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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 4 years

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It Wasn’t in the Contract: One

Bucky stood in front of the window and looked down at the street below. It was another busy city morning. People milled about on the side walk. Cars jammed the street. And it was his.

He had the city in his pocket. He owned Judges, Lawyers, Cops, Journalists... Nothing could touch his operation. After almost a decade of building his team. Building his empire. He was making money hand over fist. More than he could ever spend in a life time.

But what he needed right now, he couldn’t buy.

He needed a wedding date.

And not just any date. He needed you.

Because somehow, in the last decade, he’d neglected to tell his ma, and his sisters that you’d left. That he’d let his ambition get in the way. And that when he’d hurt you, left you cold and lonely one too many times, you’d gone. Set yourself up in Paris. And now, he knew he was in too deep. He couldn’t back pedal now. He had to get you to come with him. Or he’d never live it down.

His Ma, he knew had an inkling. Hell. By now she probably knew. And knew everything. But he’d be damned if he was gonna sit through any lectures the week of Becca’s wedding. He just. He wanted the week to be nice. And if he was honest... After 9 years apart, after watching your career flourish at a distance. After watching you do everything you set out to do... He wanted to see you. Tell you he missed you.

Because after 9 years, the problem with everyone he ever dated was simple. They. Weren’t. You. When they looked up at him in the afterglow, snuggling into his chest, it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like home. And god. Did he want to go home. Even if it was just to say ‘hello’.

_________

The flight to Paris had been long. But, at least first class had come with Wi-fi. And alcohol. It had made it so that, at the very least, he’d managed to sleep a little. So by the time he was in his hotel and had his bag unpack he was... Well frankly he was getting nervous.

He knew that it was probably bullshit. The feeling in his chest that told him, beyond a shadow of a doubt that you were somewhere in the city. That if he looked out over his /balcony you’d be right there. Waiting for him. Looking for him too.

And he laughed at himself a little. If you heard him say it out loud, you would probably have laughed at him too. You were never the romantic type. Not really. You were too practical and grounded for that. Romantic movies bored you to tears. Sappy, sentimental family movies were even worse. “Life isn’t like the movies.”

You’d told him that once during an argument. Right before the break up. When all you’d done was argue. Bucky had told you he wanted a baby. You’d told him that you wanted to finish school. That you wanted to get designs onto shelves. That you wouldn’t have time to take care of a baby AND start your shop. Bucky had said that he’d help you. And even when it first came out he knew it was a lie. He was trying to keep himself and his crew out of jail and make enough money to pay off his dad’s debts. He didn’t have time for a baby either. But it sounded good. And if it had been a movie you would have melted into his arms. It would have been fine.

But it hadn’t been. No matter how much he wanted it to be. Because he hadn’t wanted to work. He hadn’t wanted to try and be the man you needed him to be. He’d been a dumb kid. A kid with a dream, sure. But a dumb kid none the less. And as he stood in front of your door, a bouquet of white roses in his hand, he couldn’t breathe.

He knew there was a little gray at his temples. And in his bead when he didn’t stay clean shaven. And that maybe was wasn’t quite as trim as he’d been. But you? He’d seen pictures of you in articles. Even with all the photo magic photoshop shit, you still looked incredible. Maybe a little softer somehow. And the last of the puppy fat that had clung on to you for so long had finally melted away into some more mature features but...

That wasn’t the face that greeted him.

The door swung open, a blast of cool, lavender and sage scented air hitting him in the face. And there was no doe eyed beauty staring at him in surprise.

There was nothing but empty space and a glimpse of some yellow walls and polished wood floors.

“Who are you?”

The voice made him look down. And staring up at him was a kid. An 8-ish year old kid. With your eyes and a thick, unruly, mop of dark curls. Bucky can’t speak for a second.

“I- I- I think I have the wrong address,” he managed after a second.

The kid just shrugged and said, “Okay.” Swinging the door shut with a finality that made his head spin and his ears ring.

He stood there for a long moment. Clutching the roses in his fist. And he felt sick. A kid. Was it his kid? How had you not told him? How had he not known? Nat-.

The thought stopped him dead in his tracks and scowling he turned, loping down your front steps and jerking his phone out of his pocket.

“Romanoff,”

“She has a fucking kid, Natasha,” he growled, taking a deep breath to keep from screaming as he shoved the flowers into a trash bin.

“Yeah, and?” she said, just barely managing to not sound surprised that he knew.

“How long have you known?” he said accusingly.

“Since she got the positive test,” she said calmly, “Shit. I was in the delivery room with her.”

“But-”

“We all knew. And no. Nicco isn’t yours. His dad is an Italian Model Y/N took a long weekend with a few years ago.” She says all of this calmly. As if the rug wasn’t ripped out from under him. As if he wasn’t struggling to breathe. He didn’t understand why.

Why you wouldn’t have a baby with him but some random model knocked you up and now all of a sudden what? You wanted to play house? “They still together?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“Oh. God no,” Nat snorted, “He wanted fuck all to do with the kid. Y/N had him sign his rights away AT the hospital about 4 hours after he was born... I go visit a couple times a year... And we all tend to drop by when she comes state side.”

“Why did no one fucking tell me!” he exploded finally.

“She asked us not too, Buck.” she murmured.

He hung up after that, shoving his phone in his pocket and turning to trudge up the street. He needed alcohol. A lot of it. And he needed to plan his next move.

__________

You half listen for your son’s footsteps in the hall and sneak a little peak at the page of his journal, rolling your eyes fondly. It’s a revised Birthday list, looks like. And like it has been since he was old enough to write it out, it was mostly clothes.

