#triple train fans get a load of this ! family...

[krikidilly]

EEK! The goobers have evolved!!

[captainkappa]

Fanfic :: Icebreakers

Me? Publishing writing? It’s more likely than you think.

But yeah, holy crap, I finished something! That hasn’t happened in a long time, so please enjoy this zukka modern au fic where they’re both attending college now!

While taking online classes, Sokka and Zuko are paired up for icebreakers.

Preslash Sokka/Zuko, college AU

AO3 link

-=-=-=-

Sitting down in front of his laptop, wearing the sweatpants and tank top he slept in, this was not how Sokka expected to start his third year of college.

Well, he didn’t expect be forced online for the spring semester of his sophomore year as well, so technically that was a bigger surprise. At least this time, he was better prepared and built his schedule with distance learning in mind; a film course for his last elective, two engineering courses that weren’t reliant on lab, and two math courses. He tried not to think about all the labs he would have to take in the next year and a half, but for now, it was worth it to have a manageable schedule during a pandemic. For now, he was content to live off campus with Aang. He could’ve stayed home with his dad and Katara, but because Aang didn’t have any family to speak of, the executive decision was made for Sokka to keep his lease on the apartment with Aang and video call with his family at least once a week to make up for it.

It wasn’t that bad. They got one of the few places near campus that allowed dogs, so Aang’s shepherd dog, Appa, made the whole situation less dreary. Plus, his elective was right after his thermodynamics course, which gave his more of a reason to get up for the 9 o’clock engineering course.

So, here he was, not listening to the professor go on about “unprecedented times” and “academic honesty,” the same things he’d heard in his earlier class. Glancing at his own camera, he saw Aang not so sneakily open his door. He quickly muted and took out one of his earbuds.

"I'm ordering groceries,” Aang said quietly, “need anything else?"

"No, just whatever I put on the list."

"Got it!"

Aang closed the door and Sooka turned back to the computer, unmuting himself. The professor was about to move on to syllabus, when Sokka noticed a white blur out of the corner of his eye. He barely had time to think about the fact that Aang hadn’t fully closed the door, when he was knocked out of his chair with a crash.

"No, Appa, no! Down boy!" He said, fruitlessly trying to get Appa down off him. Appa paid no attention, continuously licking at him.

From the one earbud still in his ear, he registered his classmates laughing and the professor asking, "Are you alright?"

Appa was still not letting up so he just threw up a thumbs up in what he hoped was in frame of the webcam. "Yeah, sorry about that. My roommate’s dog hasn't seen me since March. Let me just-" with a flourish, he muted himself.

“Now Appa,” he said, gently holding the dog’s face in his hands, “if this incident haunts me all semester, I’m only getting you kitty treats for a month.”

Appa’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, completely oblivious.

“Alright now, up! Up!”

That seemed to do the trick, or it was the whistle from Aang in the other room. Either way, Appa graciously got off Sokka, trotting out the bedroom door much more slowly than he’d entered.

Sokka righted his chair and settled down and saw that even though the professor had moved on, everyone was still giggling at him. He took it in stride, taking a bit of a stretch.

The professor soldiered on, explaining how she found PDFs of all articles needed for the course (sweet), how she got them all copies of the movies on her website, and the schedule for the semester.

"Ok, now that the housekeeping is over, I'll put you all into breakout rooms for ice breakers. You’ll be in a room with one or two other students. Tell each other your name, major, why you're taking the class, and a fun fact about yourself. You'll introduce each other to the rest of the class in 5 minutes."

Sokka sighed, having hoped that at least one professor would forgo icebreakers considering the online format for the class. No dice. He clicked on the breakout room pop-up and anxiously waited for the other person to join the group, looking at his camera in the meantime. It was only then did he realize he’d been sitting in class for half an hour with his ponytail all askew. He tugged out the ponytail holder, shaking his hair out and pulling it back up so the sides he’d shaven himself were on display.

He looked up and a second person had silently joined the breakout room. Sokka immediately recognized him as one of the students who initially caught his eye. He wasn't conventionally attractive, with the massive scar covering the left side of his face, but he was certainly striking, with his floppy black hair and short-sleeve button-up shirt. It must’ve been a trick of the light in his room, but it looked like he was blushing.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“I-It’s okay,” the other guy said, seeming a little bit distracted.

Sokka could guess he wasn’t a fan of being online, so he continued, "Ok, then I'll start. I'm Sokka, junior mechanical engineering major. This is the last elective I need, but really it was the only one available that wasn't too advanced. My fun fact is I invented submarines."

That seemed to snap the other guy out of his reverie. "I... what?"

"Well I thought I did. I had these whole schematics for underwater cars with telescopes sticking out from the top to look for ships, but then my uncle Bato brought me a book about submarines for Christmas and I cried for two days."

The other guy was silent.

Sokka grinned, "I was 4."

"Oh! I thought you were just weird." He said, before clapping a hand over his mouth. "No wait! I mean-"

"Nah, don't sweat it dude, that's why I tell that story the way I do, for the punchline! Don’t worry about it.

“Oh, okay.”

“Your turn!"

"Uh, well my name is Zuko Sozin, I'm a senior English major with creative writing and theater minors. I’m also taking this for an elective and my fun fact is… I hate fun facts"

He snorted, "Fair, but come on, you gotta give me more than that."

"Um... I’ve trained with swords?”

Sokka gasped. “Do you have them with you?”

“Yes?”

“Show me!”

Zuko’s camera shuddered as he moved his laptop to point at to another wall of the room to show two swords with curved blades leaning against the wall.

“That’s so cool!”

“Thanks, they’re dao swords.”

And then Sokka leaned back and watched Zuko go into the history of dao swords, how they were traditionally used, and how long he’d been learning them. It was like any awkwardness had left Zuko’s body and was replaced with this confidence as he went on about this topic that he clearly loved. It was endearing. As someone who frequently would break out into an enthusiastic TedTalk about what he was doing in his engineering classes, Sokka loved hearing about other people’s passions.

Then, as Zuko was explaining how dual-wielding was much harder than using a single sword, the pop up informing them they would be put back in the main Zoom call in a minute appeared.

“Oh, wow,” Sokka said, “time sure does fly, huh?”

Zuko blinked, “What-? Oh, sorry, I totally took up all of the time.”

“It’s fine! It was really interesting!”

A small smile appeared on Zuko’s face, “Really?”

“Yeah, I only recently started training with a sword.”

That spar returned to Zuko’s eyes, “Oh really? What-”

But then the video cut out and was replaced with a loading screen. Sokka cursed under his breath as he was put back into the larger Zoom call with all the other students in it.

The professor’s video lit up, “Okay, settle down everyone. Now, which group wants to go first?”

While the first group went, Sokka made the split-second decision to start typing in the chat. After double and then triple checking that he was only messaging Zuko, he hit enter.

hey, i know this is kind of forward, but I can talk more about my sword training after class, if you want? here’s my number xxx-xxx-xxxx

Sokka tried to focus on the icebreakers after, but his eyes kept straying to the chat. He and Zuko got through their ice breakers just fine, and Sokka’s fun fact got equal amounts of confused faces and laughs, which was his intention.

And then he was caught up in taking notes on the professor’s explanation of the homework for the next class and then the Zoom call was over. It was only afterwards, as he was replacing the piece of tape over the camera, did he realize he never got a response from Zuko.

He tried to tamp down his disappointment. He had come off pretty strong, he shouldn’t take it personally.

He had a couple of hours until his next class, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He learned the hard way last semester to keep it on silent, and so he scrolled through Aang’s frantic apology texts over letting Appa get in the room, Hakoda wishing him luck for the semester, and Suki confirming their movie night after her afternoon class. He surprised that in between those texts, there was an unknown number from a couple of minutes ago.

Hey, Zuko here.

Sokka felt his heart stutter and a grin spread across his face as he typed out his reply.

hey! my last class of the day ends at 2, if you want to talk then?

He barely made it into the kitchen before he got a reply.

Sounds good.

Sokka couldn’t get rid of his grin as he typed out Zuko’s name into his contact.

Maybe there were some upsides to online classes.

[7-wonders]

Hit and Run

Summary: The fallout of an unexpected tryst, and (Y/N)’s first official foray into the criminal underworld.

Word Count: 3055

A/N: Thanks for sticking around as I make empty promises, here’s Memento Mori chapter 4!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The training gym remains silent as (Y/N) and Duncan feel the weight of what they’ve just done. Duncan has a content grin on his face as he stands, fixing himself until he looks like he hadn’t even been training, let alone fucking the woman who he’s blackmailing. The look of disgust on (Y/N)’s face makes him stifle a laugh as he holds out a hand for her to take. Instead, she just stares at him, slowly making herself look presentable without Duncan’s help.

“The look on your face directly contradicts the beautiful sounds you were making earlier,” Duncan teases.

(Y/N) can feel her face heating up as she stands, pushing Duncan to the side. “What we did was a mistake,” she says seriously.

“Really? Because I quite enjoyed it, and I think you did too.”

“Duncan, that can’t happen again.”

The smile falls off of his face, and he scowls. “And why is that?”

“Because I try not to make a habit of having sex with people that I can’t stand!”

“Aw, you can’t stand me?” Duncan sneers. “Is that why you were so eager for me to fuck your little cunt?”

“You say that like you’re not the one who kissed me first.” 

(Y/N) feels a sense of self-satisfaction when she sees how Duncan’s jaw clenches from her verbal barb. Enough of a silence commences that (Y/N) thinks she’s free to go, turning to leave and finally be free of the specter that is Duncan Shepherd. Duncan decides otherwise, grabbing her upper arm roughly and spinning her back around.

“Tomorrow night, you’re getting indoctrinated into my world. I have an arms sale that I’m overseeing at 10, and you’re going to be there with me.”

“Will I be free of my burden, then?” The second question goes unsaid, but it hangs in the air like a cloud: will I be free of you?

“That’s for me to decide,” Duncan spits, letting go of (Y/N)’s arm before she can shake herself out of his grasp. 

“Fuck you, Duncan.” (Y/N) grabs her belongings from where they were thrown on the floor before nearly running for the door.

Duncan manages to get one last jab in before the door swings shut behind you, shouting “you already did!”

(Y/N) groans angrily once she’s outside, the cool air doing little to calm her down. The sun’s just beginning to dip below the horizon, and she pulls her hands into the sleeves of her sweatshirt to keep warm while she walks. Her mind churns with all of the possible ways she could’ve verbally wounded him besides just saying “fuck you.” He’s so infuriating, so confounding, so--she’s yanked out of her thoughts (thankfully, since her thoughts were beginning to drift towards the sexual encounter she had just found herself in) by her phone ringing in her sweatshirt pocket.

Assuming that it’s Duncan calling to threaten her, she doesn’t even glance at the screen before answering with a harsh “what!”

“Whoa, was not expecting that from you.”

Her shoulders relax when she hears the honeyed voice on the other end. “Sorry Madison, I thought you were someone else.”

Madison Montgomery is not the type of person (Y/N) thought she would ever be friends with. A former child actress with enough stories of rehab stints to rival her IMDb filmography, their paths are not two that would normally ever cross. Madison’s “friend,” Zoe (no matter how many times the two insist they’re just friends, (Y/N) sees the longing glances and the soft touches the pair exchange when they believe she’s not looking), was one of (Y/N)’s first friends when she moved to D.C. After becoming close with the political science student following a few school events both were required to be at, befriending Madison came naturally.

“By the sound of your voice when you answered, I’m assuming you’re glad it’s me instead of whoever else you thought it might be.”

“I’m definitely glad to be hearing from you.” It’s not a lie; Madison has been distant lately, and it was starting to make (Y/N) worry that she had done something wrong. “You went off the grid for a bit.”

“I was in negotiations for a new project, and it was taking up most of my freetime.”

“Did you get it?”

“Hopefully. They said that I’ll hear back soon. Anyways, I’m in D.C. for a few days and was wondering if you could find time in your busy schedule to hang out with me and Zoe who, might I add, has already said she could,” Madison says like she isn’t solely in the city to see Zoe.

“Absolutely! Just let me know what dates and times work for you and I’ll work something out.”

“Tomorrow night? We could have a wine night at Zoe’s after she gets done with work at around 8.”

The initial excitement (Y/N) feels at the plans with her friends fades away when she realizes she has other obligations tomorrow night. “Shit, I can’t. Maybe the next day?”

“Do you have a date, (Y/N)?”

She scoffs. “I wish. I have to go to this boring study group for class.”

“Skip it.”

“I can’t, it’s for a class I’m already struggling enough in.” Fuck, she really hates having to lie to people she cares about.

“Boo, why do you have to care about your grades and your future career?” Madison sighs. “Alright, we’ll do something when you don’t have to study.”

“I’m sorry, Mads.”

“Hmm, you should be.” She doesn’t mean it, but it still stings a bit. “I’ll see you on Wednesday, then.”

“See you Wednesday.” Madison hangs up the phone before (Y/N) even finishes speaking; if it were anybody else doing that, she would think they were mad at her, but that’s just typical Madison behavior. 

Ducking back into the throng of people walking to and from their destinations, (Y/N) feels a pit of dread in her stomach as the knowledge of tomorrow begins to set in. Not only will she be seeing the man who she fucked and then proceeded to get into a fight with, but she’ll also be observing an extremely illegal arms deal taking place between mafia groups. She can only hope that she’ll make it out of tomorrow’s events unscathed, both physically and emotionally.

//

Duncan picks (Y/N) up outside of her apartment at precisely 9:00 p.m., citing a need to be early to the deal in some underhanded way to assert his family’s dominance. (Y/N) tries not to ogle at the car she’s currently riding, but that’s a task she’s failed at since the moment she saw the sleek black exterior parked on the side of the street. Duncan, of course, notices how desperately she tries to look unaffected by riding in a car that costs triple her college education.

“You look like you’re scared merely breathing will ruin the car,” Duncan teases, the first words either of them have said all night. 

“I kind of am. This is the nicest car that I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Well, thank you. It’s an--”

“Aston Martin One-77, I know.” (Y/N) ducks her head in embarrassment when Duncan looks at her with wide eyes, assuming she shouldn’t have interrupted him. “I’m sorry, I know that was rude, but I’ve always really liked cars and while I don’t know a lot about fixing them or their engines or such, I love seeing a car and being able to name the make and model.”

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just wasn’t aware that you liked cars.” He shoots her a sly glance, subtly revving the car to watch how her eyes light up. “If I had known, I would have picked you up in one of my cars a whole lot sooner.”

“Wait, you have more like this?”

“Of course. You’re not the only one who has an interest in cars.”

She’s thoroughly impressed now, a fact Duncan would know even if he wasn’t able to read people’s emotions like they’re the summary on the dust-jacket of a book. He had been worried that she was either going to blow up about what had happened yesterday or completely ignore him, so this was a welcome surprise. As long as she doesn’t feel like talking about the events of the previous day, Duncan certainly won’t bring it up.

The location of this covert sale is, much like every other mafia-based experience, disguised behind a plain exterior. This time, it’s a small grocery store just over the Potomac that serves as the facade for illicit activities. Duncan parks the car in a side street so as not to arouse suspicion, turning the silent engine off before handing (Y/N) a gun.

“Don’t you have bodyguards to keep you from dying?”

“Yes, but...things can tend to go sideways during these types of events. It’s already a liability bringing you along, and since you know how to handle yourself around a gun now, it does no harm to be over prepared.”

(Y/N) eyes it warily, taking the weapon and checking the safety before tucking it in the waistband of her jeans. Duncan waits for (Y/N) to get out of the car before leading her up the stairs and through a loading dock. Even if she wasn’t too scared to go to the cops and she tried to put the Shepherds in jail, she wouldn’t be able to lead them to the location of the deal in this maze of a basement.

There’s already a small crowd in the room that they end up in, and (Y/N) holds back a shudder when she sees Langdon lurking in the corner. It’s obvious that a 10:00 meeting means 9:30 for syndicated crime, and Duncan’s a fan of being fashionably late.

“Mr. Shepherd,” the assumed leader, a tall raven-haired man with a Scottish accent, greets. “Have a seat.”

“I think I’ll remain standing, thank you, Mr. McCown.”

The man just barely scowls before turning his eyes on (Y/N). “Who’s the girl? You said no backup.”

“She’s hardly backup,” Duncan chuckles, a statement that (Y/N) takes minor offense to. “We agreed on one man each. I have Langdon, and you have Collum. (Y/N), here, is simply collateral damage.”

“Hmph.” McCown doesn’t look too pleased, but relents. “Are we gonna do business, then, or not?”

Duncan motions for Langdon with his left hand, who carries two large duffel bags to the table. Unzipping them, he reveals a variety of automatic weapons. McCown leans over the table to study the weapons, doing a mental count before reaching for the bags.

“Not so fast.” Langdon snatches the guns away from McCown upon Duncan’s word. “The money?”

Pulling open his suit jacket, the opposing crime boss sets stacks of hundred dollar bills on the table. Duncan appraises each stack quickly, thumbing through the paper with a learned precision. Each man watches the other as they grab their respective earnings, neither willing to be the loser in this staring contest. 

“You know, I couldn’t help but to notice you were a thousand short of the agreed-upon total,” Duncan says coolly.

“It’s all there, I just saw you count it!”

“The tax? (Y/N)’s eyes flit between the men, Duncan’s jaw tightening in annoyance. “This is not your first time doing business with us, Frasier, surely you must know that there is a fee to bring your men into our territory.”

McCown smiles thinly, reluctantly pulling another wad of cash from his pocket. Duncan smugly takes it, and it’s when he’s counting the cash that everything goes awry.

(Y/N) doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The Scottish leader is zipping up the weapons bags and D.C.’s most notorious is tucking the money into his own jacket. She’s not sure what Langdon detects: a tic on someone’s face, the flinch of a hand, or even just the way a person breathes. Within a second, he’s got a handgun drawn and pointed at McCown’s right hand man, firing before the other man can even release the safety on his own gun.

Duncan ducks, pulling (Y/N) down under him as gunfire is exchanged. Her heart hammers in her chest, ears ringing from the harsh sounds above her as the shots start to taper off. She doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before Langdon’s yelling at them to go, Duncan hauling her up and throwing a duffel bag at her before dragging her out of the room. The clouds of gun smoke make it impossible to see who, or what, is damaged, and her eyes and lungs sting from the acrid scent as she runs up the stairs with Duncan.

Flinging herself into the car, she doesn’t even have time to put a seatbelt on before Duncan’s peeling out of the alley with the tires squealing. Instead of being frightened, Duncan actually looks excited as he checks behind his shoulder to make sure he’s not being followed. (Y/N), on the other hand, sits next to him in utter bewilderment.

“What the fuck was that?” (Y/N) exclaims, tossing the bag down at her feet when she realizes she’s still holding assault weapons.

“That was an attempted underhanded deal.” He clarifies upon her bemused shrug. “Frasier McCown and his gang thought that they would shoot me before taking the weapons and their money.”

“They were trying to kill you?”

“Probably not. They were most likely just trying to make sure I would go down before worrying about the repercussions later.”

“Langdon killed them, then?”

“I don’t know for sure, but he’s absolutely deadly with a gun. You’ve seen how skillfully he kills people.”

(Y/N) nods, remembering how the shot that killed the blue-haired Malakai seemed to come from nowhere. Looking out the window, the freeway passes by in a blur as Duncan drives towards downtown D.C. He’s trying to lose them, she realizes, on the off-chance that they are being followed.

Swinging into an empty parking lot off of 14th Street, the car lurches forward as Duncan abruptly parks. His hand gently brushes (Y/N)’s cheek, and she nearly bites his finger off until she feels the sting of a fresh cut on her face.

“You’re hurt,” Duncan notes with a frown.

“Oh, I probably just got scraped when we went to the ground. It’s fine, I think I’ll live.”

Duncan scoffs, rolling his eyes as he examines her to make sure there are no other wounds. Besides the battle wound on her cheek, she seems okay.

