustang that pulled up next to the curb, nor did the profoundly familiar face that got out of it. Richie Tozier walked two paces towards him and stopped in his tracks, his eyes even wider behind his fishbowl glasses than usual. Eddie spoke first, his vocal cords hardly functional.

"Holy-"

"-shit," Richie finished. All of a sudden, everything clicked into place. Why the name had sounded so familiar, and the face had been even more so. Why he had been so nervous in the first place. Eddie fumbled in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a gray piece of plastic. His inhaler. He took two quick puffs of it and shook his head, as if in a stupor. Richie, who had screeched to a halt upon seeing his childhood friend (and first love, but that was another story), started again, and hugged Eddie with a force he didn't know he had in him. Eddie hugged him back, just as tightly.

"Holy shit, man," Eddie repeated.

"Yeah." They finally released each other and Richie took a step back, looking Eddie up and down. "Damn, Eds. You're looking good."

"So are you." Richie shook his head.

"I feel like such a fucking moron, but... I didn't even realize it was you until I saw you just now. You're going by Edward now?"

"Not... not really. And to tell you the truth, I only thought I recognized you because I saw one of your shows when you were in New York last winter." Richie laughed, deep and warm.

"Shit. Was it any good? Wait, don't answer that."

"It was great."

"Well, um... since we're here..." Richie gestured at the bar's frosted glass doors. "Want to get a drink?" Eddie smiled, and his dimples were craters in his cheeks.

"Yeah. I really do."

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