At the top of the list, of course, was a new pair of boots (with heels please). You can hear it in his prim little voice and it makes you smile. Your little fashionista. He loved looking nice. And it was a constant source of contention that you refused to let him model. At least out side of little fun shoots at your studio.

“Who was at the door, dearest?” you ask, smiling.

“Mom!” he scolded, “Don’t look at my list! It’s so last month.”

“Nicco,” you chuckle, “You just updated it yesterday.”

“No,” he corrected, “I thought about updating it yesterday... Can I have a pair of pumps?”

You make a soft thoughtful noise, “Yes,” you answer finally, “But not for school.”

“Mom-”

“I don’t want you spraining an ankle. Or damaging your feet,” you explain, “I know- I know. Wedges are terribly passe but. You’re not going to like needing your knees replaced when you’re my age.”

“Ew.”

“Exactly,” you hum, ruffling his hair, “Who was at the door?”

“Oh!” he said, crossing something off his list, “Some guy in a suit. Said he got the wrong address.”

You nod, turning back to preparing dinner, “What should we have for dessert?” you muse out loud, already eyeing the box of brownie mix in the cupboard.

“Brownies?” Nicco said, giving you his biggest, saddest eyes. His dimples appearing in his cheeks as he tried not to grin at you. A look that made you just melt. And one you can’t say no to. Even if you should.

You sigh, “Fine,” you tut, “But I’m not paying you to tell me I’m pretty when I get fat.”

“Mom,” he huffed, “You won’t have to pay me to tell you that.” And you really did melt then, kissing him on the cheek s you went to retrieve a mixing bowl.

“I mean,” he added, “If you do pay me I might tell you more often though.”

And you can’t help it. You laugh.

#Bucky x reader #past reationship #mob au #mob!Bucky #fluff #angst #break up #fake dating maybe?

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petri808 · 4 years

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1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 22 | 23 | 24

‘Come on, come on, come on, Lucy please pick up!’

“Sorry I’m not available to take your call. Please leave a message at the beep.”

“Fuck!” Natsu clicks off before the beep and chucks his phone at his bed. He’d already left numerous voice mails and text messages over the last week, the desperation growing with each one, but they’d all gone unanswered or unread. If he left anymore Lucy just might block him and he didn’t want that to happen.

All he needed was a chance, one chance. Even though their interactions were few between meeting on the train, the phone, and the cafe, it still should have provided him with some credibility. So how after just one encounter could she believe Touka over him? He didn’t understand. Of course, Gray’s take on it all was well, women tend to be more emotional. Maybe Lucy’s decision to react wasn’t because she necessarily believed Touka’s story. Perhaps she’s been cheated on before or slighted by a guy. Natsu shouldn’t try to rationalize it based on only his own experiences. His friend might be right, but he still wanted to hear it from Lucy’s own mouth. Didn’t he deserve at least that much?

Why hasn’t she blocked him yet? Did it mean she was still thinking about everything, processing it, or simply hadn’t had a chance to? Okay, that last one doesn’t make any sense considering how easy it easy to block a number on a cellphone. It gave him hope things weren’t over yet, but that unknown made it worse, like being left standing in the cold waiting for the rain to stop falling. Ugh! When will this storm pass? He needed answers or this’ll slowly drive him insane!

So, two days later he makes a crazy decision. “Yes,” he tells Gray, “so don’t stay up waiting for me.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?” Gray crosses his arms, “that’s basically stalking, as in you could go to jail if she complains.”

“I know the consequences, but I don’t see it like that. I just want to talk to her and if she tells me to fuck off, I’ll leave, but at least I got my answer.”

The man shakes his head and starts to walk away. “Never thought I’d see you go so nuts over a girl man. But good luck.”

Night after night, Natsu rides the train at the same time as their first meeting, hoping to run into Lucy. He knew it was a long shot, that their meeting may have been completely at random and she rarely caught the train so late at night. Which made sense considering the dangers of a single woman out alone. But it was his only lead to follow. Her campus was simply too large to wander aimlessly on and he had no idea where she lives. He was determined to see this through no matter how long it took.

Such resolution began to falter by the end of the second week when no sight or sound of the blonde crossed his path. He would sit there growing more and more despondent, getting onto the train and off to start the cycle again in the same route. Even other daily commuters started to notice this odd man sitting on a bench with his head kept low, only to look up at the sound of the doors opening. Natsu must have looked pathetic, and sad, a poor miserable creature lost in a sea of train riders with a story no one knew but could guess based on his appearance.

“Dude, it’s been a month! Just give up already!”

“No way! Tonight, could be the night!”

And it was.

It’d become such a routine, like one of Pavlov’s conditioning experiments. At the sound of the trains door, Natsu’s head pops up ready to scan all the incoming riders. It was nearing 10:30 pm with only one more route for the evening before he’d have to give up and try again tomorrow... but there she was.

Lucy walks into the door at the other end of the car and doesn’t see him immediately. By that hour there’s only a small number of riders so most of the seats were open and she quickly sits down on one. Natsu jumps up and rushes over in his excitement, like a puppy whose master had just come home.

He drops down in a crouch before Lucy and grabs her hand before she can resist or stop him. “Please, don’t scream or anything, I just wanna talk.”

“Oh my god Natsu, you scared the hell out of me!” She tries to pull her hand away, but he simply holds on tighter. “Natsu, there’s a reason I haven’t answered your calls, so take a hint.”

“Oh, come on Lucy, you never even gave me a chance to prove I’m innocent! How could you believe a woman who you just met over me, I thought we at least had a small connection between us.”