“What--” (Y/N) starts, clearing her throat, “are you hurt?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“(Y/N), you don’t need to worry about me. I’ve been in these situations before, and I have no doubt that I’ll be in situations like that again. This was your first time being caught in a firefight, and you’re shaking, so I just want to make sure you’re not in shock.”

“I’m not…” (Y/N)’s about to argue until she looks down and sees that her hands are shaking. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’” Duncan mocks. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good.” She starts to lightly giggle before breaking out into full-on laughter, making Duncan worry that she actually is going into shock. “No, seriously! I’m fine, I just--that was kind of cool.”

Duncan looks at her incredulously. “You thought that was cool?”

“Yes! It felt like I was in a James Bond movie.”

Despite his attempts to be serious, Duncan finds himself smiling at her exuberant laughter. “Well, I’m glad you thought that was fun. Hopefully we won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

Later, (Y/N) will swear it’s the adrenaline rush that makes her act so foolishly. But with the silence in the car, and the way that Duncan’s smiling at her, it feels like she’ll spontaneously combust if she doesn’t kiss him immediately. Before she can remind herself why this is a bad idea, she leans in and presses her lips to his.

Duncan, thankfully, doesn’t immediately push her off and question her sanity. His lips are just as soft as they were yesterday, one hand going to grip the back of her neck while the other brushes against her cheek. (Y/N)’s hands find purchase in his now-messy hair, fingers threading through the strands as Duncan licks at her bottom lip. This time there’s no resistance from (Y/N), her mouth opening to allow Duncan’s tongue entrance while they grab onto each other like they’ll be torn away otherwise.

Relishing in the breathy moans (Y/N)’s beginning to let out, Duncan reluctantly pulls himself away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her neck. Laving his tongue against her thrumming pulse, Duncan grins when (Y/N) whines as he blows air over the wet patch, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He begins to suck a bruise just below the spot he just marked, nipping just enough to make (Y/N) yelp before surging back up to her lips.

(Y/N)’s head is spinning, the mix of adrenaline and lust making her almost dizzy. When Duncan finally releases her from his grasp after minutes? hours? an undetermined amount of time, she lets out a whine that sounds almost pathetic. Duncan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, lips swollen from the extended amounts of pressure as he suddenly and inexplicably starts to drive. (Y/N)’s about to question why he stopped when, like a flash of lightning, the situation hits her with striking clarity. Kissing Duncan Shepherd in an abandoned parking lot like a couple of horny teenagers directly goes against everything she told him after their “training” yesterday.

From the driver’s seat, Duncan smirks when she faces the window with her arms crossed over her chest, obviously realizing her little slip-up. “Another mistake?” He can’t help himself from taunting her, especially not when she looks so upset with herself.

(Y/N) sneers. “Shut up.” Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Duncan how she subtly clenches her thighs together in search of relief, giving him a self-righteous sense of satisfaction.

//

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[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.2 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1  

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

If Stretch had to make a top ten list of people that he expected to find at his front door on any given day, Papyrus would be on it, but Stretch had to guiltily admit, he would have been close to the bottom of the list, just below the mailperson.

It wasn't that Stretch didn't like Papyrus, he really did, but somehow, their paths didn't cross that often. Papyrus did a lot of work up at the Embassy and spent time training with Undyne and the rest of the security team. He had his own group down at the Y like Edge did of younger kids and every year they did a nature hike out in the wilds of Ebott, down the walking path that ran behind the shopping center.

Papyrus had his own gig going on and that was fine, but it did mean they mostly saw each other on movie nights and holidays. Kinda like cousins, maybe, not that Stretch ever had any. Not exactly close family, but family, nonetheless.

Now, finding Papyrus AND Jeff on his porch? Both of them with their arms loaded with plastic food containers and cups from the Beanery that looked to be filled with gloriously caffeinated concoctions? That wasn’t anywhere on Stretch’s top ten list or even in the top fifty. That was one that might’ve wandered onto an alternate list in the AM hours when Stretch couldn’t sleep, but even then, the odds weren’t good.

Papyrus’s grin of maniacal cheer, though, that was to be expected. It was the same one Blue got going when he had a scheme up his pant leg and that made warnings prickles stand up and do the cha-cha-cha on Stretch’s spine.

“hey, guys,” Stretch said slowly, “what’s going on?”

“What is going on is we are here to see you!” Papyrus said cheerily. He shifted the boxes in his arms. “We can continue going by you letting us inside!”

“I mean, you can leave us on the porch if you want,” Jeff’s grin was less maniacal, at least. Honestly, he looked tired and also like he wasn’t about to let that slow him down. “We’ll just stand here, alone, sad and pining for the fjords, wasting away—”

“yeah, yeah, i get it,” Stretch grinned and held open the door. “come in before the neighbors get interested. they already think we’re better than netflix.”

Papyrus and Jeff trooped inside, and Stretch took a second to peek out the front door. Edge was still working diligently on his flowerbeds, so that was fine. He saw Stretch looking and blew him a kiss and maybe catching it was pretend, but the warmth in his soul from it was plenty real.

Didn’t mean Stretch missed that his loving traitor didn’t come inside, though.

By the time he closed the front door, Jeff and Papyrus had taken over the coffee table. There were several plastic containers alongside the drink cups and okay, yeah, Stretch was curious to see what largess had been brought to them. Hopefully not too much, with his cast off and permission to stand, Edge was probably itching to get back into the kitchen. He’d graciously accept anything the guys brought over, probably, and then he’d be stuck between his urgent need to make food for everyone in sight and his need not to waste any morsel that came into the house. It was a bit of a balancing act and Edge was already wobbly on his feet.

Stretch wandered over to give one of the containers a poke. “i hadn't heard the hospital cut you loose yet, Paps.

“Just yesterday!” Papyrus beamed and now Stretch could see he had a cane of his own, exactly the same as Edge’s but he was currently using it more as punctuation than for support.

Released yesterday and Stretch hadn’t even known. He could have, should have. He’d just seen Sans a couple days go and he’d asked about Red, but not his brother who was still in the fucking hospital. And what, he could send tweets out to his fans but not a text to Papyrus to see how he was feeling? Stretch swallowed hard against the rising thickness in the back of his throat. “listen, i'm sorry i didn't get up to see you at the hospital much.”

Papyrus being Papyrus, only waved that off. “Not at all! Everyone is very busy right now.”

“Yeah,” Jeff put in and there was a wealth of meaning in that single word that probably synced up to the shadows under his eyes. “I barely got up there to see you and Edge, too.”

“Besides,” Papyrus went on, “You had your own patient to handle in what I am sure was an experience that left you stronger!”

“heh, that’s one way of putting it. how’s the noggin?” The bandages that were wrapped around Papyrus’s head in the hospital were gone and all the bruising faded. The dark line of a hairline crack was still running along his parietal bone. At this point it was probably here to stay, healing magic wasn’t much good on scars, otherwise Stretch would have gotten to work on Edge’s a long time ago.

Papyrus mimed rapping on his skull with his knuckles. “Better. I am still on sick leave even though I am injured, not sick. But I am not falling down as much now so they let me go home!”

The phrase falling down had implications that made Stretch shudder, even though he knew that wasn’t what Papyrus meant. Especially after today, seeing Edge’s healing leg, all his new scars, hairline fractures, all of them, but they were still there.

Okay, yeah, a subject change seemed to be a good idea.

Stretch picked up one of the containers and gave it a little shake. “so what brings you over to see me. not that i don’t want to see you guys, but…” He gestured at the rest of the containers. “i’m seeing a plan here.”

“Yes!” Papyrus said happily. “I brought something for your chickens!"

Huh. Today was definitely going off the charts, because that option wasn’t on any of Stretch’s top ten lists. “seriously?"

Papyrus obviously had his own standards when it came to lists, because he nodded as if it were obvious. “Yes! You see, usually when you are sick or injured in the hospital because of germs or stupidity—"

“hey!”

“--i have cared for your chickens for you! this time i was in the hospital and so i brought them spaghetti!”

Impeccable logic, really. Except for one small detail.

Paps was a much better cook these days but pasta still tended to elude him. Even the mention of spaghetti still gave Stretch shuddering flashbacks of those first few weeks when they came to this universe. It’d almost been enough for him to wish they were back in Underswap.

Almost.

All the other dishes Papyrus made were more than palatable, even delicious, except for when he dug out the noodles. Much as he didn’t want to hurt any feelings, neither did Stretch want to murder his chickens by poison pasta. “um that's really nice, but, uh.”

Whatever Papyrus thought he was going to say, if there were any hurt feelings about it, he shed it like water off a duck’s back, “Have no fear! It is vegetable spaghetti!"

“Spiral cut veggies, “Jeff put in. He pried off one of the lids and held it out, revealing bright orange and purple strands. His grin was a little wry; Jeff was another victim of Papyrus’s attempts at carbonara. “We made it fresh this morning.”

Oh. They’d made it, together. For the teeniest, tiniest moment there was a twinge of stupid jealousy, bitter sharp in his soul, because Jeff was supposed to be his best friend and here was Papyrus poaching on his territory when he already had lots of friends, in a couple different countries even, pen pals and people at the Embassy, why did he need one of Stretch’s?

Then he squashed that thought like the stink bug it was; there was plenty of Andy to go around and he wasn’t about to end his week by being a dick to his best friends over veggie noodles.

So hey, time to unwrap the enthusiasm and get this chicken party started. Stretch pasted his smile back on and said, “well hey, let’s go out back! i bet they’ll be scrambling for it.”

Papyrus didn’t even groan at the pun, though Jeff booed under his breath. His smile brought new meaning to the word beaming, it really did, bright as the sun. “Let me get some plates!”

He caned his way into the kitchen before Stretch could even offer to do it for him and yeah, there was one of the ways he and Edge were alike, stubborn little shits that they were.

Stretch shook his head and turned back to Jeff to ask, softly, “how is he doing, really?”

“He’s been fine today, but he should probably sit down for a while,” Jeff said in the same quiet tone. “I had him sitting at home when we were using the spiral slicer and he was pretty good about it. Don’t let him fool you, though, the doctors told him to take it easy—”

“—and he’s not really good at following their instructions,” Stretch finished with a sigh. “yeah, i’ve had some practice with that.”

“I’ll bet,” Jeff laughed just as Papyrus returned, plates in hand. Stretch kept back any comments about what Edge might have to say about them using his plates to feed chickens. Hey, they were family, they could use the good tableware.

“I’ll bet, too,” Papyrus said, “if you two are finished talking about me behind my back! Unless you want to do it in front of my face as well.”

Yeah, there were definitely times Stretch could tell Papyrus and Edge were cut from the same cloth. Although if he ever saw Edge smiling like Papyrus did, Stretch would be checking for any other signs of the apocalypse. “nah, i think we’re good. let’s head out.”

“Oh, and we brought you—” Jeff plucked one of the plastic cups from the table and held it out with a flourish. “triple venti, iced caramel macchiato with whip and an extra shot.”

Now that was a drink and Stretch took the cup, clutching it to his chest without even caring for the condensation dampening the front of his sweatshirt.

“you are the second-best person in the world,” Stretch told him sincerely, “if i wasn’t already married to the first best, i’d be polishing up my flirting skills for you.”

Jeff only rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay, I’ll add you to my dance card, Mr. Darcy.”

“The dating manual has a chapter on polygamous relationships if you’d like to borrow it!” Papyrus said brightly.

Immediately, Jeff’s pale cheeks flamed a bright red and Stretch felt a blush of his own warm his face. Uh, yeah, no, his love for Andy stayed above the waist, thanks. Now he was glad Edge hadn’t come inside, he’d either be annoyed or silently laughing his ass off. Either way, Stretch could live without it.

He clapped a hand on Papyrus’s shoulder, “you know what, paps, i think we’re good, but i’ll keep it in mind. c’mon, it’s a nice day and the ladies await!”

“Of course!” Papyrus followed Stretch to the back door while Jeff gathered up the containers. “Did Edge redecorate the kitchen? I seem to recall a lot less red paint splattered on the walls and also a table the last time I was here…”

~~*~~

A few days ago, Stretch spent a couple hours cleaning off all the chairs on the patio from any winter gunk left on them. He’d done it for Edge so he could come outside while he was still off limits on any marathons, just a quick scrub down and some sunshine and they were good.

Now he wondered why he bothered because so far, every time anyone came out to the backyard, they ended up sitting on the damned ground. At least they grabbed the cushions off the chairs to keep the damp away. The chickens were gabbling eagerly from the moment the sliding glass door opened and the volume doubled when they realized it was more than the usual amount of suckers to demand scritches from.

Stretch let loose the chicks and Papyrus laid down the plates, already scolding, “Now hold on a moment, there’s more than one flavor! You’ll need a serving of each for the full decadent experience!”

Soon enough the grub was out and they were all sitting on their cushions, watching the chickens feast.

“gotta say, this was a pretty good idea,” Stretch admitted. Pretty good was understating it, the chickens loved the veggie spaghetti and they were gobbling it down, switching plates at will as they scarfed it as fast as they could. Noodle let out an indignant squawk when Nugget stole a tasty looking tidbit from under her beak and ended up on the other end of a strand with Dumpling in an impromptu Lady and the Tramp recreation that ended a lot less romantically when Nugget stole a bite right through the center.

“Of course it was!” Papyrus said loftily. Then he surprised Stretch by adding, “JeffAndy suggested it.”

Stretch raised a brow bone and Jeff shrugged, awkwardly, “Julia used to make veggie spaghetti all the time and Blue had a spiral cutter, so.”

“i haven’t seen blue for a few days.” Stretch fumbled into his hoodie pocket for his lighter, the metal smooth and cool under his fingertips. “how’s he doing?”

“Good. Busy, like all of us,” Jeff said. He took a drink from his cup and it left a slight whipped cream mustache on his upper lip that he licked away. “Think everyone will be glad when Edge is back full time.”

“yeah.” The lighter flicking through his fingers wasn’t enough suddenly and Stretch pulled out a pack of cigarettes to go with it at the same time he nudged Papyrus with an elbow. “and how’s your bro doing?”

“Very well!” Papyrus plucked up a far-flung piece of spaghetti and tossed it back towards the chickens. Dumpling all but snapped it out of the air. “He’s packing as we speak!”

“packing?” That was about the last thing Stretch expected to ever hear about Sans. He and Papyrus were the only brother pair still living together and Stretch would have put good odds on the that only changing if Papyrus moved out, and even then, Sans might try to crawl into one of the suitcases. Sans packing up was serious levels of gossip that he was missing out on.

Papyrus nodded. “Yes! Now that he and Red are betrothed, he is moving in! He didn’t want to leave at first, but I told him I would have someone stay with me until I am fully recovered!”

Betrothed was a weird way to describe that relationship and Sans actually moving in? Made Stretch wonder what’d happened that day when Sans carried Red out of the kitchen, not that he’d wanted to be a fly on the wall or anything. Maybe Red liked to play the spy guy, but Stretch had enough nightmares as it was. If he ever had to hear Red in throes of orgasm, he’d scrub the inside of his skull with a toilet brush.

“not undyne.” He couldn’t imagine her staying away from Alphys, especially not while she had a bun cooking in the oven.

“No, no, your brother!”

Stretch was in the middle of lighting his cigarette and sucked in too hard, coughing the smoke back out. His brother was staying with Papyrus? When did that happen? He was starting to feel more and more like Dorothy when she first stepped off the tornado.

“okay, hang on,” Stretch rubbed a knuckle between his sockets where an ache was starting to form. “can i get a timeline on this?”

“Of course!” Papyrus ticked off on his fingers. “First, Red gave Sans a betrothal collar.”

That choker he’d been wearing, with the heart-shaped buckle. Not at all the sort of thing he’d expected to be Sans’s taste, it’d been cute when Sans was more, ‘wear whatever fell on me today’. “is that what that was?”

“Oh, yes, Red told me that collars hold great significance in Underfell!”

“did he now?” Stretch said softly. Nope, that didn’t sting, not one little bit. His soul wasn’t at all lurching in his chest, rising up to settle painfully under his clavicles.

“Very much so! A betrothal collar is a promise and a warning.” Papyrus leaned in, his voice lowered conspiratorially to a level just below a shout. “More people probably need warnings about Sans.”

“you’re probably right.” Honestly, he should probably be wearing a sign.

“So he got his collar and told me. Then I told him he needed to move in with his fiancée and he said, ‘whoa, bro, don’t know about that you’re still pretty banged up and all.’”

Stretch couldn’t help grinning. He had to admit, that impression of Sans was pretty bang on.

“and I told him I would find someone else to stay with me and I asked your brother and he agreed!” Papyrus finished triumphantly.

He glanced at Jeff, who’d moved his cushion to be downwind of the cigarette smoke. “what about andy, thought you and blue were playing roommates.”

“I’m moving in with Antwan,” Jeff admitted shyly. He toyed with the laces on his shoes. “I mean, for now anyway.”

Normally, Stretch would have been squealing to hear that because hello, about fucking time. But from the sounds of it, if he wasn’t the last to know about all this, he was pretty damn close. “this all happened in the past couple days?”

Papyrus glanced at him. “If we are measuring by linear time, then yes.”

“always did prefer linear. helps to keep things straight. hey, congrats, andy,” Stretch said belatedly. Really belated, seemed like if this news was days old.

“Don’t congratulate me yet, Antwan hasn’t had to move my comic book collection,” Jeff laughed. But from his pink, pleased face he was pretty excited and why shouldn’t he be, he was moving in with his guy, Blue was moving in with Papyrus, Sans moving in with Red. All kinds of stuff going on that no one gave Stretch a call or text about it. Not that he blamed them, not really. He wasn’t being much of a good big brother lately or cousin or friend or whatever else the fuck he pretended he could do. Made him wonder how he was doing as a husband, since he was so shit at everything else.

The chickens were done mangling every speck of the spaghetti and Nugget wandered over to peck at the string on Stretch’s hoodie hopefully. It hadn’t turned into food for her the other hundred times she’d tried it, but that never stopped her before, especially since now it looked like her last treat. Stretch crushed out his cigarette and gave her a hopeful nudge, and she settled into his lap amicably, clucking happily as he smoothed a hand down her feathers.

Noodle was taking refuge in Papyrus’s lap, crooning for her own pets that Papyrus obediently provided. “Your chickens are very nice.”

“We’re lucky Edge isn’t here,” Jeff chuckled even as he coaxed Dumpling over for scritches of her own. “They think he’s the next coming of Chicken Jesus.”

Papyrus frowned. “I wouldn’t think that chickens followed Christian theology.”

It was always hard to tell when Papyrus was sincere or when he was fucking with you, and Stretch had a feeling he was being bent over today. “nah, these ladies are nondenominational.”

“If one must have a harem, one of chickens seems a good choice!” Papyrus said thoughtfully. “There are the eggs to consider.”

“a harem, why would---never mind.” Stretch decided he really didn’t want to know which way Papyrus’s brain was twisting today, he had enough of that with his own.

“By the way,” Jeff said as he struggled to keep Dumpling from attacking his shoelaces, “now that Edge is feeling better, I should probably tell you that your brother’s freezer is filled with bags of grapes.”

“grap..oh.” The grapes from Edge’s garden that he’d been picking when…well. When everything. He’d honestly forgotten all about them, that whole day was pretty much a suckhole of shit that he didn’t care to ever repeat. Even thinking that made Stretch feel a little queasy, knocking him even more off balance while he was trying to catch his equilibrium. Stretch let out a little laugh and if it sounded a little shrill, neither Jeff nor Papyrus noticed. “you froze them, really? when did you even have the time?”

Jeff shrugged, which meant it was probably after work, maybe even at the end of that long, horrible day, and he’d been exhausted and done it anyway. He really was a good friend, better than Stretch deserved.

“i’ll let him know.” Stretch rubbed Nugget gently under the chin and she cooed happily. “and hey, thanks for stopping by with the spaghetti for my girls and letting me knows what’s up with the nearby world.”

“Wish I could say it was my idea,” Jeff said. His smile was a little lopsided. “I’ve missed hanging out. With everything that’s going on, Papyrus thought maybe you were feeling a little out of the loop. He said not being at work makes him think it’s Sunday when it’s Wednesday.”

“yeah, he’s got a good point.”

“I usually do,” Papyrus said modestly.

The sliding glass door opened then, and Edge stepped out. Immediately the chickens abandoned all laps and ran to him, and usually Stretch thought that was cute as fuck, but today, it was an extra scoop of abandonment on top of his cone of salty guilt.

Edge crouched and gave each of them a quick pat, “Hello, everyone. I only wanted to check if you two are staying for dinner.”

“No,” Papyrus said, somehow managing to look sad and elated at the same time. “Blue is planning a welcome to my home dinner for me tonight!”

“I can’t either, Antwan and I haven’t done anything but sleep in the same bed for the past week. We’re planning take out and time together.” Jeff scrambled to his feet with a groan, stretching, “We need to get going, anyway.”

Edge nodded, like none of this was news to him. Maybe it wasn’t, Stretch really was the last to know everything. Even about betrothal collars and Stretch twisted the ring on his finger, feeling the delicate swirls etched into it with the tips of his fingers. The metal wasn’t cool like his lighter, warmed by his own bones.

It only took a couple of minutes for Jeff and Papyrus to gather up the empty containers, and Stretch got the plates, setting them next to him on the ground.

“see you guys later!” Stretch called as they went through the gate. He got waves in return and then they were gone.

Edge sat down on the cushion next to him, stretching out his leg brace in front of him as he nudged it closer than Papyrus had. Close enough for him to settle his own hand over Stretch’s and he couldn’t help wondering if that was to keep him from reaching for his cigarettes again. He was supposed to be quitting and that’d fallen to the wayside at some point, supposed to be seeing Alphys about his HP, when was the last time he’d done that? So many fucking questions today and Stretch wasn’t sure about some of the answers.

“Just you and me tonight then, love,” Edge said. His thumb grazed lightly across Stretch’s knuckles and he noted absently that he’d changed his gloves. These ones were worn soft, comfort gloves, like some of Stretch’s sweatshirts, and he didn’t know why Edge needed comforting.

“yeah, just you and me,” Stretch agreed softly, and when had that become less of a delight.

He really was losing his touch because Edge gave him a narrow look almost immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“nothing,” Stretch said, and he forced lightness into the word, “think i’m just a little tired, we had a lot going on today.”

Edge hummed softly in agreement, “Why don’t you take a nap?”

“take one with me?” Stretch offered and he knew from the split-second of hesitation on Edge’s face that he wanted to say no. Which, of course he fucking did, he just got his cast off, he was probably wanting a shower or maybe even a bath, give those newly scarred bones a good scrub before he went to do all the other shit he couldn’t do last week. “you know what, never mind.”

“Are you sure?” Edge asked, because of course he did. He always put Stretch’s happiness first. Like it was something Stretch actually deserved and that was a shitty thing to think and Stretch knew it, so he was stopping that right now.

“yep,” Stretch forced a yawn. “if it’s just me i can sprawl out.”

“Me being in the bed has never stopped you before,” Edge said dryly. But he lifted Stretch’s hand and kissed his knuckles, right over his wedding ring, the one Edge gave him when he promised to love and cherish him, and Stretch was gonna knock it the fuck off thinking about anything with collars or Underfell. Edge loved him and he knew it, he didn’t need anything else.

Not a damn thing.

~~*~~

Read Chapter Three

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON R!OT’S MAIN VOCAL, LEAD DANCE JANG GOEUN…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 20 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 14 COMPANY: 99 ent. ETC: using her gifts as a guitarist, she’s been uploading covers on youtube to acclaim

IDOL IMAGE

goeun has worked towards one goal for her whole life. she has an overwhelming sense of competitiveness and drive, and as a result can come off as serious and intense. it’s also no secret within the industry that she harbours a grudge against midas for kicking her out of mayday, although she’ll deny it if asked. she’s bitter and spiteful with a chip on her shoulder. she’d argue that her chip is what has made her so focused and driven this time, even if she tends to push things to unhealthy excess.

after getting kicked out of mayday, goeun has come to see virtually all other trainees and rookie idols as threats. the exceptions are her fellow r!ot members. she’s incredibly loyal and dedicated to them, knowing that they can only be successful as a group if they work as a team. that being said, she has placed the same high standards she has on herself on them as well. she can be harsh and condescending towards them, particularly as someone who trained for a long time, had been through much of the predebut process before anyone else had, and knows how easy it is to lose everything. most of it comes from a fear of losing one of them if they were to start slipping the way she had, but it doesn’t always come off as caring - often she ends up adding stress to an already stressful situation. she’d hoped this anxiety would go after their debut, but the stakes are higher than ever now with the public’s eyes on them - r!ot’s fall now is much further than before and only continues to grow.

99 has assigned goeun a mother-hen image, fuelled by her long training period, protective personality, and ability to cook. r!ot is a fun, powerful, and energetic group, and goeun is there to be charismatic onstage but seen as comfortable and someone to rely on offstage, to the other girls as well as to the fans. the most significant problem goeun faces with this image is that she’s not really sure the members see her that way. it’s one thing for the company to ask her to behave like this, but it’s another for the members to do it too, and to do it in a way that convinces the public of their tight bond.

IDOL HISTORY

jang goeun was raised surrounded by music. her mother debuted in 1989 and released two trot albums after trot had already started to become old-fashioned, earning her some praise but generally escaping the attention of the public. her father wrote both of her mothers’ title songs and quickly fell in love with her. when their agency went bankrupt, they got married and left seoul to open a music school in his hometown of gyeongju. sounds of piano scales and guitar tuning bled through the walls of goeun’s bedroom in the apartment above the school. she took piano, voice, and guitar lessons and decided, unsurprisingly, that she wanted to pursue music herself, setting her sights on joining the glamorous ranks of the idols she saw on the family television.

her parents understood the industry and did everything they could to support her dream. they set their sights on getting her into a major entertainment company, one that wouldn’t be likely to fold like theirs did, and to do that she had to give the perfect audition, be the perfect candidate for trainee. her father drove her an hour twice a week to a dance studio in busan for lessons, specifically chosen as it was the one jubilee’s main dancer had attended. her mother played diamant and stat1c cds in the car to perfect her singing idol-style and taught her to sing trot properly as an extra viable skill. she took english and japanese classes after school and studied music theory and composition. finally, in early 2013, she took the bus to busan for auditions and was accepted to the iconic, monolithic midas media. her parents arranged for her to live with an aunt and within two weeks goeun was in seoul.

early on, her excessive preparations paid off. having already put in so much work honing her skill, goeun had a leg up over those who had been brought into the company for their still-untrained raw talent. she was surprisingly adept for a new trainee, competition for the other vocalists, someone who threatened the amount of lines and ad-libs you got. about two years after she began her training, she was put into a group planned for debut and moved into the dorm with mayday’s members. training was gruelling, and all of the girls were in an intensely competitive setting. as much as goeun thrived on competition, she had grown used to more or less coasting by during her time as a trainee, earning praise without having to put as much time and effort as her colleagues. but it was only a matter of time before a chasm formed. those who had spent their time focusing and building good work habits caught up to her and eventually surpassed her. goeun lagged behind. she got yelled at regularly in practice for not putting enough effort in, for bringing down the other girls who were working so much harder.

as goeun felt herself slipping away from the top, she scrambled to put in more effort and more hours into her work, but it was too little, too late. four months before the set debut date, she was cut from the lineup. her vocals were good, her dancing was good, she fit the concept. but when it came down to it, another girl had worked harder, had sweat more, had proved herself more worthy of that spot. goeun was told “better luck next time” and was given the week off.

next time did come, although she had to pull herself up out of rock bottom and triple her efforts to make it happen. with mayday debuting and midas also having aurora in their roster, she knew she’d have to wait a long time before another girl group was likely to come around. so she quit and set out to audition again, this time going for another powerful company, but one with a wildly different management strategy: 99 entertainment. in a way, this was a better fit, she told herself: she had goals of producing music in the future, and 99′s aura of artistry convinced her it would be more likely here than in midas’s restrictive, tightly managed environment. she focused all her energy into training, building herself a work ethic from the humiliation of getting kicked out of mayday and having to watch the group skyrocket to fame and success from afar. she was placed in r!ot and moved into 99′s company dorms. being kicked out once scared her into putting as much time and effort into it as needed for her to show 99 that she’s good and only going to get better. it finally paid off on january 28th, 2019, when she finally stood onstage as an idol.

idol life has been pretty good so far. reactions to r!ot’s debut song were generally polarizing, but the girls themselves were well received and have started gathering an audience that’s excited for their next release. but 99 is being uncharacteristically strict with their management, and goeun does not have nearly as much creative freedom as she hoped she would, nor does she see herself getting much in the near future. she did manage to get permission from the company to post guitar covers on the group’s youtube channel, which gives her a chance to play around with adapting and producing, albeit on a small scale. her efforts have been noticed and praised, though, particularly for her skill and how different the acoustic sound is compared to r!ot’s music. it’s great and it’s humbling and she loves doing it, loves reaching out to the fans on a more regular basis than their promotional periods allow, loves the acclaim she gets in return. but it won’t be enough forever, and soon goeun’s creative muscles are going to be begging to be stretched further.

[fandomwritingsgalore]

Heads Up for A Fairytale (Chris Evans x Reader)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cavity inducing fluff, slight cursing

Part: 1/??, Read more here

Description: Reader and her friend take a trip to Walt Disney World and happen to run into one Chris Evans while waiting in line to board Space Mountain. To pass the time you decide to play the game “Head’s Up.” From pop culture references, flirty looks and Chris being his silly flirty self, you never thought waiting in a line could be so much fun. But the Disney magic has to end eventually...doesn’t it?

Author’s Note: This isn’t my best imo, but I’ve been out of writing for a while and wanted something cute and fluffy to ease my way back in. And I’ve had this idea for a while and wanted to finally get it out. This is pure Evans loving Disney self indulgent fluff. Y/N = Your Name, Y/F/N = Your Friend’s Name

Word Count: 4,410

“How crazy would it be if we ran into someone famous while we’re here?” Y/F/N asked dreamily.

“I thought you wanted to find Walt Disney’s frozen head?” you laughed as you strolled through the mass of people down Magic Kingdom’s Main Street. It was the first day of your week long Walt Disney World trip and you were already acting like kids. The Disney magic making you silly with excitement and anticipation for all the fun times ahead.

They grinned mischievously, “Who says we can’t do both?” You rolled your eyes affectionately and shook your head at the conspiracy theories. “Besides I heard celebrities have their own secret entrance to rides so they can avoid the public. Maybe we’ll see Robert Downey Jr.”

“If it’s a secret entrance then how would we possibly know they’re here? Besides, you still have a better shot at walking onto Flight of Passage with no line than running into Chris Hemsworth here.”

“Jason Momoa would be fine.” She eyed the surrounding crowd in front of the majestic Cinderella castle as though expecting to immediately spot the tall actor. Reaching up to adjust the Jack Skellington Mickey ears on their head, they whined, “These damn things are always so painfully tight. I don’t know why Disney can’t just make them looser instead of my head being squeezed to death.” She pulled them off and massaged the area where the ears were on.

You reached up to make sure your own Captain America shield ears were still in place.You were determined to get a photo with Baby Groot and Star-lord when you park hopped over to Hollywood Studios later in the day. Cap was your favorite, but they were the only Marvel characters currently in the parks, and you’d heard they were a really great meet.

“They probably do it so you can wear them on rides without worrying about them flying off,” you said dodging out of the way of another triple seat stroller barreling towards the entrance to Fantasyland and Seven Dwarves Mine Train, not caring which ankles they took out along the way. 


“You wanna hit up Space Mountain or Haunted Mansion before the crowds start picking up?” Despite wearing your sunglasses, you shielded your eyes from the blinding Florida sun to gaze to the right of the plaza as though you could see how long the wait time was from here.

“Space. I didn’t get to ride it on our last trip because it was shut down.” You turned in the direction of Tomorrowland and took off.

“The infamous purple wall,” you pointed out excitedly, passing the pastel purple instaphoto spot. “I’m going to be as Disney basic as possible later.”

You both gazed in awe of the future looking land as you made your way towards the ride. Even though you’d arrived at Magic Kingdom for rope drop the wait time was already at 30 minutes, but knew it would probably be the shortest wait for the day. You passed under the large arch into the silver and blue entrance.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Space Mountain, but how incredible would it be if they would turn this into a Marvel Avengers ride through space or something,” You gushed sliding your shades off and placing them in the cross body purse you wore.

“And Cap would call you ma’am?” she snickered.

“I mean I’m not opposed to that plot point. But seriously though, you could get put in the Iron Man suit or pick your favorite Avenger and either gain their powers or work with them and fly around New York and have the Avengers talk you through a mission. It would be an immersive type ride experience.”

“You could even punch Loki at Stark tower.”

“Or give him a much needed hug!” You countered, feigning offense. “But, a Marvel land would be a kick ass expansion.”

“You just want to save the world with 4D Chris Evans,” she laughed, knowing you all to well.

You continued winding your way through the long line. Hopefully, 30 minutes actually meant a 10 minute walk to the loading stations, but either way you were willing to wait. Space Mountain was one of your favorites. “I’m excited for the new Tron roller coaster they’re building though,”  you noted.

“Yes!” She all but moaned. “The concept art looks insane!”

“So does that new outer space restaurant over in Epcot,” a male voice behind you added.

It wasn’t unusual for people in long lines at Disney to form a sort of temporary solidarity with those around them while waiting, which is why you weren’t that put off by his eavesdropping on your conversation. It was something you enjoyed about the parks. Meeting people from so many different walks of life.

You deepened your voice and spoke like an announcer, “Space…the final frontier.”

“Traitor,” Y/F/N shouted thrusting a fist into the air, “Star Wars or bust!” You heard the guy laugh at your banter as you finally rounded the final corner and reached the end of the line.

You turned around, wanting to mention the new Star Wars hotel, but the words became lodged in your throat as you took in the chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes, hidden under a Nasa baseball cap, of the man behind you. You heard Y/F/N gasp in recognition next to you.

Chris freaking Evans was your mystery eavesdropper.

“I like your ears,” he commented, with a knowing smirk. You immediately felt the heat rise up your neck in embarrassment not only because of the ears, but he’d clearly heard your previous fangirl conversation. Oh God, he also heard Y/F/N’s 4D comment. No! Of all the ways you’ve imagined running into a celebrity, particularly this celebrity, this was not one.

He’s just a person. A very famous and funny and breathtaking beautiful person, but still a person.

What a person…

Dear lord, get a grip! You chided yourself. “I thought you have a secret passage?” You blurted out suddenly. And here you thought you couldn’t be any more embarrassing. Apparently your mouth was on a mission separate from your brain.

“Sure do,” His eyes sparkled playfully as he held back a laugh, “it’s goes right past Walt’s frozen head.”

“I knew it,” Y/F/N whispered reverently.

He couldn’t keep his laughter in check anymore and as he braced himself on your shoulder, he doubled over doing that laugh that only he has. The one that is so distinctly Chris Evans that fans have made thousands of memes and gifs of. The one where he has to physically touch someone because he wants them to share in the humor as though it’s the funniest joke in the world. 

Although you were intensely aware of his hand touching a part of your body, you couldn’t help but join in, because his laugh was infectious. You wanted to make him laugh again and again because it was one of the best sounds you’d ever heard. It made him and this situation seem more real somehow? Like you could actually exist at the same time and in the same place as this man.

“Y’all are so mean to get my hopes up like that,” Y/F/N pouted before chuckling, too.

“Seriously though, don’t you have unlimited ‘skip the line’ access for being, well…you?” You met his bashful smile as he shrugged, suddenly really shy.

“I mean, yes, but I, uh…I kind of like to play the games in this line,” he rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled embarrassed. “Not very cool, right?”

“Are you kidding? I am a hardcore, Space Mountain pre-ride gamer who takes no prisoners,” You said fiercely, lightly punching his shoulder. “Prepare to get your ass throughly kicked Evans.”

He grinned wolfishly, “Oh, you’re so on.”

The heads in front of you slowly moved as the line pushed forward a few inches every few seconds. The three of you moved forward as one. It seems Chris Evans had officially joined your group.

“So, obviously you two know who I am, but what are your names?” He pulled his hat down lower acutely aware that he could be recognized by more people.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Y/F/N,” you nodded your head in her direction and she threw up a peace sign, making him smile. “What are you doing here on your own? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

He rolled his eyes annoyed. “Technically I’m here with my family, but they’ve all ditched me to go ride It’s a Small World.”


“It isn’t that bad,” Y/F/N shrugged, at the same time you shuddered.

“Small World before 9 am should be illegal.”

“Thank you!” his eyes widened in relief.  He swept you into an over-exaggerated dramatic hug like an excited puppy, “Finally someone understands!” He pulled back grinning and leaned down so that you were eye level.

The part of your mind that had left your body the moment he hugged you noted that when it came to Chris, the old saying that boys were unfairly blessed with incredible lashes was true. The rest of you down on earth froze as you could suddenly count every single one of those eyelashes framing his wickedly gorgeous blue eyes. He was in your personal space and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He was just so close.

“We have to stick together, or they’ll get us with their singing dolls before breakfast,” he whispered conspiratorially with those damn kissable lips inches from your own. Your eyes were drawn down to them briefly before flicking back up to meet that hypnotizing gaze again. Being pierced by them in person was a lot more shiver inducing than through a screen. Something shifted and you realized he’d caught you staring at his mouth. The urge to pull him closer and give him a reason to have that stupid smug look on his face was overwhelming.

The line began to move again, and the moment passed. He dropped his hands from your shoulders and straightened as you all shuffled forward a few more inches. It certainly felt like you’d been in this line longer than 30 minutes already, but it could’ve been you secretly hoped the wait time would increase. 

You knew eventually you would reach the loading station and your time with Chris would be up and you weren’t quite ready for this crazy experience to end yet, or ever…definitely the denial taking over.

“Honestly, you two are the worst drama queens ever,” Y/F/N huffed, annoyed at the unspoken connection Chris and you seemed to form. You caught him grinning in your direction and quickly dropped your gaze to your feet trying to hide an embarrassed smile. He bumped your shoulder affectionately before chuckling and leaning back with both arms on the railing behind you.

“So, what do you two like to do while waiting in long lines?” He asked curiously.

Before you had time to second guess yourself, you leaned back against the railing so that your back was pressed against his arm and met his gaze challengingly. He quirked an eyebrow appreciatively at the bold move and slouched down a bit so that you were effectively tucked into his side. You couldn’t help the self satisfied smile that spread across your face.

“Well, it depends. Sometimes we’ll catch up with family and friends back home if it’s later into a trip…”


“Do you have, uh, someone in particular to catch up with back home,” he asked guardedly. He pulled and adjusted his hat and you realized this was a nervous habit of his.

“No…”

“Good.” You heard him whisper huskily to himself.

You felt your heart rate pick up and your skin start to buzz at the way he said the single word.

He had to be seeing someone. Probably someone much more gorgeous and interesting than someone like me, you thought to yourself. I mean he was Chris Evans. Hollywood A-lister and you were letting your feelings for him as an actor get mixed up with the reality that someone like him would ever date someone like you. Right?

“You?” You asked quietly.

He slowly shook his head, ‘no.’

You swallowed and tried to keep your voice level as you replied, “Good.”

The flash of a smug smile graced his features as he looked down suddenly extremely interested in his shoes.

“We also like to play ‘Head’s Up’ to kill time,” Y/F/N volunteered. She was watching in amusement as the two of you fumbled over yourselves.

“I love that game!” Chris exclaimed excitedly. “My family likes to play it during the holidays. Do you have it on your phone?”

“Yes!” You could literally see her bouncing in place in excitement at the thought of playing your favorite theme park game with the Captain America.