Lucy sees a few other riders staring in their direction. In embarrassment, she lowers her voice and grits out a response. “Let go of my hand, get off the floor and sit on the bench before I scream for help.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” he scrambles to his feet and takes a seat beside her.

The woman lets out an exasperated sigh. “I really don’t know how you can prove anything to me Natsu. I don’t know either of you, so to protect myself, it’s safer to just walk away.”

“Then get to know me, Luce. That’s all I’m asking for and you’ll see it was all a lie.”

“How would I know you’re not still seeing Touka? It’s not like we’d be together 24/7, so there’s plenty of opportunities for you to juggle the both of us.”

Ugh! He runs his hand down his face in frustration. “Touka is not my girlfriend, has never been my girlfriend, and will never be my girlfriend. She’s been stalking me for a couple years now and you’re not the first girl she’s chased away because she thought they were a rival.”

“Pfft.” Lucy takes out her phone, pulling up Instagram, and tapping away furiously. “Then explain this,” she shows him Touka’s profile. “Pictures of you two that looks like you’re a couple,” she scrolls a few posts down, “and again here, a comment by a N_dragneel with heart shapes. And then!” She changes to that persons profile, shoving her phone in his face, “are you telling me this isn’t you?”

Natsu stares at the profile which appeared to be filled with pictures of him and his life, along with the description stating Natsu loves Touka. “It’s not me,” he states calmly and takes out his own phone, pulling up his Instagram account. “This is me,” he shows her.

“How do I know this isn’t a side account?”

Again, he sighs and clicks on the account information. “See, I have one side blog to post dragon art, and that’s it. She created that fake blog with my name.”

“And the photo’s?!”

“Photoshop or some other free app anyone can download. Lucy I’m telling you the truth, and this isn’t the first time I’m hearing this.” He groans, “this’ll be the third blog I’ll have to report for stealing my identify.”

The tell-tale ding of the trains information board signals they’d arrived at Lucy’s stop. “Look Natsu, I-I just don’t know what to make of all this.” She stands to leave, but he corners her.

“Just one shot, Lucy please! I’ll introduce you my friends, hell I can introduce you to another woman Touka’s harassed and you’ll have to see I’m telling you the truth!”

“Natsu, move.” She clenches her fists in frustration and her adrenaline is making her body shake. “I-I have to go!”

“But Lucy...”

“Please,” moisture builds in her eyes. “Natsu get out of the way.”

Heartbroken and dejected, his shoulders slump and arms drop to his sides as he steps away to let her pass. Lucy adjusts her backpack and starts to walks away but pauses just outside of the door. Without turning around, “Even if you’re telling me the truth Natsu, I have to think long and hard if I’d want to deal with all this drama. I’m sorry.”

The doors close and with it the last pieces still hanging on in Natsu’s heart shatter. She was right. How fair is it to Lucy to be caught in the middle of this stalking war with Touka? He shambles back to his seat and drops as the train moves on to his stop. All he could do was wait and see what she decided. Is he worth the investment?

#nalu #nalu fan fiction #nalu fan fic #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #nalu Au #stangers on a train #ch 10 #petri808 #Natsu x lucy #fairytail

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thisnerdsadventures · 3 years

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I, a campaign manager

so in addition to being a CTO, a CS major, and a dorm vice president, i was also a campaign manager for 2 weeks (the exact campaign that I was managing is not entirely difficult to figure out if you really want to know, especially if you click on the links BUT i will be trying to not mention it specifically here lol). You might be wondering - (1) why and (2) how did you end up becoming a campaign manager..... you're not even a poli sci/gov/humanities/literally anything vaguely related to this major??

You're correct, yes, how did this happen? Well that's a great place to start this story:

How in the world this happened

Friends drag you into stuff. This happens to be the same friend that dragged me to New York, and then was 20% of the reason I got dragged into the negotiation class, and then was maybe 15% of the reason i got dragged into nonprofit activities? In terms of providing unique opportunities in my life, she definitely takes the cake. So one day, she says "I'm running for this position," and me and the squad says "we gotchu." What does that mean? Clearly wasn't sure in the beginning, but we were texting campaign strategies and slogans and tiktok ideas in the chat for fun. None of us had any real responsibilities, especially since the actual candidates were still weighing the playing field and figuring out their platform.

I also was a course 6, so I guess there was some expectation that I would make the website, even though I didn't actually code the website from scratch.

but anyways, it was actual campaign time.

CAMPAIGN SZN

After they figured out the campaign platform, it was game on for the campaign materials. We spent a lot of time on artwork, we photoshopped pictures from a photo shoot, we came up with campaign motto ideas, we brainstormed strategies for officially announcing the campaign. We had an actual campaign meeting to talk over things in mid-April where I met like six different people, friends from both candidates on this ticket, who were supporting this effort. We had a google drive AND a Dropbox. Look at this:

Despite this seemingly organized effort, it was not that organized because this publicity team didn't actually actively do anything for like a week. Many reasons for this: one being it was actually the semester, and it was also CPW weekend. Unfortunately for me, that weekend was literally hell for me, because I was managing this site for our nonprofit, CPW events (so like five zoom calls on a Saturday), classes (because those are still happening), and then the campaign thing finally started, about a week before voting opened. In the form, of a website.

So the tl;dr is I developed an entire Squarespace website in one night. Yes, one night. I had to model it from I think the website from a Harvard campaign site, which took me like three or four hours on a Saturday night, which is a very fast time in my opinion to learn how to use Squarespace. I also bought a domain and figured out how to connect it to Squarespace at like 1 in the morning, which was the first domain I ever bought in my life!

(It expires in a month. I am absolutely going to let it die.)