She pulled out her iPhone and got the app ready. “We usually play the Disney edition or the Mar…” she paused and glanced up with a giggle.

His eyes scrunched up as he beamed, “Oh, fuck yes. Let’s go Marvel.” She laughed and started flipping through to find the right category.

“I want to guess first!” You rushed over excitedly as Y/F/N handed the phone over and you swapped places. You loved to see how many Marvel characters you could guess and this way you’d have an excuse to look at Chris without it being weird.

As the timer ticked down from where you held the phone on your forehead, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and winked flirtatiously, “Ready for this babe?”

“Bring it capsicle,” you said with a fervent grin.

“Oh!” Chris shouted excitedly. “It’s uh, fuck!” He scrunched his eyes and made that fanning hand motion trying to think of words to describe the character as he looked to Y/F/N for help.

“Um he’s the one who does the-“ she did a swatting motion with her hand and made pew pew noises.

“Guys, really?” You laughed. “Is it Iron Man?”

“No!” Chris said snapping his fingers. “It’s the one that rides the motorcycle and flame!” He made a whoosh sound at the end of his sentence.

“Ghost Rider!” You shouted excitedly. They cheered and signaled to hurry as you quickly tilted the phone up to the next character.

“Um, ok this one’s in X-Men,” Y/F/N began before pausing, “Can we say what movie they’re in?”


“I think so as long as it isn’t the name of the character, too. Like Thor,” you hurriedly answered. “Is it Wolverine?”

“No, the red head.”

“Jean Grey!”


“No her alter ego,” Chris said stretching and reaching forward as though he could draw the answer from your thoughts.

“Phoenix!” You tilted the phone.

“Woo, we’re on a roll,” He gave a big grin as he read the next name, “Fuck, um, Seb!” He waved his hand trying to make his mouth catch up with his thoughts.

“Sebastian’s character! The sad one!”

“Bucky!”

“Yes!”

“The sad one?” You laughed.

“It’s the truth,” he grinned.

After Bucky the characters seemed to be mainly ones who appeared in the movies and Chris quickly figured out the best way to have you know the characters was to simply shout the actors names as you continuously moved another few feet forward in line. Y/F/N would sometimes shout the actor at the same time as Chris, which would cost all of you seconds from laughing.

“Mackie!” He yelled laughing at you as you almost dropped the phone in haste as you shouted back, “Falcon.”

“Downey!”

“Iron Man!” Phone tilt.


“Crap he’s the big bad,” Chris was breathing hard with adrenaline as the timer started ticking down. He held his head in frustration as he tried to think of who the actor was.

“PURPLE THUMB!” Y/F/N screamed excitedly.

“Thanos!”  And that was the final phone tilt as the game ended. The older couple in front of you had been watching in amusement since the game started and they now joined in on celebrating the fun before turning back around.

Chris wiped tears from his eyes. His whole body shook from laughter. “Purple thumb? Really? I can’t believe that’s what made you think Thanos. That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true though,” you said, playfully nudging him in the side. “Ok, Y/F/N’s turn.” You handed her the phone and as she quickly walked over to take your position.

You wiped the tears from your own eyes and fanned yourself to cool off. 

“Here,” Chris breathed, goofily speed fanning you with his hands before you did the same to him. You giggled as the timer started.

“Uh…Chadwick and Wakanda and…” you shouted trying to remember more Black Panther things. The thing about Head’s Up was that in the heat of the game it was like your mind would draw a blank even though you knew the topic, no matter which one it was.

“T’challa!” Y/F/N shouted excitedly tilting the phone.

“Elizabeth,” Chris said.


“Uh…” Y/F/N looked lost. “Who?”

“Crap, the red lady wizard…the one with the magic and leather coat,” you rambled off.

“Scarlett Witch!” Phone tilt.

Chris clapped his hands. “Oh, uh, Margot Robbie played her in the Suicide Squad movie.”

“Harley Quinn?” Y/F/N questioned confused.

“Yes!” He said frantically. 
“What is Harley doing in a Marvel game?” You chuckled.

“Focus babe,” Chris hip bumped you with a wink. You felt your skin light up at the contact and his nickname. You liked it more than you cared to admit.

With a glance at the screen as the next character flashed, the words, “My favorite character!” were out of your mouth before you realized it.

“Loki!”



“I’m wounded,” Chris clasped his heart in mock hurt and wiped a pretend tear from his eye. “And here I thought you were a good girl with a thing for the golden boys.”

“I have an inner bad girl Evans,” you whispered brazenly. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You saw his sharp intake of breath and the way his pupils dilated at the words, and chuckled darkly at the effect you had on him. You heard him mutter “fuck me” under his breath as you returned to the game.

The timer showed 5 seconds left as you quickly shouted, “Fast metal!” at the same time Chris yelled “Aaron!”

Y/F/N was laughing so hard she didn’t guess before the game ended. “What the hell was that last one?”

“Quicksilver,” you giggled.

“How many?” you all turned to the cast member to see you had finally made your way to the front of the line. It was almost time to board.

“Oh,” Chris said sadly. Your heart clenched. No, you weren’t ready for this moment to end yet! You didn’t even get to really talk with him… it can’t be over yet.

For the first time in your travel history, you wanted to have to wait longer for something.


“I kind of wish the ride would break down so that we could talk more,” he murmured longingly and echoing your thoughts as you followed behind Y/F/N to the final line.

You peered up into those striking blue eyes and saw your own feelings reflected in his. You smiled wistfully, “Me too.”

“Hey can I sign your ears before we get on the ride?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to do that. It was just really nice to meet you and have this memory,” you said sincerely. You were slightly confused. You had honestly forgot to even ask for a signature or photo by this point and didn’t want him to think you only cared about “Chris Evans the Actor” and not “Chris” the sweet line guy

“Please? I’d really like to leave you a note so you can remember today,” he said with an earnest smile.

“Sure, I guess…” You mumbled humbly. “Although I doubt I’ll forget it.” You slid those Captain America ears, that had brought you so much luck, off your head and dug around in your bag for the permanent marker you had for meeting characters. You handed both over. “I need to save them up before the ride anyway.” He started scribbling on the back sides of the ears where it was mainly just red and blue fabric.

“Do you guys want to do silly faces for the picture?” Y/F/N asked softly, sensing your sadness. She met your eyes and squeezed your hand as a comforting gesture. You knew she was trying to cheer you up.  

Everyone made their way towards the three seated car and you felt the zipper on your bag open. You looked over your shoulder to see Chris slide the ears inside.

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure those beauties were secure.” He gave that bashful smile that you were starting to expect from him and pressed his hand onto the small of your back as he led you forward and into the car.

“Yeah, funny faces would be cool,” Chris grinned as everyone clambered in. “But nobody tell the other what they’re doing and we’ll all be surprised.”

Y/F/N got the front seat, you got the middle and Chris got in the back. You heard a groan and stretched your head as much as you could to see his long legs scrunched up in the small confined area and giggled at his predicament at being so damn tall. He playfully stuck his tongue out as the ride moved forward and you sat back in your seat.

The car moved into the dark expanse of “space” and prepared for the start.  As the ride took off, you got into your pose for the photo as the flash went off and then held on for your life. Space Mountain was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating since it was an indoor dark roller coaster that always made you feel like you were going to fly out of the seat. But, that was what made it fun. You screamed and laughed as you went around turn after turn and you could heard Chris’ whoops of glee behind you. 

And just as quickly as it started, the ride was over.

You were all breathing hard and buzzing on adrenaline as Chris quickly got out and extended a hand first to you and then to Y/F/N to help get out of the low seats. You couldn’t wipe the smiles off of your faces as you made your way to the photo section to see how the picture turned out.

Upon viewing it, the only thing you could do was hide behind your hands in embarrassment. Chris laughed and pulled you into his side as everyone stared at the pic.

Y/F/N had done a duck face with crossed eyes, you had both hands up in the rock and roll sign with your tongue sticking out and Chris blew the camera an exaggerated, scrunched up nosed kissy face with his hand under his chin. 

“I look absolutely crazy,” Y/F/N barked out holding her side in laughter. 



“You? I look like I’m possessed.” You pointed to your face again.

“That is my favorite Space Mountain photo of all time,” Chris said eagerly tapping his magic band to the Mickey eared device on the wall. Y/F/N and you did the same.

“I’m going check out the gift shop,” Y/F/N suddenly said with a mischievous wink in your direction.

“I really think I’m going to print this and hang it in my house,” Chris said glancing up at the photo again.


“Don’t you dare!” You chided with a scared laugh. “I can’t have your people thinking I’m a psycho.”

“Oh yeah definitely a psycho,” he glanced out the corner of his eyes to see your narrowed glare, before pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “But a cute psycho.”

The two of you stepped away from the wall of TV’s as the next round of people started swarming around. He pulled his hat down lower and grabbed your hand and you followed him into a quiet corner of the store.



“Thank you for that. It was honestly one of the best times I’ve ever had waiting for a ride,” he said tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. You felt your heart stutter at his close proximity and tried to control your breathing. He moved his hand to cup your cheek as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. That dark look was back in his eyes. “I should meet back up with my family. They’re probably waiting for me.”

“It was really nice meeting you,” You whispered, not wanting him to leave. You knew that your Disney magic was about to run out.

He smiled shyly, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your lips and you felt your heart swell. And then, he was leaning back and you knew that time was up.


He ran his index finger once more down your chin, “I’ll see you around Y/N.”

He dropped his hand and took a step towards the sliding doors of the store shoving his hands in his pockets as he glanced back over his shoulder. You dazedly waved a hand in farewell and he beamed. His eyes shot open in remembrance, “Oh! Don’t forget to put your ears back on!”  And with a final wink and a wave he was swallowed by the crowd.

Y/F/N suddenly appeared by your side with a broad grin. “Chris freaking Evans just kissed you!”

“I don’t even know what just happened,” you let out a breathy laugh as you made your way out into the Florida sunshine.

“So, where to next? Although I don’t think anything will top that on this trip.”

You reached for your bag to see what Chris had written on the ears. And as you pulled it out and read the writing, you gasped. He’d created his own Head’s Up category.

On the left ear was a scribbled phone number and on the right ear was

Chris Evans. The one who likes you.

It seems the Disney magic was just beginning…

My Masterlist

[awesomegaydar-a]

meta: blaine anderson

i’m gonna take the liberty to make this a meta about my verse with @impromptusongs bc jj’s blaine is santana’s best friend in any and all semi-canon or canon verses, and later i’ll write a meta about canon BA.

blaine’s parents are polar opposites, you’ve come to learn. even when you were a child, five years old and pushing a little blaine anderson off the swings so you could claim them as your throne, you always noticed that there was something missing. when you were little, you were too young to understand it, even after forming a bond with him that you will later come to realize, was a gift from god himself. his father (much like that side of his family), was either absent, or hostile, and while he was never particularly virulent towards you (you would later also learn that he was all about status, and your father had it, therefore mr. anderson never had a reason to be vicious), he was towards blaine and elizabeth.

elizabeth anderson on the other hand, was the poster child for the mother everyone wished they could have; she was nurturing, friendly, and loved blaine more than she loved anything she could ever possess. she was warm, like sunshine, always hugged you when you rang the bell to their house in the mornings. even as you two grew up together, literally and figuratively, she never greeted you with anything but open arms and a bright smile.

blaine was, on all intents and purposes, different. not in a bad way, no, and not because he was significantly less bitchy than you – actually, you were always sure blaine didn’t have a mean bone in his body. to be fair, there were only two people in the world who could keep up with your banter, and while blaine didn’t fall into that category, he knew you. absurdly so. even when you moved from westerville to lima to be closer to your dad’s new job at the local hospital and he enrolled you in william mckinley high school, and blaine’s mom enrolled him at dalton academy.

in an alternate universe, a twisted world, you and blaine were mr. anderson’s pristine picture of the perfect arranged marriage. you were the daughter of a wealthy surgeon and not to mention, loaded, and blaine needed someone who would make him change his mind about the reason he was different. except no one expected you to also be different. no one, except for blaine, who always knew there was a reason you bit noah puckerman’s tongue at that party you invited him to your freshman year of high school, or why you never crazed over boy bands or swooned over ryan goslin’s suave conquest of rachel mcadams in the notebook.

you came out of the closet around the same time he did, not because you were following him by example, but because you knew that if blaine had the courage to come out to his father, to face the consequences that would inevitably surface if he knew he liked boys in any way, shape, or form, then you could do it too. elizabeth accepted him without circumstance, loved him for who he was, but blaine’s tryst with homosexuality seemed to draw an even deeper hole between him and the rapidly fading relationship he had with his dad.

your coming out experience had been differently, naturally. both of your parents, who claimed had always known (mainly because of the way you stared at quinn fabray whenever she was over), were supportive. you were lucky. blaine had his mother, but even if his dad hadn’t particularly disowned him (just ignored his sexuality all together), you always knew how much it affected him. even when he wouldn’t tell you – you knew, you always knew.

you would meet up for your weekly coffee at a local shop in westerville, or he would make the drive to lima in turn, to have his usual at the lima bean. he was the only person in lima you could ever really open up to. perhaps it was the longevity of your friendship, the fact that he’s the only boy who ever saw you in your underwear without making a crude, perverted comment about your tits, or the fact that he was sort of your platonic soulmate. if you were a man, a gay man, blaine would be exactly the kind of guy you would chase after. even your parents loved him.

sometimes it was easy to think your own mother loved blaine more than she loved you, but blaine liked to claim the same thing about his mother. maybe because as time went by, you traded mrs. andersons for elizabeths and flirted with her whenever you had the chance (hall of fame, MILF) – not that you would ever go there, it was all fun and games and she was a hot mom, but you mostly did it to watch the irritated look on blaine’s face whenever you made elizabeth blush. in the end, you never saw her as more than a mother figure, and blaine was like the brother you never had. most importantly, he was your best friend, through thick and thin.

you never introduced him to your all of your friends in wmhs; most people assumed quinn and brittany were your besties, and though that was partially true (even blaine had taking to calling you three the unholy trinity even if he had never stepped ground in public school), they were still the only two people at school who knew about your friendship with blaine. not because you were ashamed, actually, you were proud and thankful to have such a great friend like him, but because exposing that part of yourself, exposing your past and personal details with people who didn’t deserve it, was too raw and emotional for you to face head on.

that is, until rachel berry’s train wreck of a house party. most people assumed blaine knew kurt (wrong), but when you threw your arms around him in a sloppy, drunken hug that night, it was clear to everyone that you had secrets. unbeknownst to them, you’ve always had them.

people feared you, but blaine didn’t. he never did. even when he branded you with the nickname SNIX during your junior year (your evil alter ego who liked going all shawshank on your peers) after an altercation with rick the stick nelson and his posse of hockey players at the lima bean that ended with a broken nose and cracked knuckles. even if you had power, and status at william mckinley, ohio was still ohio, and the midwest was plagued with homophobic baboons, prejudiced republicans, and extremists who would never accept you two for who you were because they lacked the brain cells to think like a progressive human being.

your friendship was never complicated in the way your relationships with others was. you never had any intention of harming in, in fact, you were fiercely protective of his well being. even when he enrolled in william mckinley (unsure whether it was to be close to you or be close to kurt – who wasn’t a fan of your friendship despite blaine’s reiteration that you were in fact, not the person he thought you were). you never felt the need to use him for status, never felt the need to blackmail him or use him as your plot device to further your academic career.

he would sit with you for hours on end when you were crying over a girl and you would sit with him whenever he needed to vent about his family. evermore, he became a constant presence in your life. he attended lopez family christmas events, drank spiked eggnog, and smoked pot with you by the window in your dimly lit room until you were too high to go downstairs and pretend you were sober. you were always gracefully invited to his family soirees, fancy dinner parties, and important events. you went on family vacations together – your parents and elizabeth, or elizabeth and the two of you – and stole your parents’ SUV to get drunk with your fake ID’s and find a waffle house that would willingly accept two drunken 18 year olds at their tables.

he was the ultimate insider in your life. the type of girls you like and the type of girls you don’t. the brand of coffee you think tastes like piss and how you add triple sec to sangrias made with 8 dollar bottles of wine that shouldn’t even be branded as wine. he was after all, your god send.

[dawnofvillains]

All Our Secrets Laid Bare (Part One)

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Prompt: The reader's nosy (and quite rude) relatives are coming over for an unexpected family dinner. Long story short, they expect the reader to have a boyfriend, which the reader most definitely does not have. Luckily, they do have a best friend by the name of Peter Parker. One small favor wouldn't be too much to ask, right?

Warnings: Some angst towards the end.

Word Count: 3,524

A/N: The reader doesn't know Peter is Spider-Man in this imagine. Also, I'm sorry if there are any grammatical errors. My usual beta reader wasn't available and I really wanted to get this imagine posted. Enjoy!

Part Two / Part Three

"You're my boyfriend now."

"I-I'm sorry, what?" Peter stammered back through the phone.

This was not how you planned this day to go.

"It's a long story. Nosy relatives coming over for dinner, may have lied and said I had a boyfriend just to get them to shut up, don't actually have a boyfriend, typical family stuff, you know?" you tried to explain.

There was a slight pause as Peter digested all of the information you just threw at him.

"Okay, so basically, you broke under pressure and lied about have a boyfriend, and now you need me to be your boyfriend to protect you from your nosy relatives?" repeated Peter.

You rolled your eyes, perfectly aware that Peter couldn't see them through the phone call, but positive that he felt the frustration anyway, "I didn't break under pressure, I just... improvised."

"Oh yeah, totally," said Peter, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "So do you need me to be your boyfriend or not?"

"Yes, I do," you said in defeat.

Another pause.

"Alrighty then! Sounds perfect! What time should I be over to your place? How fancy should I dress? Am I expected to bring a meal of some sort, because you know how awful I am at cooking? I could see if May could make something, but she's kind of a awful cook as well. Don't tell her I said that. I could–"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down there, Pete!" you said, attempting to process everything. "You're really going to agree to being my fake boyfriend, just like that?"

You heard Peter chuckle, "Of course I'm going to agree 'just like that'. You're my best friend, Y/N."

You smiled at Peter's words.

"Thank you, Peter," you said sincerely.

"No problem, Y/N. What're best friends for after all, if not to pretend to be each other's significant others so as to belittle the curious minds of our relatives?" Peter joked.

You laughed a genuine laugh. Peter always managed to make you laugh. You loved it. You were about to hang up the phone when you heard Peter rush out that he wanted you to wait.

"You didn't answer any of my questions. I still don't know if you expect me to come as Mr. Darcy or Huckleberry Finn," he said.

You smiled again. "Just come as Peter Parker and I'm positive that my family will love you."

You could feel Peter's blush through the phone. You couldn't help but smile.

"Oh! And be here by six," you added quickly. "Sharp."

"Alright. Got it. See you a six... girlfriend."

You scoffed fondly before hanging up the phone and preparing for the evening ahead.

You triple checked yourself in the mirror. You were wearing a sleeveless, ivory dress made of silk and patterned with delicate looking autumn leaves. To go along with the dress, you wore a thin brown belt around your center. You also had some low hanging gold necklaces on, as well as knee-high, brown faux leather boots. You put your hair into a simple half-up, half-down style. Your look was simple, yet classy. You wouldn't consider yourself a big fan of dressing fancy, but you could appreciate a nice looking dress when you saw one.

You left your room and entered into your open floor kitchen, living, and dining space. Well, as "open" as you can get with an apartment in Queens, New York. Your apartment was definitely bigger than most (your parents were pretty loaded), but it certainly wasn't any sort of mansion. It was comfortable without being claustrophobic. Your dad was sitting on the couch watching something on the TV, while your mom was in the kitchen finishing up the final touches on dinner. You walked up to the counter and smiled at your mom; she smiled back.

"Hello, sweetie," said your mom lovingly.

"Hey," you replied. "What's for dinner? Looks good, whatever it is."

"Chicken parmesan served on angel hair pasta with a side salad," your mom explained.

"Mmmm, sounds delicious too."

Your mom smiled again and went back to preparing the meal. Just as you were about to sneak a noodle or two from the bowl, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," you said.

You opened the front door and was greeted by your aunt, uncle, and grandmother. The four of you shared hugs and polite introductions. You helped them with their coats and walked them into the main space. Your parents did their greetings and you all, minus your mother who was still working on dinner, gathered in the living room. Some mindless conversation started about life and taxes and whatnot, adult stuff really. Not before long though, the personal drilling began.

"So, Y/N, where's this boyfriend of yours?" your aunt asked. "He is coming, yes?"

You plastered a fake smile on your face as you responded, "He'll be here. He's probably just running late."

You glanced at the wall clock. It was six thirty. Where was Peter?! You were beginning to panic when you heard a knock at the door. Thank god.

"Speak of the devil, that must be him. I'll be right back," said you, quickly getting up and rushing to the door.

You opened the door to an out-of-breath Peter. He was dressed in black dress pants, a white button-down, and a black blazer. His hair was a mess, probably due to a lot of running, based on his breathing pattern. You found yourself staring at the boy in a bit of a shock. As worried as you were for the boy's respiratory system, you couldn't help but notice that Peter cleaned up nicely. You found yourself staring and quickly looked to the floor. Hopefully Peter didn't see the blush that was starting to form on your cheeks. You took a second to collect yourself before looking back to the boy. He looked back at you, only slightly breathless now. You both stood there for a while not saying anything. Then, the two of you spoke, rather quickly, at the same time.

"I'm sorry for being so late, absolutely everything went wrong–"

"Where have you been? I was starting to get worried–"

The two of you stopped and stared at each other again.

"You go," you said.

"Right," Peter nodded. "I'm sorry for being so late. I had to figure out how fancy I was going to dress, then I had to take the subway here, but the train I needed got delayed, so I just decided to run here. Then the guy in the lobby wouldn't let me up because he was new and he needed verification. Then his boss came to the desk and thankfully recognized me, but then the elevator was taking too long, so I finally rushed up the stairs to your apartment."

"You decided to run twenty blocks?! Peter, that's practically an entire mile! And you took the stairs? To the twelfth floor? Why would you do that to yourself?!"

"Because I knew that the train wasn't going to be on time, and I knew how important it was for me to be here for you, so I figured I could run and still make it in time. Obviously I couldn't."

You laughed at the boy's ridiculousness. "Well, of course not. It's not like you have the power of super speed."

"Yeah, guess I'm just normal old Peter," the boy laughed awkwardly.

You looked at him quizzically before saying, "You're far from normal, Peter. In the best way possible."

Peter smiled at you and you smiled back.

"Everything alright out there, sweetheart?" your mother yelled from the kitchen.

"What? Oh, yeah! Everything's fine!" you yelled back.

"Come on," you motioned for Peter to follow. "Be prepared for a full-on interrogation from my relatives."

"Anything for my beautiful girlfriend," Peter said, putting an arm around your shoulders. "You do look beautiful, by the way."

You ducked your head so as to not let Peter see your blush. You needed to get better control over your emotions. The amount of times you had blushed at Peter's actions over the years was getting too far out of hand. The two of you entered the living space together. Your aunt looked up as you both walked it. You watched as she gave Peter a once over, then nodded in what seemed to be approval.

"You must be the dashing young man by the name of Peter Parker," your aunt said.

"Yes, ma'am, that's me," said Peter, detaching his arm from you and stepping over to shake your relatives hands. You missed the body warmth, but shook your head in dismissal and sat down. Peter soon joined next to you. He took your hand and intertwined your fingers. You looked up at him. Your eyes met his and the world stopped momentarily. He was so close, and he was holding your hand. He smiled and squeezed your hand, causing you to remember the situation you were in. Right. This wasn't real. This was all a game. You smiled back at Peter.

"So, Mr. Parker," your grandmother interrupted, "Y/N has told me that the two of you attend the same school?"

"Y-yes, that's right," Peter said, looking away from you suddenly. "We're in the same grade level too. We even have a lot of the same classes."

"Interesting. The two of you must have been close for a while now then, is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, we've been best friends since middle school."

"Then why is it that we've only just now heard of this relationship between the two of you? If you've been close for so long, why didn't this happen sooner?"

"Um, well..." Peter said, trying to come up with the best answer to your grandmother's questions.

"I was... um... always... busy. Yep, with the Stark Internship that I have and school and stuff, I never thought that I'd have time for a girlfriend. I only recently decided to make a move on your lovely granddaughter here since things have just started to slow down a bit."

Your grandmother nodded and sat back in her chair. She seemed satisfied with Peter's answer. Peter noticeably relaxed when she did this. However, he immediately went back to alert when your aunt started asking him questions.

"And have you always had your eyes on Y/N? Or was this more of a newly developed realization?"

You hated how they always used your name despite the fact that you were right there. Could they not call you their niece or granddaughter?

"Well... I..."

You squeezed Peter's hand. He looked at you and you smiled. He smiled back.

"I've always had feelings for your niece, ma'am," Peter said, looking you in the eyes before turning to fully address your aunt. "She's just always been such a huge part of my life. From the moment we first met, I knew she was special."

You listened to Peter's words with awe. The tone in his voice made the words almost sound real. You probably could have been fooled were it not for the fact that you knew Peter was just faking it for tonight. Nevertheless, you listened intently as he continued.

"Y/N has never failed when it comes to being there for me. She's my rock. She keeps me grounded. She knows all the ways to cheer me up and make me laugh. Her sense of humor is brilliant, and her smile lights up my entire world. I love it when she smiles. All the stress and worry in her face and eyes just disappears, if only for a moment, and she looks so... peaceful. I live for the moments when Y/N smiles, especially if I'm the one who caused it.

"She's also beautiful. She always has been. Even on the days when she rushes into class late, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. With her hair in a messy bun and her glasses on because she didn't have time to put in her contacts. She still looks beautiful. Tonight, she looks absolutely stunning. I don't think a day has gone by where I didn't think she looked beautiful. Not to mentions she's absolutely brilliant too. Brains and beauty. Quite the catch, one might say."

You had to try really hard not to roll your eyes at the way Peter wrapped up his moving speech with a playful joke. You blinked away the tears that were starting to form in your eyes and stared at Peter with a fond smile. He looked back at you with the most sincere look on his face. You almost let yourself believe that everything he just said was true. Almost. You didn't though. You couldn't. You told yourself that this was all an act. That there was no way any of what Peter just said was genuine. Convincing yourself of that was the only way you could prevent yourself from crying right there in front of everyone. You took and shaky breath and unlatched your hand from Peter's. He frowned momentarily before shaking it off and smiling again. You looked to your family. They were all staring at you. You needed to cut the tension, and fast.

"Right!" you said suddenly. "So who's hungry?"

You don't know how it happened. You don't even know what she had said to anger you so much. Something about Peter that just made you so irritated that you couldn't stand it anymore. All you really knew was that you were fuming with rage, standing in your guest bedroom in the dark, and yelling at your aunt with vengeance.

"You don't even realize how rude you can be, do you?!" you shouted at her.

She looked back at you in confusion, which only angered you more.

"It's bad enough that you nitpick every single, little aspect of my life. From my grades to my social status to my interests. You have no sense of boundaries and you have absolutely no filter! You have no idea how inappropriate and hurtful most of the things you say to me are. I am trying to be your ideal niece, because despite everything, I do still love you. You're still my family.

"However, my love life is one line that I am no longer letting you cross any further. What I do with my love life is my business and mine alone. You do not get to control me or even Peter, for that matter, because guess what? We're not actually dating. This was all an elaborate ruse to get you to finally shut up about getting me a boyfriend. That doesn't change anything though, because you want to know something else? I do love Peter.

"He is the single most kind and caring person I know. He's makes me smile every time I'm around him. Every time I think about him, I get a series of butterflies in my stomach and a giddy smile that won't leave my face. Peter is brilliant and ambitious and determined. He is passionate and loving and brave. He makes me stronger. He gives me that extra bit of joy in my life that makes everything better. I couldn't imagine a world where Peter Parker wasn't my best friend.

"I love him. I really do. I have for a while, but I'm too terrified of what those feelings will do to our friendship to actually act on them. I'm too afraid that I'll be the one to ruin everything. I'd rather live as friends than live an strangers.

"So, for the love of god, please stop judging me and my life choices. This is my life, not yours. Just be happy with what I can give to you. That's all I want."

You aunt sighed in defeat. You sighed too, letting all the tension from that long speech slowly leave your body.

"Oh!" you remembered, "and please don't tell Peter any of what I just said."

Your aunt looked at you with genuine regret before she said, "I think it's a bit too late for that."

You whipped around to see where your aunt's eyes were looking. All the color from your face washed away as you saw Peter peeking out from behind the doorway. He looked ashamed for eavesdropping. Your brain short circuited. You ran out of the room, shoved past Peter, and exited your apartment with a slam of your front door.

You went up the public stairs and burst through the top door that lead onto the roof. The crisp autumn air hit your face with a slight sting. Why didn't you think to bring a jacket with you in your moment of panic? You folded your arms to try and retain some of your body heat. Oh, god. You had just ruined everything. Why didn't you close the door before you started yelling at your aunt? Now Peter knew everything. Your friendship was officially over, and you knew it. You walked over to the little gazebo that was by the corner of the rooftop. You sat down and looked out to the skyline. The city looked gorgeous in the cool autumn dusk. You tried to calm your breathing a bit. You were so distracted you failed to hear the roof door close or the footsteps that approached you.

"Y/N?"

You spun around yet again to be met by the shape of Peter Parker. Your immediate reaction was to run, again, but Peter was blocking the only exit. You could hop through the windowed sections of the gazebo, but that seemed like too much of a hassle. Instead, you remained frozen in your spot, unable to move or speak.

"Listen, I'm so sorry for eavesdropping on your argument with your aunt. I swear I didn't mean to. I just wanted to check and see if you were okay, but then I heard the screaming. I knew I should have just walked away, but I heard my name amidst it all and I couldn't help but listen. I really am sorry, Y/N."

Peter moved slowly to sit down next to you. You looked away and back at the skyline as he sat down. A few tears fell down your face. You closed your eyes and let your head fall. This was not how you panned this day to go, at all.

"Y/N–"

"Go," you said finally.

"W-what?" you heard Peter stutter back.

"Please," you begged. "Just go."

You couldn't take this anymore. Your few tears had turned into full on crying. You rubbed your arms some more, suddenly feeling extremely cold and empty. This was all too much. Pretending to be in love with Peter when you actually were in love with him. Peter pretending to be in love with you when you knew he really wasn't. Your relatives constantly digging deeper and deeper for more information on the two of you and the status of your relationship. You knew your plan was a horrible one the moment you dialed Peter's number earlier that day, but you ignored your intuition and let yourself believe that you could control your emotions. What an awful lie that had been.

You heard Peter stand up. He stood there, beside you, for a moment longer. You heard him take off his blazer, and felt it as he gently put the jacket around your shoulders. Then he quietly left the gazebo. You heard the click of the closing roof door. Just as the door shut, you let your silent crying turn to full-on sobs. What were you going to do now? You just simultaneously messed up your relationship with your best friend and got your heart broken. You didn't know how long you were up on the roof sobbing. Probably hours, at least. Soon enough, you found yourself being woken up in the gazebo by your mother. It was dark out. She handed you a blanket and wrapped her arms around you as she led you back down to your apartment. Your dad was there to greet the two of you, worry plastered all over his face. You looked him in the eyes and instantly ran over to give him a hug. He hugged you so tight you thought you might burst, but you were fine with that. You leaned away and gave both your parents a melancholy smile before dismissing yourself to your room.

As you walked into your bedroom, you scrunched your face in confusion as you felt a slight breeze coming from your window. You could have sworn you never opened it today. Maybe it was just your fatigue. You checked your alarm clock. It was a little bit past midnight. Just as you were about to lay down for the night, something on your window frame caught your eye. You walked over. The window was indeed left open a bit. Confused, you picked up the little, yellow sticky note that caught your eye. When you saw who it was from, you could feel tears threatening to flood your eyes again. You held them back and read the brief note.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Sincerely, Peter Parker.”

A/N: Part 2?

[askullinajar]

The Shattered Frame (Part 2/7)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Fic info: this is a sequel to my previous fic, The Living Ghost so go read that or this won’t make sense. Rating: General. Pairings: Lucy/Lockwood, Holly/Rani. Ao3 link: here.

A cluster of hauntings in a decrepit manor and the dripping spectre of a woman dressed all in black hits a little too close to home for Lockwood & Co’s newest member.

Part 2 – A New Case

“We’ve got a case!” George declared as we walked through the door, laden with shopping bags that he made no move to help us with. “A big one! Reckon it’ll take all of us to sort this out, even you, Skullykins.”

Skully glowered at the nickname. “Sleep with one eye open, b–”

“What’s the case?” Lockwood interrupted as he made his way upstairs to dump the bags in Jessica’s-turned-Skully’s room; so much for using it as a guest bedroom. “We’ve still got a lot of other cases lined up, remember?”

“Oh, but this is gonna be good, trust me,” George insisted, following us up the stairs. “Not to mention it’ll get us some serious spending money. More than all our recent cases combined. I’ll be able to get that new scientific equipment I wanted.”

“Keep it well away from me or watch your research burn,” said Skully.

“Why will it make us so much money?” said Holly, before George and Skully could get into an argument. With our recent fame, cases had been coming in by the bucket load, and our purses were much heavier as a result.

“Because, this guy is loaded,” George declared. “He rang up this morning. There’s this huge manor that he recently inherited. It’s been left abandoned because it’s so teeming with visitors, but he found out if he does it up it’ll be worth a fortune, and we’d be in for a cut of that if we helped clear it!”

“Interesting…” said Lockwood.

Holly held the bedroom door open for us to carry Skully’s new belongings in; her arm was still healing from our run-in with the Orpheus Society, so she wasn’t carrying as many bags as us.

Where the other bedrooms in Portland Row were cluttered with our personal belongings and decorated according to our personality’s, Skully’s was bare. It made me want to buy him a bunch of useless trinkets for his birthday, maybe draw him something as well, just so he had something of his own to display.

We dumped the bags on the bed, which looked like it hadn’t been slept in last night. Incidentally, it hadn’t; it had become a common occurrence that Skully slept on the floor in my attic bedroom by the window. He said it was because he missed annoying me at night, but I knew his newly living brain gave him nightmares, not that either of us said anything about it. I didn’t mind so much; my mind wasn’t so nice to me at night either, not after the things I’d seen. Our impromptu sleepovers gave me some comfort.

On the nights he wasn’t there, and I’d woken up from a bad dream, I’d creep downstairs to the library. Sometimes I’d draw in my sketchbook until my thoughts quieted, other times I’d find Lockwood there too, and we’d curl up on the sofa together and just talk. Occasionally about what we’d been through and what we’d seen on the Other Side, but mostly just random things – families, the cat that kept visiting our garden, the time Lockwood actually caught George in the act of stealing his Choco Leibniz… It was nice and helped clear our heads enough to fall asleep, propped up against one another until we woke up the next morning to a camera flash and I had to chase George around the house.

We left everything on the bed to sort out later, though Rani had to drag Holly away from trying to sort it all out, and gathered in the kitchen. At some point, while we were out, Kipps had returned and let himself in, something he did quite often but no one mentioned. I’d almost forgotten he didn’t actually live with us.

“So, what’s the deal with this mansion?” I said.

“According to the information Mr Taylor gave me,” George started, “there seems to be a cluster of hauntings caused by one powerful Visitor. And, boy, it seems like a biggy. Pretty much anyone who’s spent the night there over the past fifty years was found drowned by morning. The place is full of their spirits.” “Drowned?” said Kipps, alarmed. “How?”

“Well there’s a swimming pool outside,” George explained, “but the weird thing is it’s been empty for decades, yet a fair few people were still found at the bottom of it with their lungs full of water.” He removed his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “Aside from that, bodies were found near sinks, bathtubs… basically anywhere with pipes.”

I grimaced; I wasn’t a huge fan of water after my mother had taught me and my sisters to swim by throwing us in the deep end of the local pool.

Lockwood hummed thoughtfully. “Well, obviously we’ll need to do some research before we…”

“Actually,” George interrupted, “I already got that covered, seen as you lot took so long at the shops.” Skully sent Holly a dirty look which she pretended not to notice.

George quickly darted to his desk in the office downstairs and retrieved his research, which he then spread out on the kitchen table. Lockwood took a seat and examined the papers while I stood behind him, peering over his shoulder and absentmindedly rubbing my hand up and down his arm; this case made me a little nervous.

George wasted no time excitedly delving into the history of the manor. “Ok, so back in the late 1800s, Redwood Manor was owned by a Lord Arthur Moore, who lived there with his wife, Elizabeth, and their two daughters. Now, here’s the thing about Elizabeth –” He pushed up his glasses which flashed in the light as he grinned sadistically – “She used to be a maid working for the Moores family before she fell in love with young Arthur, here. Arty got into a lot of trouble with his family after that, and they carted him off to live away from the rest of the family, so he wouldn’t be such a disgrace. None of that stopped him from marrying Elizabeth, though…”

“How romantic,” said Holly, smiling softly.

“Disgusting,” said Skully. I elbowed him.

“Anyway,” George continued, “Elizabeth here didn’t have such a great childhood. Had a lot of siblings, but most of them didn’t make it past the age of nine, and both her parents died when she was fourteen. Fortunately, she was already working as a maid by then. But then her brother vanished…”

“What happened to him?” said Rani.

“No one knows,” said George. “Most likely starved in the streets or something. Elizabeth tried to look for him, but the police didn’t want to waste time looking for some random orphan.”

“That must have been awful for her,” said Holly.

“What was the brother’s name?” said Skully. It surprised me that he was actually paying attention; he usually zoned out.

George shrugged. “Dunno. Wasn’t a lot about her life before she got married. This stuff’s all I found out. Anyway,” he continued, “it gets worse. See, she settles down with Arthur, has a couple of kids, everything seems to be looking up, right? Except in 1890, her husband and daughters were involved in a fatal accident when the train they were in derailed, and Elizabeth, basically driven mad with grief, went and drowned herself in the pool.”

“Oh, god…” said Kipps.

“So, you think Elizabeth Moore is our main ghost?” said Lockwood.

George nodded. “Track down her source and we stop the other Visitors too. Then hello new chemistry set.”

“Sounds riveting,” I said. “Where exactly is this manor?”

“About that…” said George. “It’s kind of way up north. Near the seaside.”

Lockwood gave him a look.

“Hey!” said George, defensively. “Just goes to show how big this company’s gotten, right? They’ve heard of us even way up there!”

“And how exactly do you plan to get us up there?” Lockwood said. “What with all our equipment.”

“You could borrow my car,” said Rani. “Holly’s insured on it. And it’s a family carrier, coz I have to pick up all my siblings from school sometimes, so you should all fit.”

“Are you sure that’s alright?” said Holly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rani replied. “I can always get a cab if need be. Just make sure you don’t get yourself killed before our anniversary; that wine was expensive.”

Holly stuck her tongue out at her.

“I don’t know, George,” said Lockwood, unconvinced. “It’s such a long way away for one case.”

“Trust me, Lockwood,” said George, “you’ll want in. Mr Taylor’s pretty desperate to have this place cleared; a lot of other agencies have failed. Here, I wrote down how much he’s willing to pay us.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Lockwood.

Lockwood stared at the paper. I leaned over his shoulder and gasped. “Did you… did you miss a decimal point or something?”

“Nope,” said George, grinning. “I triple checked.”

“Well,” said Lockwood, still staring at the paper, “I guess we’ll be having a company road trip to the seaside.”