Also, if anyone from squarespace is reading this for some reason, yall made a really solid product. I actually was very happy with my experience. You all should use it, I am 100% not sponsored by them at all, but honestly it was a very good experience. If you need to develop a website in four hours and don't have a lot of webdev experience, definitely consider it. You can even see website clicks and user analytics, it's actually really put together.

The next day we spend a lot of time going through website changes and artwork changes. It's bad. We had so many discussions about color palettes and the advantages of a 3 column vs 4 column layout. Yes. I'm serious. I'm starting to go crazy.

If anyone's interested, I would say that our website definitely was better than the other campaign's website. Like objectively. Like both campaigns were great, but the website? well. Here's the link (archived because I only paid for 1 month of squarespace :D) The amount of detail that went into it is actually incredible, the amount of spacing, i even had to custom CSS the header image so that mobile headers would show up correctly.

THE CAMPAIGN VIDEO

so sometime during this week, I had this thought about making a really good campaign video. I was very inspired by some of these Google ads that started with a Google search bar. (Yes, I am aware that I am that much of a Google simp.) To be honest, rewatching this ad, I really definitely just copied this entire ad lol, it's ok we don't have to talk about that.

That Wednesday, we coincidentally talked about what makes campaign videos successful. We talked about how Trump's incendiary imagery helped stoke the flames and how it was really effective in getting people to vote, and eventually helped him beat Clinton in the presidential election. So I went and took that and grabbed news clips and campus videos and overlayed that in the video, and it went from like a solid 6 to an 8 immediately, in my honest, unbiased opinion. You can see what I mean in the video itself: [link].

We also had to put together quite a few interviews about what they wanted from the school and were looking for in their candidates, which took a million years of coordination, but we somehow got it done in three days, and everything was put together in a flurry of a weekend, unending changes and small fixes for sixteen hours straight. I could not even tell you how much I learned about premiere pro and how to use layer masks and everything. I even composed the music for the first fifteen seconds of it. Literally, composed, it.

And so on a Sunday afternoon FINALLY right before voting, the video drops. I'm sitting in my backyard absorbing the sun because I hadn't left my computer for 48 hours straight.

It gets like 1000 views or impressions or something in like two days, which is incredible for me, since I'm not a professional by any standards, but I am considering being a professional campaign manager at this point. By the way, we're also managing an Instagram page, a Facebook page, a tiktok page, a website, our individual social media pages, and we're trying to synchronize this video drop and all of our publicity efforts across every single one of these channels. It's chaotic at best.

VOTING SZN

So it's voting week, where we give everyone an entire week to vote. Across the week, it's mostly a waiting game, we make a few more tiktoks and funny videos that we publicize to get out the vote more. The last day, we're thinking about it, and we know the final vote's gonna be close, so we message every. single. person. in our Facebook friends list. I think I singlehandedly convinced like twenty people to vote (and hopefully vote for our ticket).

There's a lot of drama about different stuff. I won't really talk about it because I think it got really messy, but this week and entire couple weeks was a lot to get through honestly. As a reminder, I'm also working on my senior thesis and my nonprofit website work is peaking at this point, so everything is very, very bad and none of us have slept in a while. Also it's the pandemic.

Finally, the results come out. We lost by like 20 votes or something, out of 1500 or so total votes casted or something like that. It's one of the highest voter turnouts in school history or something, I don't quite remember. After that, we're so emotionally drained from this whole thing that we just don't talk about it for a while and that's that.

If the ticket won, I wonder how it would've turned out. I feel like things would've continued to be busy, and maybe that's not a great thing. So maybe everything happened for a reason. I don't know, but those three weeks were quite interesting, quite fun, quite odd. I'm putting those videos in my personal portfolio and am putting Adobe Premiere Pro and Squarespace on my resume and moving on.

Anyways, thought I'd just share! i haven't posted in a while, and this was definitely one of my #weird #odd stories from my time at MIT, which is quite reminiscent of #weird #odd at MIT in general.

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years

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In Case You Don’t Live Forever- Chapter 8

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

“He’s such a dick!” Peter exclaimed, flopping on his bed. You laid down next to him and ran your fingers through his soft hair. You felt him relax immediately under your touch.

“What did Flash do today?” you asked. This was a pretty common point of conversation between you and Peter. Flash always found a way under Peters skin and you were always the one to dig him out.

“He said I photoshopped our pictures together on Instagram. And he said you’d never even look at me, even if I was, and I quote, ‘waiting your table on your date with him’. He’s such a dick! You do look at me.” Peter protested. You sighed. You and Peter had been together for three glorious weeks. And each of those weeks, Peter had Flash on his back about your relationship.

“Yes I do. And I love what I see.” You assured him. Peter smiled slightly. He was too angry to fully appreciate the compliment.

“He tells everyone I’m lying about us being together. I didn’t even tell people, Ned did. And when I said I was gonna take the day off of school to spend our one month anniversary together, he said it was probably just gonna be me alone in my room reading your articles and crying because you’d never give me the time of day. I wish he would believe me. I hate constantly having to defend our relationship.” Peter mumbled. You kissed his cheeks and rolled onto his chest. Your one month anniversary was just a week away. You two planned on spending every second together to commemorate the event.

“Take my mind off of him, please. What’s new in my beautiful girlfriends life?” Peter asked. You two absentmindedly compared hand sizes before locking your fingers together.

“I have my final interview with Cletus next week. Then I really gotta finish my story.” You told him.

“You’ll get it done. You’re so efficient. When’s it due?”

“Three weeks.” You answered.

“You know what that means.” Peter said. You nodded.

“Balls to the walls.” You said at the same time he said “Pedal to the metal.”

You giggled and he laughed loudly.

“I like how I made a crude reference and you made one about flowers. It really highlights our personalities.” You pointed out. Peter cocked his head.

“Flowers?” He questioned.

“Yea. Petals. Petal to the medal.” You said. Peter burst out laughing. The whole bed shook.

“Aw baby no. It’s pedal to the metal not petal to the metal. Why would you push petals against metal?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Why would you put your balls to the wall?” You shot back.

“I personally wouldn’t put my balls against any wall.” Peter said matter of factly. Him saying something so out of character made you snort with laughter. You immediately covered your mouth and burned red.

“That was the grossest sound. I’m so sorry.” You said with hands still covering your face.

“Don’t be sorry. I love all your sounds.” Peter said as he moved your hands to plant kisses on your face. He started with kisses on your cheeks and slowly moved down to your neck. This was new territory for the both of you. You let out a soft giggle.

“I like that sound too.” Peter said as he perked his head up. You smiled fondly and it gave him the confidence to keep going. He placed more hot kisses down your neck and you let out another soft sound.

“I like that sound as well.” He laughed into your neck. His lips found their way under your ear in just the right place.

“Peter.” You breathed. He stopped and looked at you. His eyes were full of something you’d never seen before. Pure love and adoration for you. But it wasn’t the puppy love you were used to seeing with him. It was adult love. Committed love. You looked him deep in the eyes and nodded. Without saying a word, you both agreed to take the next step and solidify your love for each other.

That night, you and Peter laid awake and just stared each other. Neither of you said a word. Everything had already been said that night in his bed. You absentmindedly ran your fingers over his lips as he twirled your hair around his finger. You loved him. You wanted so badly to tell him. But Peter was a teenage boy. He just experienced his first time and you don’t want to overwhelm him with his first “I love you” as well. But from the way Peter was looking at you, you knew he knew how you felt.

“I want you to meet my boss.” Peter spoke. He had a dreamy smile on his face. “He’s my mentor and basically my father. He’s very important to me and so are you. I want us all to have dinner together. Let’s do it tomorrow night. He’s gonna love you.”

You craned your neck and smiled brightly at Peter.

“I’d love to meet him.” You said. And you meant it. Peter barely gave any details about his internship. You didn’t even know his bosses name. You cuddled in closer to Peter and felt absolute happiness all throughout your body. He felt it too. Peter Parker was over the moon with joy. He had never been happier.

The next day after school, Peter practically ran down the steps to greet you. He was still on a high from the night before. You were running slightly late and Peter stood in your usually spot and waited for you.

“Whats wrong, Penis Parker? Did Iron Man forget to pick you up today?” Flash teased. Peter turned his back to him.

“No. If you must know, Y/n is picking me up. She’s just a little late.” Peter grumbled. Flash laughed tauntingly.

“Right, Y/n. Is she gonna pick you up on her unicorn and take you on a date at Avengers Tower?” Flash mocked. Peter just ignored him.

“I can’t blame you for pretending to date her though. She’s so hot. I’d like to take her out and show her a good time. Better than you ever could, Penis Parker.” He continued. Peter rolled his eyes.

“She’s not hot Flash, she’s beautiful. She’s a girl, not a cup of tea.” Peter retorted. Flash’s cheeks heated up at Peters comeback.

“Whatever. I’d still bang her. Even if she was a cup of tea.” Flash said. Peters blood began to boil. How dare he speak about his girl that way? Peter wanted to kill Flash for even thinking about you.

“Me too. That girl is straight up glorious. I’d let her do anything she wanted to me, I swear.” One on Flash’s idiot friends chimed in. Peter shot him the death glare. It was getting increasingly harder to stand there and listen to those idiots degrade you.

“You’re disgusting. Show some respect.” Peter said lowly. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. Little did Peter know, your super hearing allowed you to hear the whole conversation as you approached his school. An idea formed in your head.

A nice size crowd had gathered around Peter and Flash’s goons. Peter tapped his foot and waited for your arrival.

“Aw. Penis wants us to show his imaginary girlfriend some respect.” Flash laughed. At that moment, you pulled up on your bike and swiftly took off your helmet. Shocked murmurs swept throughout the crowd. Most stunned of all was Flash, who looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. All eyes were on you. Peter noticed Flash’s reaction and smirked.

“Hi baby. I’m sorry I’m late. I’m having trouble getting around after last night.” You said apologetically and shot Peter a wink. You had practiced it in your head. Peters face broke out in an embarrassed smile as boys began to pat him on the back. A few applauded.

“It’s alright, darling.” Peter said, stepping towards you. You smirked and gave him a big sloppy kiss. It was way more PDA than you were used to but you knew it’d give Peter enough street credit for the rest of high school.

“Let’s go babe. Bye Flush.” You called and gave Flash a flirty little wave. If he was gonna call your boyfriend Penis, he was gonna get called Flush. Peter climbed on the back of your bike and you two sped away.

“Thanks for what you did back there. I hate how disgusting those guys are. I’m sorry they were objectifying you.” Peter apologized once you were back in his room.

“It’s alright. It happens.” You shrugged.