Previous Next

[ibilenews]

Anastasia Radzinskaya: How a 6-year-old Russian girl became Youtube's most popular child star

MOSCOW (BLOOMBERG) - In a video posted online in December, Anastasia Radzinskaya, a 6-year-old YouTube star who goes by Nastya, plays a tough-talking cop. At the start of the skit, the pixyish blond performer looks in the mirror and pulls on a police cap.

"I'm going to teach you a lesson, criminals," she says, rapping a toy baton in the palm of her hand.

For the next several minutes, she patrols a street, blowing a traffic whistle, brandishing her shiny police badge and sternly laying down the law. At one point, she pulls over a careless driver, played by her father and frequent co-star Yuri, who tries to connive his way out of trouble by slipping her a stack of bills.

"A bribe!" she yells. "Go to jail, now!"

Since December, when the video first appeared on her Like Nastya YouTube channel in Nastya's native Russian, the kid cop routine has generated more than 90 million views.

Another version of the video, re-edited for English-speaking viewers, has since tallied up another 7 million views. Two additional versions, dubbed in Indonesian and Korean, have generated more than 2 million views since February. Spanish and Arabic versions will be posted soon.

While Nastya is hardly the first youngster to earn laughs online by mock disciplining a naughty parent, she has achieved a level of global stardom that is rare for artists of any age.

Depending on the month, Like Nastya has been the third- or fourth-most-popular channel on YouTube in the world, according to SocialBlade.

Nastya's broader network of channels, which dub her performances into nine different languages, generates around 100 million views a day. Last year, thanks to Nastya's popularity and global reach, the Radzinskayas earned more than US$18 million (S$25.7 million) from YouTube.

Recently, they relocated to South Florida, where they continue to crank out videos for her young fans around the world.

"They're the first family to really understand the globalisation opportunity," said Mr Eyal Baumel, who advises Anastasia and her parents on their YouTube strategy in exchange for a cut of their advertising sales.

In the past, most YouTube creators didn't feel compelled to tailor their videos to different international markets because the video service is huge and can help them reach every country without having to pay for dubbing. Nastya's success may force other top YouTube acts to rethink that strategy.

"For some content, localisation can double or triple revenue," Mr Baumel said.

As with many top YouTube acts, Nastya's rise to fame and fortune can feel somewhat baffling.

Her parents, Yuri and Anna, don't speak English fluently, and the origin story they tell about their prodigy daughter has always been shrouded in a bit of mystery. During a recent video interview, conducted through a translator, her parents said they weren't dreaming of international fame and fortune when they posted their first video of Nastya on YouTube on Jan. 25, 2016, two days before her second birthday. They just wanted to prove she was not fatally ill.

At the time, doctors in Krasnodar, a city of more than 700,000 resident in southern Russia where Nastya was born, believed she had cerebral palsy and might never speak. But their diagnosis, her parents said, was wrong.

When they first witnessed their daughter making significant verbal progress, they were overjoyed and wanted to capture it on film. They sent the resulting video to her doctors, to their relatives, and posted it online.

"We didn't expect anyone else to watch it," said Mr Radzinskaya. For months, not many people did. But as it turned out, not only could their daughter speak but she had a strong presence on screen. She could ham it up like a seasoned pro.

Eventually, one clip featuring Nastya playing with a batch of colourful "slime" (a beloved genre among toddler fans on YouTube) resulted in tens of thousands of viewers.

"It was unreal," said Mrs Radzinskaya. "We couldn't understand what was going on."

As Nastya's audience grew, the Radzinskayas applied for YouTube's partner programme, in which video creators get a cut of the revenue generated from the ads that the video-sharing giant automatically loads onto their channels.

For the first few months, they failed to top the US$100 minimum revenue threshold that YouTube creators must surpass before they start getting paid. But then, in the middle of 2017, they got their first check. Things grew rapidly from there.

Mrs Radzinskaya, an event planner by training, began writing scripts and coordinating filming schedules for the videos, which featured her daughter playing with dolls, exploring playgrounds and opening up "surprise eggs" (another YouTube favourite) to reveal the toys hidden inside.

Mr Radzinskaya, who ran a construction company, quit his day job and essentially became a full-time sidekick performer on Like Nastya.

Thick armed and tattooed, Mr Radzinskaya could pass for a goon in a Russian mobster flick. Over time, he and Nastya have developed a strong comedic rapport, which the Radzinskayas cite as the primary reason for their astounding popularity.

While other YouTube child performers tend to adopt the site's popular blogging style, speaking directly to viewers as they unbox toys or shop in a mall, Like Nastya videos usually involve short, episodic plots.

The storylines are simple enough for a 3-year-old to follow. Heavy doses of sound effects, jump cuts and slapstick humour are like sugar for young audiences, said Prof Heather Kirkorian at University of Wisconsin-Madison who studies cognitive development and media.

"It's like The Three Stooges," she said. "That plays really well with preschoolers."

During a trip through Southeast Asia in 2017, the family realised just how far their videos had travelled.

Children recognised them from YouTube and stopped them in public. In Malaysia, Mr Radzinskaya recalled: "They came up to us and said, 'Why aren't you in our language? We like watching you.'"

The Radzinskayas searched online for help to manage their newfound fame and eventually teamed up with Mr Baumel.

Along with a team of fellow Russian expats, Mr Baumel runs Yoola, a YouTube multichannel network based in Los Angeles, which specialises in maximising the attention paid to YouTube creators.

Part of Mr Baumel's skillset is to take a rising YouTube channel from one country and to repackage its videos to appeal to viewers around the world. The key, he says, is dubbing the videos into multiple languages and editing them to match the viewing habits of particular countries.

Among Mr Baumel's clients is SlivkiShow, a Russian YouTube account with 16 million subscribers, that posts baroque science experiments. (Typical video headline: "EXPERIMENT! WHAT IF you smoke 300 CIGARETTES!") After signing the performers on with Yoola, Mr Baumel set them up with an English channel that added 1 million subscribers in three years, and a German channel that is nearing 2 million.

For Like Nastya, Mr Baumel applied the same formula, helping the family create channels in English and German and doubling their sales within four months.

The Radzinskayas now employ a staff of about 20 people, some of whom are responsible for finding people to translate and dub the videos into the various languages. The translators hail from all over the world, and many of them are native speakers so they can understand local cultures and slang. The translators send in the audio, and a team of technicians then sync it up with the action onscreen. After the main Russian channel, Nastya's four biggest offshoots are in English, Spanish, Arabic and Portuguese.

Frequent posting also matters, and that's where it can get tricky working with a performer who is still in elementary school.

Nastya attends a private school five days a week. She also studies Mandarin and Spanish in her free time, according to her parents, and takes lessons in singing, acting and dancing.

Every weekend, her family films two videos. During the week, they shoot one more.

"She is very talented; she is very creative," Mr Radzinskay said. "Out of every situation, out of everything, she is able to make something unusual."

The parents say they won't make their daughter work any more than she wants to and that a large portions of her earnings are set aside in a separate bank account.

"It all depends on her, truly," Mr Radzinskaya said.

"If she'll wake up tomorrow and say she doesn't want to do it, we won't do it."

As every top YouTube performer knows, you can never rest for too long. There is always a tireless crop of up-and-comers, cranking out videos, hungry to supersede them.

In recent weeks, another child star has supplanted Nastya in some YouTube popularity rankings. Along the way, SocialBlade showed Nastya suddenly trailing behind Kids Diana Show. The channel stars a Ukrainian girl who is 6 years old.

[psychosistr]

Interesting- Jotakak SerialKiller!AU Chapter 5

Summary: Just as everything gets better in Kakyoin’s life, someone shows up to ruin it and it lands him in the hospital yet again. At least he has Jotaro by his side, as always.

After the incident in the stairwell, Kakyoin and Jotaro’s relationship seemed stable again. Kakyoin did change his behavior a bit, though, now taking pride in showing off that Jotaro was all his by doing things like wrapping his arms around his neck possessively when his fan clubs showed up, sitting at his desk sideways so he could rest his legs in Jotaro’s lap while the other obediently rubbed his legs and feet, and even kissing Jotaro in front of anyone still foolish enough to try asking him out. He enjoyed being possessive and his boyfriend seemed to enjoy it, too.

Jotaro, on the other hand, didn’t change his behavior too much- he did whatever Kakyoin asked and let his submissive side show when the redhead demanded it, but nothing more. He didn’t go dragging Kakyoin off to fuck him in anymore classrooms, but he did still get a bit flustered (meaning red ears and head tilted down to avoid eye contact) whenever Kakyoin showed his more sadistic side. That part, however, was refreshing for Kakyoin, as most people usually got scared off when they saw what was really lurking beneath the pleasant demeanor he projected.

Then again, thinking back on Caesar’s words the night he met him, perhaps Jotaro was like that too? Kakyoin had never actually seen him do anything to confirm what Caesar had told him, but he did say that all of them had similar thoughts and feelings to Kakyoin. He was quite interested in finding out sometime.

How sadistic could Jotaro be?

How would he fight?

What would he do if Kakyoin was involved?

These were all questions that intrigued Kakyoin for about two weeks after the incident. He finally got his answers to them one evening while picking up a few things at the convenience store down the street from his house…

Kakyoin exited the store just as the sun was almost done setting and reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, his other hand holding the small plastic bag with the store’s logo on the front. He went to his favorite contacts and selected Jotaro’s number. The phone rang as he rounded the corner and he waited for his boyfriend to pick up.

“Yeah?” Jotaro’s familiar voice answered after only a couple rings. He never said “hello” when answering the phone- his logic being that if someone called him, it was to talk so why waste time with formalities?

“My parents are out of the house tonight.” Kakyoin replied, not bothering with a greeting either. “Has Holly-san started dinner yet?”

“She’s about to. Think it’s curry tonight. I’ll tell her to make some for you too.” Since they’d started dating, it was fairly common for Kakyoin to drop by for meals or simply to hang out or do homework. Jotaro never cared what time Kakyoin came over and Holly was always more than happy to have him over for dinner.

“Thank you.” He said with a slight smile while walking past an alleyway. “I have to stop by my house first to grab my homework, I was just at the konbini-” His words, as well as his train of thought, were suddenly interrupted by something hard hitting the back of his head. “!!!” He fell over, managing to catch himself on his hands and knees and not damage his head further.

He had to let go of his phone, however, when he landed, and could hardly hear Jotaro’s voice over the ringing in his ears. “Nori? Noriaki?!” Kakyoin’s vision was blurry and doubling badly as he looked to see where his phone landed.

He tried to reach for it when he spotted the cherry red phone a few inches away. “Jo…jo…” He saw something metallic swing down and crush it before he could grab it.

Before he could react any further, he felt that same object from before strike the back of his head once again and everything went dark.

The next stretch of time passed by in a series of blurry moments and sharp sensations:

Gravel under him as he was dragged across the ground…

Muffled voices, one of which sounded vaguely familiar…

Shadows looming over him as he lay on the ground…

A scowling face close to his own with a familiar scar carved into its cheek…

Pain from all directions…

A barking sound followed by hurried footsteps…

Someone picking him up while two familiar voices talked around him…

Then, finally, a familiar blue-green color accompanied by strong arms holding him carefully and a deep, comforting voice letting him know that everything would be okay…

When Kakyoin opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on a bed covered with white sheets and himself clothed in a loose gown.

“Damn it..” He groaned, his head pounding dully. “I’m beginning to hate waking up in hospitals…”

“Mh..don’t blame you..” He heard a familiar voice beside him and turned his head to confirm who it was. Sure enough, it was Jotaro seated in a chair right next to his bedside just like last time he’d found himself in this position.

Well, he thought briefly, at least he could actually SEE his boyfriend this time- hooray for small miracles…

“Please tell me I wasn’t out for a week again.” Kakyoin sighed while holding a hand out towards Jotaro. He was shaking a little and Kakyoin could see he needed the comfort. He honestly needed it himself at the moment, so he didn’t mind when Jotaro took the offered hand and squeezed it.

“No. Just a day.” Jotaro held onto his hand and Kakyoin felt both the tremor going through his body and the tension that was still keeping ever muscle in his body taut.

Kakyoin gently stroked the back of Jotaro’s large hand with his thumb, trying to soothe away some of the worry and tension. “Good. My parents..?”

“Here earlier, but visiting hours ended and they had to leave.” The larger teen finally started to relax a little but didn’t loosen his grip on the redhead’s hand.

“But they allowed YOU to stay?” Kakyoin questioned with a small smile and an arched brow. “Did you threaten to throw a nurse through the window again?”

“…Maybe…” Jotaro answered after a minute the faintest hint of a smirk on his face, the tremors and tension now eased away from his body. “The SPW owns this hospital, so we get special treatment here.” He said while reaching over to grab a glass of water from the nightstand by Kakyoin’s bed.

Kakyoin gratefully took the glass and drank some, the cool liquid easing the scratchiness in his throat a little. “When you say ‘we’, do you mean you and I, your family, or-?”

As if to answer his query with fated comedic timing, the door to the single-bed room suddenly swung open and a certain silver-haired Frenchman loudly sauntered into the previously quiet space. “Ooooiiii, Jotaroooo! We stopped for dinner at a burger place down the street and got your usual! Hope you’re hungry!” He walked up to Jotaro and placed a paper bag with a fast-food logo right on Jotaro’s lap. It was at this point that he finally looked at the bed and noticed Kakyoin’s opened eyes. “Zut alors! Kakyoin! Quel soulagement!” His surprised expression swiftly changed to a grin and he looked back at the door. “Oi, Avdol! You were right- he’s awake!”

Kakyoin saw the aforementioned man walk into the room while carrying a large plastic bag with the same logo as the one that Polnareff dropped on Jotaro’s lap earlier, Iggy walking on the ground beside him. “Jean, we’ve talked about this- you need to lower your voice in places like this. Honestly, you’re as bad as Joseph..” Avdol shook his head at his boyfriend’s terrible bedside manner and walked around to the other side of Kakyoin’s bed where there were more chairs waiting for them. “Besides, I already knew he would be awake- that is why I got extra food.” He pulled out a paper bag from inside the larger plastic one and handed it to Kakyoin. “Here, you must be hungry.”

Kakyoin’s stomach gave a resounding growl at the smell of hot fries and other delicious fried goodies. “Starving. Thanks, Avdol.” Still holding Jotaro’s hand with his right one, Kakyoin dug out the large order of fries and the wrapped sandwich from within the bag. “So, did your cards tell you I’d be awake AND what to get me?” He was pleasantly surprised to find his favorite fried chicken sandwich instead of a burger in the bag along with a fruit cup and a small fork.

Avdol chuckled, always enjoying the air of mystery his fortune-telling gave him and Kakyoin knew how much he loved to play that figurative card. “While they did tell me you would want food, the credit for predicting your order goes to Jotaro: He tells us of your dates often enough that I am aware of your usual orders.”

Kakyoin managed to sit up a little so he could eat without choking and looked over at his boyfriend with a teasing smile. “Oh really? He tells you about our dates, hm?”

Polnareff chuckled and took a seat next to Avdol, reaching across to fish his own order out of the bag too. “Yeah! Poor guy gets nervous that he’s gonna do something wrong, so he calls us after each one to make sure he didn’t say or do anything too stupid.” He paused while tearing the wrapper off of his triple-patty burger. “Heh, well, stupid by his standards, anyway. It’s kind of cute when he gets all nervous like that. I’ll record one of the conversations sometime so you can hear it!” He laughed again but yelped when an opened ketchup pack was thrown in his face. “Ack! Hey!”

“Do it and Avdol’ll be single again.” Jotaro glared at him from the other side of Kakyoin’s bed before eating his own food (a double-patty burger that had nowhere near the mountain of toppings that Polnareff’s did).

Avdol shook his head with an exasperated sigh despite the calm smile on his face while unwrapping and setting a small burger on the floor for Iggy to eat. “I would rather avoid that, despite how much trouble Jean may cause.” He then pulled out his own meal, which was mostly a loaded salad with fried chicken and a small order of fries that Polnareff “discretely” stole half of.

The four men (and one dog) ate in a comfortable silence for a while, Kakyoin’s stomach greatly enjoying the hot meal. After everyone was done and the trash was cleared away, a serious atmosphere settled over the room.

“So..” Avdol was the first to speak. “Do you recall what happened?”

Kakyoin leaned back against the pillows that Jotaro had adjusted for him so he could remain partially sitting up for comfort. “It’s a bit fuzzy…” He closed his eyes as he sorted through what happened. “I was walking home from the convenience store…I called Jotaro about coming over for dinner…then..I think someone hit me in the head with something..after that everything gets a bit choppy..” He brought his free hand to his head and rubbed at it, the act of remembering giving his still aching head another pang of discomfort. “There were voices..and someone scowling at me..and-” He stopped and opened his eyes as he remembered the scar he’d seen. “Shit..” He groaned, scowling a little himself. “That bastard..”

Avdol raised an eyebrow slightly at Kakyoin’s reaction. “Did you know your attackers?”

“Not really.” Kakyoin sighed in annoyance. “There was this boy at school I got into a fight with. He started it, made some rude comments about me, wouldn’t let me walk past him, insulted Jotaro- anyway, long story short, I pulled a knife on him and carved the word ‘baka’ onto his face to show what an idiot he was. Guess he didn’t learn his lesson the first time…” His mind was already coming up with ideas about how he’d handle the bastard next time he saw him.

“Ah, that would explain it..” Avdol said while leaning back in his seat, one hand coming up to his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Polnareff and I saw a group of boys wearing school uniforms matching yours holding metal baseball bats when we arrived, but they were too far away to see clearly by the time we got to you.”

Polnareff scowled and folded his arms while crossing one leg over the other. “Damn cowards..I really wanted to go after ‘em, but we figured getting you to the hospital was more important.”

“That was you two?” Kakyoin questioned while looking at them before giving a small bow of his head. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

Polnareff waved him off with one hand before folding it back into place. “Eh, don’t worry about it- that’s what friends do. Besides, what were we supposed to do when Jotaro called us? Just say ‘no, sorry, we’re busy, go find him yourself’? Hell no! We’d be worried sick!” He reached down with a grin and picked up Iggy to show him off, ignoring the dog’s warning growls. “Besides, it’s part of why we keep this little jerk around! He’s great at tracking people!”

Iggy somehow managed to wriggle free of Polnareff’s grip to land on the Frenchman’s chest before turning around to glare at him. “Rrr..arf!” He then proceeded to turn and fart directly in his face, making the large man gag and fall backwards out of his chair while choking and gasping for breath. The look that Iggy gave him before returning to his previous spot on the floor clearly said “Try that again and I won’t go easy on you.”

Avdol payed no mind to his boyfriend’s agonized rolling about on the floor, and, instead, reached into his odd jacket and retrieved a plastic baggy. “Iggy did chase after the boys for a short while.” He held the baggy out for Kakyoin to see some different colored hairs inside. “Apparently he caught up to at least some of them. We’ll report this to the police and see if they can get any DNA off of these, but I doubt it will do much good if those boys are not currently in your country’s system.”

Kakyoin looked at the hairs, recognizing some of them as the badly dyed styles of the boy he’d attacked and his friends. He glared at them for a moment before taking a breath to calm himself. “It’s fine.” He relaxed back into the bed again. “I’ll deal with them once I’m out of here. I already warned them not to mess with me and they chose to ignore that warning…so, now we’ll be handling things my way.”

“No.” Jotaro stated firmly while looking at Kakyoin.

Kakyoin blinked and turned to look back at the other teen. “No? What do you mean ‘no’?” He frowned up at him, confused as to why Jotaro would deny him his revenge. “Jotaro, they ATTACKED me. I won’t take something like this lying down-”

“I know you won’t.” Jotaro acquiesced calmly as he looked down. “And you shouldn’t. Still, no. Don’t worry about it. Don’t do anything about it. Don’t go after them.”

Kakyoin glared up at him. “Jotaro…” He was beginning to feel frustrated over this- why shouldn’t he get payback for himself? If he didn’t, what was to stop them from trying again? “Do you think I can’t take them?” He questioned while trying to sit up, attempting to put himself on a more even level with the other boy. “I’m not weak, Jotaro- they just caught me off guard. I can handle myself.”