“But it shouldn’t. And did you see how they all acted when you kissed me? Like all the sudden I was cool because you were my girlfriend? They acted like you’re some prize that I won. Don’t get me wrong, you’re incredibly hot and I’m incredibly lucky to have you. But what they don’t understand is, there’s a million reasons why I’m lucky to have you. Your beauty isn’t even one of them. There’s so much to you. So much grandeur and depth. They reduced you to a pretty face. They don’t care how smart you are, or how funny you are, or how kind. They don’t care that you’re the most talented investigative reporter in the world. They only care about what they see on the outside. And it makes me sick to think about.” Peter grumbled. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Peter, I don’t care what a single one of those bonehead boys had to say. I only care about you. You are the sweetest, most attentive and most caring boy in the world. You’re a prince among men. Those boys at your school are just jealous that you actually have a brain in your head and a heart in your chest when they don’t. Don’t let them get to you. And thank you for all that you said. I really care about you, Peter.” You said while you looked deeply into his eyes. You wanted to tell him you loved him, but you chickened out. You had only ever said it to Andy. Peter kissed you sweetly.

“I really care about you too. Now come on, let’s work on your story.”

That night, you prepared to eat dinner at Peters bosses house. You wore a casual dress and did your hair in loose curls. You wanted to make a good impression on Peters mentor. You took a cab, not wanting to ride your motorcycle and risk the helmet messing up either of your hair, to a wooden cabin near a lake. Peter knocked on the door and rubbed his hands together in excitement.

“Here we go.” He beamed.

The door opened and your body froze as your eyes landed on Tony Stark. The very Tony Stark who made you your suit. The very Tony Stark who knew you were Venom. The very Tony Stark who was your boyfriends boss.

You felt sick to your stomach. Tony felt it to. He glanced from you, to Peter, to your interlocked hands, then back at you. Your eyes whispered an apology. He looked equally as apologetic. He was sorry for how badly this would end when all the secrets were out.

“Come on in, kids. Dinners almost ready.” Tony said suddenly. Peter grinned at you and lead you inside. You faked a smile before giving Tony one last look.

Dinner went as awkwardly as you could imagine. You and Tony couldn’t keep your eyes off of each other. Peter was too excited about his two favorite people meeting to notice the tension in the air.

“Y/n is an investigative reporter.” Peter gushed.

“Is she?” Tony said, never looking away from you. You felt terrified by his stare.

“She took down Carlton Drake and soon she’s gonna take down Cletus Kasady.” Peter continued with a proud smile. He put his hand on your knee under the table and squeezed.

“Oh really? How did you do it?” Tony asked. You gulped. He knew exactly how you did it.

“I just followed my instincts and didn’t let up until the truth was out.” You stammered. Tony nodded vaguely.

After an awkward dinner of Tony and you staring each other down, he asked you to follow him into another room.

“Y/n, will you join me in the lab? I got something that might help your story.” Tony announced. You felt fear run through your body, all the way to your scalp. You nodded and got up. Your legs were shaking and you prayed Peter didn’t notice. He got up as well.

“I’ll come.” He said. Tony immediately turned around.

“You stay here, kid. I just want a quick word with your girlfriend.” Tony said. Peter sat back down with a smile on his face at the sound of someone referring to you as his girlfriend.

Once in the safety of the lab, you let out the breath you had been holding in all night. You looked anxiously at Tony. He had his back to you, and was still deciding what to say.

“Does he know?” Tony asked suddenly. You shook your head even though Tony couldn’t see you.

“No, sir. I haven’t told him.” You said.

“Do you know about him?” Tony asked, turning to face you. Your face contorted in confusion.

“Do I know what about him?” You questioned. Tony’s face fell. He realized the extent of the situation. You and Peter were in love and Spider-Man and Venom were enemies. And neither of you knew the other’s secret identity. Tony’s heart broke for the young couple. He knew how much Peter loved Y/n. He also knew how fragile Peter was. Tony wondered if the shock would hurt less if he made the teenagers confront each other sooner rather than later.

“Nothing. Here’s what I need from you, tell him the truth.” Tony stated. You opened your mouth to protest but he held up his hand.

“I don’t want to hear it, Hannah Montana. You need to tell Peter about Venom, or I will. End of discussion.” Tony said sternly.

“But-“

“What did I say? End of discussion.” He repeated.

“But he’ll hate me.” You said sadly. Tony looked at you empathically. She doesn’t even know how bad this is he thought.

“He’ll hate you more if you wait to tell him. You have to rip the bandaid off. And who knows, maybe he has secrets of his own.” Tony said. You stared at the floor, not wanting to go back to the dinning room to Peter. You wanted to avoid him, and the conversation, as long as you could.

“You don’t understand, Mr. Stark. The second I tell him, I lose him. I can’t do that Mr. Stark. I’m not ready to lose him, I just got him.” You said in a horse voice. You didn’t want to cry in front of a man you idealized but your heart was breaking.

“You don’t know for sure that you’ll loose him. You need to tell him. Now. You know where he is.” Tony ordered. You could feel yourself beginning to cry no matter how hard you tried to fight it. It was that terrible feeling of needing to cry but feeling too embarrassed too. You could feel hot tears at your waterline.

“Don’t do that. I don’t want a crying teenage girl on my hands.�� Tony said in response to your watering eyes.

“But I love him.” You cried. “I love him and I don’t want to lose him.”

Tony’s attention snapped to you. You had never seen Tony Stark at a loss for words before.

“You love him?” He asked. You nodded.

“With all my heart.”

“Have you ever told him that?” Tony asked.

“No.” You said shyly. It was an awkward thing to talk about with a man you barely knew.

Tony looked angry for a moment, then disheartened.

“This is going to crush him.” He muttered.

“I never wanted to hurt him, Mr. Stark. Please believe that. But no matter how much I wish for things to be different, they can’t be. This is who I am. I am…we are Venom. That won’t change.”

“You’ve already hurt him and you don’t even know it.” Tony said. You didn’t really understand what he meant.

“Are you familiar with Georgie O’Keefe?” You asked suddenly. “He had this quote that says ‘when you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else.’ That’s how I feel about Peter, Mr. Stark. I want to give him that world. My world.”

“Venom is a part of your world.” He reasoned.

“I know. And I’ll tell him. Just, not yet. I can’t lose him just yet.”

Tony looked at you for a long time and sighed.

“Fine. I’ll give you one week. If you don’t tell him by then, I will.” Tony said firmly. You nodded sadly.

“Okay.” You said. You wiped a tear that had managed to fall. “I’ll tell him.”

“You better. Now let’s go back in there and give him the best night of his life. He deserves that much.” Tony said and you agreed.

You two went back out and ate dessert with Peter. You did your best to enjoy and decide of it, knowing your time with Peter was almost up.

Peter enjoyed his evening to the fullest extent and never suspected a thing. You’d sneak glances at Tony every now and then. He was always staring back.

“I had the best time. Thank you Mr. Stark.” Peter said as you two got ready to leave.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Stark. It was a pleasure to meet you.” You shook Tony’s hand. He shook yours back firmly, both of you knowing you had already met.

“Anytime. And Y/n, good luck. I’m rooting for you.” Tony said honestly. You gave him a thankful nod.

“Good luck with what?” Peter asked.

“My story.” You answered quickly. You ushered Peter out the door and gave Tony one last look. He nodded at you and held up one finger. You gulped. This was going to be the worst week of your life.

Tag List 🏷

@monimiin @truthdaze @honeyccoated @constellationswithapurpose @condy-wants-a-cookie @zipp0flare @vxidnik @maddie-laufeyson @bubblegumholland @the-blindwatcher @pmvelez97 @ziggyspurplehaze @grippleback-galaxy @fangeekkk

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thefloralpeach · 4 years

Text

Bird Set Free- a Reddie Superpower AU

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier | Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Words:7454 | Chapters:1/?Hits:0

Summary:

Richie Tozier grew up to be a hero. Eddie Kaspbrak grew up without anyone there to save him. What do you get when you cross an angry vigilante with a hero who’s just trying his best?

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335246/chapters/55900111

It started out as a conspiracy, and quickly turned into national controversy.

Nobody’s sure exactly who was the first case- abilities manifesting at a young age, anywhere between seven and seventeen. Videos surfaced of young kids doing extraordinary things, some of which people assumed was photoshop, but some of which occurred on live social media videos. The videos increased in frequency, the reports of strange happenings poured in every day, and eventually the government had to come out with a public statement.

Apparently, superpowers exist now.

It was the only thing anyone could talk about for a solid year. As a middle schooler, all you could do was wait to see if you were next.

The Losers often found themselves in conversation about what powers they hoped to have.

“I hope I get shapeshifting. I’d turn into the hottest motherfucker this world has ever seen and take over the world,” Richie would say.

Eddie never talked about it much, but he thought it might be nice to be immune to sickness. That way, maybe his mother would let him leave the house more… Or, maybe walking through walls would serve that purpose. He just wanted to be able to do what he wanted, and not be forced under her wing.

It was eighth grade when Eddie began to despise this hero stuff.

Instead of continuing his education with his friends, his mom decided to pull him out of school due to the fear that someone with powers would hurt him. She said that his ‘no good friends’ would end up accidentally hurting him, or some ignorant kid would get their power suddenly and Eddie would be a victim of it. Even when he reminded her that ability prevalence rates were pretty low, of course nothing could sway her.

So he said goodbye to seeing his friends in school, and hello to meeting up with them at every other possible moment; until his mother decided that was also too dangerous. So, he remained in his house like a prisoner.

His friends visited though, of course they did. Eddie had a window, and the Losers were pretty good at climbing. Besides, Eddie didn’t think anything could keep Richie from finding him and bothering him.

It’s a gross, rainy night when Richie makes a promise.

It starts with pebbles thrown at his window- Richie’s signature greeting. Eddie tries not to think about how cheesy and romantic it is, but the thought crosses his mind anyway.

He opens the window, and is promptly met with Richie shaking out his wet hair like a dog. Eddie makes a disgusted noise, which only draws laughter from the taller boy.

“You sure your ability isn’t being gross and annoying?” Eddie asks as Richie finishes climbing in, almost stumbling over his own feet. He clutches his hands to his chest, feigning hurt.

“I can not believe you would insinuate something so hurtful, Eddie my love!”

Of all the nicknames in Richie’s arsenal, that one is definitely the worst. Eddie can be annoyed by Eds or the ever-popular Spaghetti, but when he pulls out something so cliche that it could be in a romcom, Eddie’s heart always skips a beat. He hates it. And he also loves it.

Richie’s pulling stuff out from his backpack before he’s even sat on Eddie’s bed. It became a sort of tradition for Richie to bring Eddie some stuff that his mom wouldn’t let him have whenever he visited.

“What’s in the magic bag tonight?” Eddie asks, eyeing the bag of all-pink starbursts Richie already pulled out.

“Candy, of course,�� Richie narrates, pulling out a bag of gummy worms and a jumbo snickers bar. “I also got you this cool magazine that talks about abilities and heroes, and this week’s newspaper.”

Richie would often bring Eddie stuff to read, stuff that clued him into what’s going on outside. Eddie’s mom allowed him a computer, but no internet, so Eddie relied on his friends for information about the world. It was a simple act that he cherished so much.

“Oh- I also made you this!” Richie announces, pulling out a CD from his bag. The cover is decorated with some crude doodles, and labelled ‘songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’. He tosses it to Eddie, who immediately bursts into laughter.

“A CD? Isn’t that a bit old school?”