“……” Jotaro was quiet for a long stretch of time, staying completely still under the redhead’s piercing gaze but not bothering to look back up from under the brim of his hat that shielded his blue-green eyes from Kakyoin’s own violet gaze. “I know you can..just..don’t…”

Kakyoin was about to retort that he was going to do what he wanted…but then he felt that tremor going through Jotaro from where their hands were still joined together.

Taking a minute to fully observe the other’s tensed body, Kakyoin took note of the state Jotaro was currently in: There was a fine tremor going through his entire frame that was just barely noticeable if he looked close enough. His hand was holding tightly (but not painfully so) to Kakyoin’s, as if he was afraid to let go of it. He was still avoiding eye contact, choosing to keep his head lowered rather than look at the red head in front of him. And, when Kakyoin looked at the way his lips were tensed, he got the distinct impression that he was biting them to prevent himself from speaking out loud.

Too bad for Jotaro that Kakyoin knew how to read all of those signs and figure out what he really meant.

“Please don’t get hurt again.”

“I can’t stand seeing you in pain.”

“I can’t lose you over this.”

“Don’t go.”

“I need you here.”

“I love you.”

“Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please.”

Kakyoin’s expression softened. So, Jotaro was scared. He could understand that- this was the second time he’d seen Kakyoin in a hospital since they’d been together and it must have been stressful for him. It already seemed to take a hard enough toll on him the first time it happened- he remembered how clingy Jotaro got after they returned to Japan and how his disposition seemed to shift. The same was probably about to happen again if he wasn’t careful…

Taking a slow, deep breath to calm himself down, Kakyoin managed to lean over enough to pull the larger boy into a comforting embrace. “Jojo..” He wrapped his free arm around Jotaro’s shoulders and gently rubbed his hand over his tensed back muscles. “Okay..” He leaned his forehead against the side of Jotaro’s head and spoke softly. “While I would rather deal with them myself..I’ll let it go for now.” After a moment, though, he did add on one addendum to his agreement. “But if they come after me again, I won’t hold back.”

Jotaro slowly relaxed against him, bringing his free arm up to carefully wrap around Kakyoin’s slender waist. “Hmh..wouldn’t expect you to..” The “thank you” was left unsaid, but Kakyoin heard it in the other’s voice perfectly fine.

While Kakyoin was still frustrated over the whole thing, the feelings he had for Jotaro were stronger than his anger towards the punk and his friends for attacking him. This was a new feeling for Kakyoin, as he was usually the kind to do as he wished with little regard for what others would have to say on the matter- hell, it was the main reason he got into so many fights all the time.

But, with Jotaro, things were different..

He actually cared about what Jotaro thought and took that into consideration when he did something. He knew there was little he could do to drive Jotaro away after what happened in the stairwell, but the dark haired boy was at the forefront of his mind whenever he acted. They were still young, and it was hard to tell if this feeling counted as love or not at their age, but he knew that Jotaro was incredibly important to him and that it hurt him to see his boyfriend upset. He would do anything in his power to prevent that, even if he didn’t always like it.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

-From the Beginning-

[red-retro-rose]

My Experiences with Art Class

This is gonna be a long one! Make sure to go grab some snacks and a drink before you start reading.

Okay so I forgot to talk a picture of the Winston chibi, and since all my work is at school to get graded I can’t take a picture of it. I also can’t take pictures of some work I did that is a lot better because I was rushed for time and forgot, so I figured I’d write about my experience with art class.

So, I’m just going to explain how things work at my school because I know other schools work differently. I go to school in the UK, in Wales, and we have this thing called Sixth Form (which is mainly for people aged 17-18, but sometimes can be younger or older if for example they were move up or held back a year), which is basically like doing college (high school in America) but you stay at school. I originally wanted to go to college but there are only two colleges near me, and one of them would mean me taking a train at five or six in the morning since I can’t drive (I’m old enough to but I’m scared or it), so there was really only one option, but then I found out that the college wasn’t doing a history course which I was dead set on. So, I ended up having to go to Sixth Form.

When applying I had to choose four subjects, well three really as Welsh Bacc (which is really pointless, and therefore I’m not gonna go into details as to what it is) is compulsory. I chose history as that’s what I wanted to do, and English Literature, as there was no English language option. Then I had to choose something from the last column, and the only option that somewhat interested me was art. I had taken photography for the last two years so it made sense, I also really liked drawing but never thought I was that good, so I figured this would be a good way to learn new skills.

Just so people know, I’ve never been much of a fan of the idea of doing art as a subject as I felt it would suck the fun out of it for me. I was right so yay I guess?

So I thought that we would be allowed to do whatever we wanted as a theme, as that had been what the years before had done, but no, we got given a theme, and were not told that this wasn’t compulsory. The theme we were given was coast as we live in a coastal area so it would be easy to get references because of loads of beaches. I hate the beach, I don’t like sand, I don’t like the sea, so yeah, I wasn’t happy, but I did work, however my teachers thought the class weren’t working hard enough. We were set to do 24 pages of our books over two weeks.

Okay so to some people that might not sound like much, but keep in mind that I did not do art that often, I had not built up my skills like everyone else in my class. Oh and I’m also going to say that my class was on five people including myself, and three of them had taken art as a subject for two years so they had built up more skills.

So 24 pages in two weeks. Guess who was the only one to do that. Go one guess… It was me. I had stressed out over doing these pages, but I did them. Two artist studies, because we were forces to do artist studies. They took up four pages, a page of information and a page of work I had done in the style of the artist for each of them. My first three pages were a title page and a collage that took two pages. I can’t remember all that I did, but there were pages of concept art, and trying out different techniques for making dolls based on characters from Asagao Academy. I worked so hard on them (these were not the final products, they were flat versions) before doing these I didn’t even know how to sew.

The first lesson back, I was the only one who had done the pages, my male teacher looks at all our work, apart from one of the girls (our class was made up of three girls and two boys) as he didn’t have the time. When looking at a lot of my work he would ask for references when I hadn’t used any and they were just from my head. When looking at the Asagao Academy work he said he ‘didn’t get it’ and he would dismiss a lot of my ideas. Dismissing my ideas was a theme when he looked at my work. He then at the end of the lesson apologised to the girl whose work he hadn’t looked at, stating that he was sure it was great, ‘better than all the rest.’ This angered me as it was blatant favouritism, and there was also the fact that everyone else had made it clear that they hadn’t done 24 pages while I had.  

My female teacher, who was later replaced as she went on maternity leave, when looking at the concept art for the dolls said they were too simple, which I find rude considering it took me a long time to work on them. She did seem to be more on board with my ideas at time but still was very dismissive.

So, time goes on and I get more and more annoyed. Here’s a thing that I really hated and disagreed with doing art at school. We had to write about the work we had done and be all technical about it, we had to have a reason for what we had done, and it couldn’t simply be “I wanted to” or “I liked the idea.” It basically had to be a mini essay and I hated it because in real life artist don’t do that. We were constantly being told to do these things that weren’t done outside of school, and I stated this, I said that art was about freedom of expression, it was about what you wanted, that there didn’t have to be complicated reasoning behind it. Now, I have really bad anxiety, I hate having attention on me, so the fact that I was annoyed enough to say anything shows how bad things were. There were times where I wasn’t even polite about it, like I wasn’t overly rude, I was just frustrated and it showed. My friend who was almost always in class with me since she had free lessons when I had art was even surprised at me and knew that things were bad.

My male teacher actually started mocking me. I had triple lessons with him once every two weeks and he had forced us to do some drawing practice that I had no interest in because I was happy doing my actual work, I had found the style of art I enjoyed doing by myself and gotten better at drawing on my own because my teachers weren’t any help and even if I wanted help I’d rather work something out myself than ask them due to how they treated me. I had gone to my head of year and she had spoken to my teachers but it changed nothing.

Anyway, so this triple lesson my teacher kept remarking how I had said that art was about expression and such, but he kept bringing it up, kept bringing attention onto me even though he knew I hated it, and he used a lowkey mocking tone at times.

I started just not going to school some days, especially on the days when I had triple art. I was getting sick a lot anyway due to the stress of it all. My mum and my sister understood and never forced me to go to school, knowing that I wasn’t skipping anything important, on those days I also had Welsh Bacc, but it was with another teacher who didn’t know what he was doing really (he’s a really good teacher I have him for English, but I think he just knew how bullshit Welsh Bacc is).

Of course I did have to actually go to school on days I had art since I had other subjects on the same days as having art, and I wanted to do well in them, but I always dreaded going to art, but I couldn’t skip it, especially since I get EMA, which means I get money to go to school due to my family not having much money.

Now, I know some people reading this are probably wondering why I didn’t just drop the subject. For one thing, I was worried as to whether it would affect my EMA, and then there was also the fact that I was stubborn. My teachers believed that I was not going to do well, and although I do not care about grades in art, I think it’s bullshit which I made clear, I wanted to prove them wrong. This was probably stupid, but I didn’t know how much worse it was going to get.

So, I finished my work on coast, as we were told we could move on to anything we wanted, I believe I was the only on to do so. For my final pieces of my art I was told they weren’t advanced enough, which I mean who the fuck cares. So what if they were just drawings I don’t that were a bit less than A3 size and were painted with watercolours? I liked them, I was proud of them!

So I decide that for my next part of art I was going to do whatever I wanted, and split it into four sections, video games, make up, YouTube and fantasy.  Maybe this was a bit two ambitious on my part as the school year was about half way done, so I did put some of the stress on myself, but constantly being put down and treated horribly didn’t help.

In all honesty, I did start to slow down, and not because I was taking longer on my drawings, but because I just didn’t care anymore, I wasn’t enjoying drawing or doing any kind of art. As time moved on I knew I had to pick up the pace. For some stupid reason, I had decided to do art for every Overwatch character (except for Orisa as she hadn’t been announced yet) and it turned into such a rush that I don’t even like some of the pieces now that I’ve had more time to look over them. There was one day where I wanted to get everything finished for the Overwatch part so I just kept working all day, even though all I had eaten was one slice of toast, and when I was almost done I felt faint and had to stop to take a break. I was happy when I was done but this wasn’t all I had to do. Luckily with my work on make-up, I was half way done, and it wasn’t something that took a long time to do. I did ten looks overall, and I could get two or three done in one day.

I had chosen to do work based one Starbomb for video games as well, and I was proud of some of the work I had done, but it was as I was working on these that our class was told when the deadline was and we had less than a month to complete everything. The fact that I also had exams coming up that month didn’t help. There’s some work I did that I know with more time I could have done better, there were so many things I wanted to do that I wasn’t able to, and don’t want to do now because it just brings me back to art class and how horrible it was.

I did manage to get all of the topics I’d chosen to do done, but not with some help. I did all of the art work, but my sister helped me with the writing and presentation of my book, without her I don’t think I would have gotten it all done. I remember looking at the list of everything I had to do and crying because I didn’t think I would be able to do it. It didn’t help that I also got really sick again, and it lasted for two weeks, but I couldn’t really relax and focus on getting better because I needed to get all this work done, as well as revision for my exams.

I think that something that helped me get all the work down, other than my families help, was the fact that since I had learnt everything, and Welsh Bacc lessons had been cancelled so people could revise, I didn’t have to go to school and therefore I had more time to get stuff done, and I wasn’t surrounded by negativity.

Overall, taking art class was a terrible experience for me. It was emotionally draining, and also affected me physically as I was getting sick every other week. Looking back, I should have stopped when I wasn’t enjoying it because it wasn’t worth being stubborn. I won’t be taking art next school year. It took me a few weeks to even be able to do art just for myself because I couldn’t shake those feelings of being put down and told my work wasn’t good enough. The art I’ve been doing over the last few weeks has been really good, and I’m able to take breaks when I need to, and not rush. I can’t wait to show you all what I’ve been working on because I’m so proud of the work I’ve produced.

P.S. I’m going to stop putting the Overwatch art up one drawing at a time, and instead do a post dedicated to each character because I think it will be better and also I don’t like some of the work and want to start posting new work as soon as all the Overwatch stuff is gone.

[indianangel01]

A Corona Warrior's Tale of Woe

This is a guest post Day 75 of lockdown: More than 2 months of lockdown have passed by in a haze. On 21st March, our PM declared a nationwide lockdown. The next 10 days resident doctors spent in a limbo wherein we wondered about the upsurge of cases, what measures would be taken to contain them, and when would the public healthcare system be hit. What we didn't anticipate is how badly it would be hit and how fast it would crumble. I'm an exam going resident who got relieved of my duties as a resident on 1st February of this year. I was expected to give my International Council of Ophthalmology examination on 20th April and my M.S. Ophthalmology theory exam on 15th of May. By June end I was supposed to be a free bird. Cut to 1st April, all exam going residents who were neck deep in exam prep were recalled back for duties. Specifically covid duties. All exam leaves were declared cancelled until further notice. ICO flashed status of our exam as postponed to 3 months later. Shit was about to hit the fan. Those of us who were in the same city rejoined immediately, others from different cities and states scrambled to find transport to rejoin as the lockdown was in full swing and all trains and flights and cabs were suspended. We were given circulars saying legal action would be taken against anyone who didnt rejoin work. Our degrees were already at stake. A friend of mine spent 25000 and hired a car to come from Bangalore to Mumbai. There would be no mercy shown to those who couldn't show up. I work at Sion Hospital, one of the busiest in Mumbai. There was buzz that Nair hospital would soon be converted into a COVID designated hospital. Sion was referring positives to Seven Hills, Kasturbha. We were managing the workload quite efficiently. The first danger started when Dharavi got its first COVID positive case. Dharavi, last recorded population of over 8 lakhs, is situated exactly behind Sion Hospital, and its residents form a major chunk of our patient load. When cases started emerging from Dharavi, initially in single digits, then rapidly in double and triple digits, we knew Sion Hospital was about to go under the COVID wave. It was days before the State Government finally accepted that community spread had occurred in Mumbai. Community spread is spread basically which cannot be contact traced, direct contacts are already traced and tested; it's very difficult to contain a disease once community spread occurs. By the time the government declared community spread, Sion hospital was already receiving enough COVID cases that it could no longer refer to any other hospital. We had become a covid and non covid hospital now fighting to strike a work balance. Residents were shunted from departments to work in COVID wards in shifts. The Category A residents of specialties like Chest Medicine, General Medicine, Anesthesia would lead the fight; specialties like Obstetrics and Gynecology, Radiology, ENT and Ophthalmology were to struggle alongside. Ophthalmology as a specialty doesnt equip us to deal with either respiratory distress or cardiac arrest. Systemically unstable patients are encountered by an ophthalmic surgeon as frequently as chilly weather is encountered in Mumbai. Once in a blue moon. I was petrified of what I would even do in such a scenario. I hadn't declared a single death in three years of residency. More precisely, none of my patients had died in three years because systemically unstable patients are always stabilised before we operate on them. Thrust into an unending vortex of community screening, ward duty which was putting angiocatheters, catheterizations, blood collections, vital monitoring, paperwork with alternate managing of department duties- casualties, OPD and OT it started looking like residency would never really be over. Exams or no exams, this was war and everyone had to participate. Everyday we would get some new protocol from the authorities; some change in the period of quarantine we would be offered- which decreased from 7 day work and 7 day quarantine to 5 day work and 2 day quarantine to 9 days of work and 6 days of quarantine to 14 days of work and 9 days of quarantine and so on. Apex institutions disagreed with the Municipal Corporation which disagreed with institutes which disagreed with departments. The result? Residents were testing positive by the dozens. Within a couple of weeks, 61 residents at Sion Hospital had tested positive, some were critical, all were stressed and overburdened. Meanwhile Nair was declared COVID only and referrals of non covid patients to Sion had of course increased substantially. Sion was crumbling under the weight but apparently nobody except residents could see the cracks. One afternoon a video from Sion became viral. It was shot by the relative of one of the COVID positive patients and showed body bags on beds next to living patients. It didnt take long for everyone from civilians to the media to the government to raise questions about how Sion hospital was being managed so badly. They questioned the humanity of the doctors and the delay in transportation of dead bodies. What they didnt question was the reason behind it. They didn't question the lack of goverment investment in public healthcare since decades. They didn't question why noone bothered to rectify this when shortage of beds and manpower has been an issue way before this pandemic. And they definitely didn't question whether the government had let doctors down by sending them to battle ill equipped and underprepared. Residents were being made to work inhumane hours but noone had the energy to really speak against it because things were getting worse by the day. We lay in wait for the new resident batch to join so that we could get some respite. New circulars kept popping every day - "Residents will receive COVID work benefits of rupees 300 per say", "residents will receive a pay hike". Meanwhile our salaries were credited late, with a 10% tax cut, no COVID benefit and definitely no stipend hike. A stay order on the state merit list of new incoming resident batch was finally lifted a week ago, which gave us some hope. Hope that was immediately squashed by the administration which issued a circular saying no matter when the new residents joined, we would not be relieved of our duties till 31st July at the earliest. No word about our exams or if we would get a preparatory leave period. Meanwhile residents were thrust to the forefront while everyone else cowered conveniently behind us. We were being called "corona warriors" but we felt nothing more than a scapegoat. There is no glory in working a PPE suit so impervious your sweat forms puddles around your feet or taking swabs going from house to house in 40 degrees in a PPE suit. I wont even get into how worried our families were during this ordeal. My mother lives in Nagpur and with every phone call she was becoming increasingly worried and upset and I was becoming increasingly quiet. She asked me to leave everything and just come home. Nothing is more important than staying healthy, she said. Of course, I didn't listen to her. Though none of us had signed up for this, this was a price we would all have to pay, whether we liked it or not. What was awful to watch was not the fact that we all were being coerced into work, but the fact that not only were the people of Mumbai doing nothing to abide by the lockdown, but our administration wasn't supporting us with a well formulated protocol either. There was complete chaos in the way the pandemic was managed, right from availability of PPE and masks, to overlapping duty schedules, lack of facilities to isolate positive asymptomatic resident doctors and symptomatic ones, lack of facilities to keep asymptomatic positive patients and lack of tests. The government was refusing to let us test anyone asymptomatic, even those who had known contact with someone who had turned positive. Because of this, asymptomatic carriers were running rampant, and there was no way to identify who would be positive next until a 60+ person landed in respiratory distress in the emergency services. Instead of focusing on things like getting adequate PPE for residents, making sure they got salaries and other covid benefits for their services, their food needs were taken care of; airplanes were busy showering petals from the sky. Policeman had by this time given up on checking ID cards. Essential and non essential people were out on the streets. We were getting the usual trauma like assault when everyone was supposed to be maintaining social distancing and staying indoors. Some routine complaints like watering of eyes and refractive error were resurfacing. Clearly the pandemic seriousness had not permeated to all sections of the society, and even if it had, not even was being done to mitigate it. Amidst the chaos, the fear and frequent blasts of depressing bulletins, residents were waging a war against the virus that had left life as they knew it in shreds. Managing to treat patients to the best of their abilities, bringing smiles to cured patients, delivering babies, operating tumors and saving lives. All while praying they wouldn't contract the illness, praying they would be able to survive this pandemic with only emotional scars and nothing more. Now here we are, still exam going, still very much working, still frustrated, overburdened and exhausted. With no end of the pandemic in sight (the peak is yet to come) and monsoon around the corner, which itself brings a tidal wave of dengue, malaria and leptospirosis and no manpower nor hospital facilities to deal with the upcoming doom. Read the full article

[designateddick]

Sharanja's History

   A sage human druid of fifty-five years lived in the forest near the western coast of the continent. Through her lifetime, her travels and findings brought her great joy. During visits to foreign lands, she gained an insatiable lust for knowledge and had even adopted a student and son, the dragonborn Båretav-Isbreen Gloenne, in hopes that she may come to better understand their race. They went on countless exploits and adventures together, as mother and son, until she grew weary and bored of them. She began to shut in on herself, turning to studying abandoned sciences and alchemy until she began unspeakable experiments.

     After isolating herself from the rest of humanity, she bred half-monsters through illegal mixtures of magic and unknown science. Thanks to her experience and strength, one of her expeditions had landed her a hefty prize; the sex of a female titan. Though trial after trial she failed, she continued to steal what she could from her son and attempted to breed the two until, somehow, she came to find a single, translucent egg in the midst of her experimenting. The egg was roughly the size of a two-year-old human, and the membranes within were clearly visible; it was as though the egg were made of glass.

    She looked on at the still egg, watching it grow slightly more opaque as time marched ever forward. She began wrapping the egg in an attempt to shelter it from light, since its transparency offered no such protections. From this egg, on the sage's sixty-sixth birthday, hatched Sharanja. She was small, toddling, and appeared totally gray. She looked strikingly human at first, with expressive white eyes and tiny, smooth scales resembling skin. A small horn sat just above and between her two eerie eyes, and her ears fanned out and up decoratively, a semi-opaque membrane webbing the three-pronged organ protruding from either side of her head. Gloenne,  disgusted and appalled upon seeing this half-breed, retaliated against his mother. He intended to steal away and kill the child (if she could be called that), so he scooped her up and fled from the deranged woman who had adopted him.

    Once he had put sufficient distance between them, he set down the hatchling and huffed. She looked up at him with her innocent eyes, and though he felt disgusted, he was enamored by her. She was strangely appealing, emanating a sense of helplessness. He felt strongly connected to her, and so he could not kill her. She was his daughter, and his knowledge of their shared blood - no matter the way it came to pass - weighed heavy on him. She was a member of his clan. He prayed and prayed for a relief from this duty, this burden of a child. And [Tiamat] graced him with an answer.

    A towering dragon was raiding a nearby village, and Gloenne could hear the screams echo through the forest. He spotted smoke and grabbed up the hatchling once more, running towards the source of the sounds and the sour stench. There, decimating the town, was a glittering black dragon. Her giant paws upheaved loads of dirt and debris, burying the buildings and people beneath it. He sighed as he watched, admiring his heritage. This was a chromatic dragon, just as his lineage.

    He approached this dragon and made her an offer; a prized bag of large jewels he had accumulated through travels with his mother, and this wicked infant. She merrily accepted. Gloenne could feel his heart clench with a fear and sadness for his offspring. Guilt outweighed them, though. He turned and plodded away from them, never to meet them again.

    And so Sharanja was scooped up by the black dragon and flown to the plains of the northeast. Out of plains rose a mountain range dotted with coniferous trees. A valley in these mountains led to a deep cavern system, and this is where the black dragon, Krereefah, made her home with her mate, the green dragon Lo’ohletai. Together, they were the bane of the northeastern plains. Not many risked crossing their turf, and those that did rarely survived.

    Lo’ohletai argued angrily against Krereefah, but in the end the black dragon’s stubborn will defeated Lo’ohletai's desire to win. Sharanja stayed, and it would be a lie on the green dragon’s behalf to say she did not enjoy watching Sharanja grow just as much as Krereefah did. They were quite amused with their plaything.

    Sharanja’s first shed was strange. It wasn't smooth or natural to her, as though her instincts were somehow detached from her existence as a reptilian being. But once the entirety of the shed had been peeled from her, her scales were more visible. They were getting larger, and less skin-like. They were also growing lighter. Each shed, she grew from her original gray, skin-like texture to a whitish-blue with glittering, tough scales. By her fifteenth year, Sharanja was covered in scales that nearly resembled shards of ice; rather than her once smooth complexion, her skin grew rougher than that of most known dragonborn.

    By Sharanja's sixth shed (about two years), Lo’ohletai was completely invested in raising this hatchling with her mate. They taught her of their goddess, taught her hymns and traditional songs of the dragons. Her voice was clear and sweet, and she grew to articulate it well. Krereefah told her embellished tales of human heroes and elven warriors, of orcs and of gnomes of merit whom traversed the plains and mountains they called home. Lo’ohletai sang and did tricks with her breath. They made an odd and quirky but overall happy family in their glittering cave of treasure.

    That is, until the day Krereefah didn't return. A town Krereefah vandalized twice a year for the past three decades had commissioned a strange traveler to rid them of their problem, and they had succeeded. Lo’ohletai spiraled into a fit of grief, and after a while, Sharanja decided she would leave. Unaware of the true circumstances, she vowed to make her mother proud and to bring Krereefah home again. As Sharanja trekked away from their cave in the mountains, she daydreamed about all she could be. She had heard so many stories of heroes and knights, and decided she would be the hero of her story. She wanted to become a holy knight; a paladin blessed by her Goddess [Tiamat].

    Sharanja spent several months traversing the plains; considering she'd never left her cave and never learned directions, this in itself was an accomplishment. She grew stronger and faster as she ran with the wildlife, fought off threats, and so on. Eventually, she made it to the southern outskirts of the plains that were dotted with deciduous forest. She was glad for the change of scenery.

    And on the other side of that deciduous forest, though she took her sweet, lost time in getting there, was a small kingdom. She smiled widely as she approached the guards, who quaked with fear and upturned their pikes at her. She asked if they were paladins, and if she could join their ranks. Though confused and frightened, they called the captain of their guard. He begrudgingly welcomed her into the town after realizing his explanations were being wasted on this brick wall of a being.

    Sharanja became a strange sort of model citizen, quickly attracting the attention of the local children. She often wove flowers and weeds together as she hummed the songs she knew, and was adamant about properly destroying the rubbish and litter lining the streets. Though she typically pickpocketed to buy herself a meal, she was generous and friendly. She often gathered a crowd of people when she would sing in the square, and many would attend her sparring matches with the guards and the militia captain. She had an unfair advantage and didn't seem to grow any stronger, so the captain would send her out to gather supplies in the forest. She nearly always returned at dusk with bruises and lesions from her scuffles with monsters, but that was also when she seemed happiest.

    Eventually, her talent in the square and her strange shape and size grabbed the eye and ear of the local innkeeper. He hired her as quickly as he could, dropping his other employees swiftly as she tripled as bouncer, entertainment, and barkeep.

    Or...so he thought.

    But she gave brew and meal away alike, with no heed for the financial stability of the inn. Her performances drew many in through his doors, and her brute appearance kept most away from thoughts of thievery or other sins and deeds within the inn. However, her negligence in keeping up with the profit eventually got her booted. She didn't care for it much anyway, though, considering her strange life of singing and pickpocketing and hunting was always enough to get by.

    But a few short months after losing her job at the inn, the way she stole from the wealthier and their jingling purses, and the way she gave to the grimey urchins and street rats led to a revolt by the town nobility. Lord and lady alike complained about the eyesore of the town, but she was the peasants’ hero and a friend of the guard. A civil war over her mere presence among them eventually destroyed the town and left everyone that didn't leave or die starving and poor.

    And the Imperial Army descended upon them gracefully, peacefully usurping responsibility to ensure the safety and serenity of the town. Sharanja, upon seeing their glimmering armor, approached the mounted general and asked to join their ranks. Shocked, the general agreed to train her with the recruits. And so, Sharanja joined to newbies in their meticulous and monotonous training. Unlike her squad, however, the higher ranking officers and officials never dogged her. Though she was never bullied, she became lonely in the ranks of her peers.

    She quickly outgrew the ranks of the army, and with no-one else to challenge her, the general decided to do the next best thing. So Sharanja was transferred to the capital of the Imperial Army.

    And then she met Knell, the defiant half-elf with hair the shade of fire who boldly sat with the dragonborn girl at dinner one evening. They sat in silence for several meals before Sharanja asked her name. The sharp-tongued Knell and the oblivious Sharanja quickly became inseparable friends. Their teamwork and dedication to defending one another from threats gave them a sense of family and security, as well as an advantage in their training.

    But Knell was blessed. Her quest was deemed worthy by some god, and she moved to another faction almost immediately. Sharanja prayed to [Tiamat] for this fate, too, to be blessed on her journey to find and return Krereefah to her mourning mother, Lo’ohletai.

    No answer ever came.

    Eventually, the same general who had given her a place in the training ranks approached her. They had no way to armor her, she failed the practical tests, her logic wasn't whole, she couldn't work as a team, she didn't follow orders; Sharanja failed, and she hurt. As she walked away from her home amongst the other soldiers, she sighed and never turned back.

    She town hopped for a while, accepting odd jobs as guard, or bounty hunter, or monster vanquisher. For the most part, she outlived her stay in multiple towns as she sang and pickpocketed to survive. One particular evening, while in a coastal town, she was hired to guard a magnificent crimson jewel. The port town had a history with bandits, pirates, and other lowlife scum looking to nab any easy treasure they could. She lost it to a conniving thief of great renown, a certain Melanie Greivora. She gave heartfelt chase, but blacked out as her emotions overcame her. When she came to, debris was scattered around her and much of the town was in shambles. This would not be the last time this would happen. She was agape at how she could have fainted and slept through all of the carnage surrounding her. Her pride damaged at losing the precious stone, she refunded her employer his wages and continued to wander, unsure of her purpose or direction.

    And so Sharanja is friendless, penniless, and known to certain groups as the ugly giant with a divine voice. She is a twenty-nine year old dragonborn singer.

[sudsybear]

Saturday Study

It’s not that I wasn’t busy sophomore year – every high school student in the district is busy.  Students carry a full academic load and participate in at least two extracurricular activities; sports, National Honor Society, foreign language clubs, music training, visual arts, performance arts.  Choir, Corral and spring track season rounded out my academic responsibilities. Junior year was no different.

 I got my driver’s permit in September and took “behind the wheel” with Mr. Rockel. He was a petite man with straight greasy black hair and a foot deformity, which required him to wear special shoes. Some twenty-five years earlier he managed to get on staff with the local school system. By the time we had him as an instructor he had the dubious honor of teaching Driver’s Education and Health Education to belligerent and obnoxious adolescents. He also had the honor of being assistant coach of the football and wrestling teams. “Behind the wheel” involved four students and one instructor riding in the student driver vehicle on Saturday mornings and weekday afternoons. We drove all around town, practicing starting, stopping, signaling, and turning. We ran Mr. Rockel’s errands, and the big event was highway driving.

 AFS (American Field Service) filled my time – my family hosted a student from Spain – and I served as an officer of the club. Choir and the more elite Triple Trio both required frequent rehearsals before and after school. Corral Board required monthly meetings, and I became involved with a program called Teen Counseling.  All this on top of an Honors English class, a senior math class (trigonometry and functions) an experimental biology class, and chemistry. In my mid-30s with a house and family to care for, I cannot imagine how I ever managed to keep such a schedule. Throw in babysitting for pocket money, and I wonder how I ever had a social life, much less got any homework done!

 But what a social life I had!

 I spent all my free time with David. And when not surrounded by our friends, we adventured on our own. When he finally decided to get his driver’s license, he drove an old metallic brown Datsun B-310 hatchback. Over the months we spent as a couple, David drove us all over the county and downtown from the suburbs to explore. One afternoon after school David and I drove out to the sprawling suburban county park, Winton Woods, found a secluded picnic spot, and didn’t do our homework. Another night he drove us downtown to one of the fancy hotels, parked in the underground garage and we spent our evening racing up and down the stairwells of the Westin.

 Ours is the first generation of teenagers to grow up with personal computers in our homes. Very little useful software was available for the general public, mostly word processing (Apple’s Mac Write, or IBM’s WordStar or WordPerfect) or Lotus spreadsheets. E-mail was an elite luxury, used mostly on academic campuses and in private industry. Certainly personal computers in the home were not ubiquitous. David and his friends joined the cutting edge of a new technology. He was the proud owner of a newly introduced, and mass-marketed Apple IIe. He called it Rutherford, typed some of his homework on it using an early word processing program, and participated in a local dial-in Apple bulletin board service. He taught himself binary, and wrote letters to me in code. I didn’t understand 99% of it, but thought it cool that he liked it.

 Apple went head to head with IBM marketing their products. School systems struggled with how to integrate the personal computer into the curriculum. Our school district chose to require all students to take a computer course in order to graduate high school. The high school basketball coach was recruited to teach a loose history of the computer and the BASIC programming language. All I remember of the course is infinite loop logic (Go to, if, then, go to) and what the acronym stood for “Beginners All-purpose Symbolic Instruction Code.” This was supposed to make us all computer literate, much less good programmers? We struggled with tagging lines, editing our rudimentary programs to make them do something. All in all, we’d have been better served to take typing (now keyboarding) classes and learn how to prevent Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. But a few were actually inspired by what they were taught. They found the process fascinating, and armed with new PCs in their homes, they became masters of a new technology.

 David and I spent hours in his bedroom at his mother’s house while she was at work or out for the evening with her companion, Jake. Instead of talking with each other like other teens did, David turned the lights out, put music on and in the glow of the green monochrome monitor, we typed our conversation. Quiet, except for the click of the keyboard, one of us might accidentally hold down the space bar for a length of time, need to use the backspace key, but misspelled words were forgiven. I sat on his lap, and we took turns at the keyboard. We considered our words well. Committing a thought to fingertips requires a more careful consideration of word choice. Inflection and tone don’t come across well on a monitor and we didn’t have today’s emoticons or myriad font collection. We laughed when one of us typed something funny or kissed when the conversation took a tender turn. An insufferable tease, I did my best to distract him from his thoughts when it was his turn to type. What might have taken another couple three minutes of intimacy to reveal to each other, took us three hours because of the time it took to type our thoughts.

 David loved his Apple, and was one of a select few souls who played around with programming, a newly popular technology. He was eager to learn on his own, and yet wanted to share his new hobby. He found friendship with Christopher and Moj. The three worked together on the technical crew of the Corral show. Lighting and sound, they wired up the performance center, paying attention to fire codes, working with the directors and getting the timing just right for the several performances. Thus forged, their friendship solidified. David, Moj, and Christopher talked computers and programming among other things like girls, music, bikes, cars, and other testosterone topics. They shared interests, stimulated each other intellectually, and challenged each other to excel in their computing pursuits. Thus netted, Christopher and Moj were pulled into the clique.

 Moj was a quiet one. He was 5’10” or 11”, not quite six feet tall although he reached that height in adulthood. Dark curls and dark eyes, he has a stockier build than David, more substantial. A gentle giant, he is thoughtful, introspective, and observant, and has a tough shell that wears like armor. I never knew Moj very well. We were wary around each other, always polite, but distrustful. We never shared those intimacies that I shared with David and Christopher. Instead our world-views and personalities are quite different. Though our friends were links in a chain, we were on opposite sides of the circle – linked together not directly, but through the friends with whom we surrounded ourselves. He avoided any discussions about the opposite gender, devoting his energy to the discussions about computers and wiring and programming and pyrotechnics.

 Christopher’s family was from New York City, the Big Apple, The CITY, Brooklyn? They moved to town so his mom could attend medical school at the University of Cincinnati. They lived at the end of a cul-de-sac off the same residential street that led to Anna’s house. His dad ran a small business from home, manufacturing specialty canoe paddles. Mr. Leideigh went to Florida on occasion, but basically was home during the day. He was a great “House Dad” keeping his eye on Christopher and his younger brother Jason. He kept the rest of the group of us out of major trouble. His office was in the space between the kitchen and the stairway to Christopher’s bedroom above the garage. He worked the phones and on the PC, and we (David, Anna, Erin, Julie, myself and others) said hello as we paraded by on our way up to Christopher’s room.

 With strawberry blonde hair and freckles, Christopher was the all-American poster-boy for mid-80s “preppy.” Puberty hadn’t hit quite yet; his voice still in the treble register and facial hair more than a wet dream away from reality. We spent a lot of time in his room above the garage, secluded from the rest of the house. Once there, we did any one of a number of things – sat around and talked. I listened to Christopher go on about his relationships with Julie, and later Erin. He whined about them not willing to call him their boyfriend. I counseled, and played go-between. Then again, perhaps we actually worked on homework – I vaguely recall opening an algebra textbook.

 Mostly we listened to music – while I listened to the tales of Lake Wobegon on Saturday evenings with my parents before a baby-sitting job, Christopher and David were part of the crowd that sat around listening to Pink Floyd for all hours. I became well versed in the history of the band…from Piper at the Gates of Dawn right on up through Dark side of the Moon, Wish you were here, Animals, and The Wall. I was quizzed on album names and track titles, and they forced me to play “Name That Tune.” The only thing I didn’t know was the names of the band members. But the rest of that knowledge served me well once I got to college – I fell in with a crowd of ‘Floyd fans, impressing them that a girl was familiar with the tracks.

 I had signed a deportment contract to participate in the Teen Counseling program – no drinking or drugs. Besides, Councilman and Squadwoman Savage’s daughter could NOT be caught under the influence! David and Christopher and the rest of the guys shooed the girls out of the house when they were going to drink or light up. I was trusting. David reminded me of my curfew, or told me he needed to talk to Christopher privately or gave me some other plausible tale. Gullible and slow as I was, I just left. It was at least a full year until I recognized the signs of impending high-dom. Either they got sloppy, or I got wise, or a little bit of both. In retrospect I appreciate their respect for us. After all, had they been mean-spirited, or otherwise unsavory characters, they could have gotten us drunk, high, and then had their ways with us. But they didn’t. I was “sweet’n’innocent” (my words) “high on life” (their words) and they kept me that way. Thanks guys.

 *          *          *

 Somebody told me (Anna? Heather?) Ross was lonely and gave me his address suggesting I send him something to cheer him up. For whatever reason, despite all the research and preparations, College of Wooster was not a good fit. I was told he was lonely, bored, and terribly homesick. So, in the fall of 1983, I started sending mail. I tell myself now that my goal was to write a note and send one envelope per week. I probably wrote less often, every other week, or once every two or three. Regardless, writing to Ross was my teenage therapy, my sanity. I kept my notes to him private – he was the lucky recipient of an adolescent girl’s diary. I could and did write anything and it didn’t matter. Ross was so far removed from my daily life I felt safe sending him my thoughts. Since we grew up in the same community and knew the same people, he would understand (or so I believed) my frustrations, my passions. Ross was a teenybopper’s fantasy, and that year as busy as I was, he learned more about me than anyone else.

 Like so many school districts across the nation, our high school instituted a “Saturday Study” program as a deterrent for behavior problems. For so many infractions of various school rules, you were issued demerits. Collect ten demerits, and you were required to attend school on Saturday morning from 8 a.m. – noon. In our school, Saturday Study was formal detention held in the large lecture hall. Only no lecture was delivered that morning. Instead, every other seat was filled with a warm body who had committed some adolescent transgression. Most were regulars – those who smoked in the bathrooms, who regularly started fights, some minor criminal mischief (graffiti or some such) those who skipped class and were caught off campus, and then there was me. I lived 800 yards from the school building, and was rarely on time. And so, after earning so many demerits every time I was marked tardy, I had to serve a Saturday Study. The kicker though, was that if you were late for Saturday Study, you were locked out, and had to serve twice instead of once. I did my time in Saturday Study more than twice. I’m still not punctual. If I ever have a job that requires me to be on time every day, I’ll be fired within a month!

 Most of us slept. Which was okay if you got the right teacher supervising that particular Saturday morning. But some teachers refused to allow sleeping. If you didn’t bring schoolwork or something else to do, you were required to write an essay, or escorted to your locker to retrieve your textbooks. Personal stereos (Sony Walkmen – in the pre-MP3 era) and small TV’s were confiscated. For me, it was an unfortunate opportunity to actually do my homework, at least then it was done and over with for the weekend. And write letters. I wrote thank-you letters to my grandmother, I wrote letters to my brothers, and I wrote to Ross. I scribbled random thoughts, offered up gossip, told him what was going on at Corral – I’d taken a position that he had previously held - lamented difficulties with David, and doodled. While sitting in that lecture hall, watching the clock, waiting for noon to finally arrive, I addressed and stamped the envelopes and then on my way back up the hill to home, put the whole mess in the mailbox.

  y/��3�

[duhuxupi-blog]

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