Richie puts his arms up in defense. “Well, you don’t have internet or a damn phone, so what was I supposed to do? Send you a Youtube playlist?”

Eddie shrugs. “Alright, fair enough.” He ignores the way his heart quickens at the thought of Richie compiling a playlist for him. “So, what’s on it?”

“Ah, you need to play it to find out, my deah!” He responds, slipping into a hilariously poorly-accented Voice. Eddie shakes his head, covering his mouth in a weak attempt to muffle his laughter. “I have something else for you, too.”

Eddie calms himself then, and quirks an eyebrow up. “Do I wanna know?” He asks cautiously. Richie was known for following words like that with a wet willy or a pinch to his cheeks. But, the jokester only smiles in response.

“Yes, you do! How would you like to sneak out of here with me some night?” Richie offers, and Eddie’s eyes light up. “We can head over to the clubhouse-”

“God, you guys still have that?”

“Yes! We can go hang out there, and all the others will be there too! And we can get a pizza since we know you’ve been force fed, what, gluten-dairy-nut-free bullshit?”

Eddie laughs, so giddy and over the moon with excitement that he ignores his health concerns. Richie doesn’t think his allergies are real anyway, and Eddie isn’t so sure he disagrees. Regardless, how could he even think to be concerned about such trivial things when he has the chance to escape, to spend some time outside for the first time in months?

Of course, Eddie agrees to go. They make plans for the weekend, when Sonia would be at bingo night. Richie and the others would sneak around and help him out the window, and Eddie could sit on the back of one of their bikes on the way- since his own bike had been given away once he was put on house arrest. Eddie gives Richie a list of his favorite bands so Richie can make a playlist for the night, and together they plan a list of snacks to have. They pick out some choice movies as well, since Ben had said he could rent a projector from the library for the night.

Eddie’s never been so excited for something in his entire life.

Friday comes after what seems like forever, and his mom leaves for bingo, and Eddie waits excitedly in his room. He reads a comic book to pass the time until 5 o’clock comes.

And then 6 o’clock comes.

Then 7 o’clock.

Something probably happened… maybe they couldn’t get away from their parents in time, so they just had to push things back.

8 o’clock.

9 o’clock.

And then Eddie’s mother pulls into the driveway, and he’s pissed. He’s angry, he’s furious, he’s…

Crushed.

Saturday comes and goes, but nobody visits him.

Sunday is the same.

Eddie’s mother asks why he’s spending so much time in his room, and asks if he’s sick- he struggles to invent a lie that she’ll believe. So he tells her the truth- that he’s sad, that he misses his friends. Not that she does anything to help (“Oh honey, you’re so much safer without them anyway”), but she does leave him alone to brood.

This is the first week in months that he didn’t get a word from any of his friends. He’d never gone more than two days without Richie visiting him, but in the coming years, this would become the new normal.

For the next few years, the only company Eddie has is his mother. His overbearing, absolutely psychotic mother, who put helicopter moms to shame.

It’s a month after Eddie’s abandoned that he’s able to catch a newscast while his mom naps in the middle of the day. It’s the 4 o’clock news, the headline reading ‘Superhero Madness: New Ability Registration Mandate to Pass, Increasing Regulation on Enhanced Abilities.’

He’s reading comic books, stories about real superheroes. The media outlets he’d seen were all over calling this new phenomenon the “Age of Heroes” and shit that Eddie finds absolutely ridiculous. So a kid can learn things really quickly or make magnets stick to them- Spiderman is still cooler. Spiderman just wants to save people, he wants to save anyone who needs it, even those overlooked by other heroes. Spiderman doesn’t care about being big and flashy. He’s a real hero- not like these wannabes.

Regardless of his opinions, he tunes his attention to the news for a moment. It’s not often he actually gets to see what’s going on outside of his prison cell of a home.

“… Required not only to register their abilities, but to train at government-approved facilities. Officials say this mandate will assure that these enhanced individuals learn to manage their abilities, thus ensuring their safety and the safety of others. Opposition has arisen as well…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. Government-approved facilities? Please. This is the least cool backstory he’s ever heard. Then he remembers, this isn’t a backstory. Because this isn’t some cool hero story. This is real life, and in real life, his friends left him, and no hero is coming to save him.

It’s two years later when he manifests a power of his own.

The newscasts he’d been able to watch intermittently had reported that abilities seem to appear between the ages of ten and sixteen, as if a part of puberty. It made enough sense, Eddie figured at the time. He assumed after his thirteenth and fourteenth years passed that he’d never manifest anything- but he’d been wrong.

It’s nothing special, of course. He’s watching something on TV, not even the news or anything special, just some reality show, when he notices a weird light. He looks around, thinking at first that a lamp was suddenly turned on, but he quickly realizes it’s emitting from the palms of his hands.

“Huh…” he mutters. Light hands. Some freaking power, huh?

They don’t appear to do anything besides glow every so often. He debates whether or not to tell his mother, but ultimately he decides to hide it. What good would telling her do, anyway? What did he expect, praise? Comfort? No, he knew he would get nothing less than an hour of rambling about how much she now had to worry about, how much it would drain his energy, how much they had to fear from a soft little glow.

So, he hides it.

As much as he hates his stupid glowy hands at first, it starts to become a rather welcome feature.

He no longer has to hide a flashlight in his room for when he wants to read in bed- his own hands suffice now! Well, when he can get them to turn on, which isn’t all the time. He starts to understand all the hype he’d been seeing on the news about controlling abilities- if this were something dangerous, Eddie would surely be in some deep shit.

Every now and then, Eddie gets the gaul to ask his mom about things that he knew he wasn’t supposed to- if he could go out with her when she grabbed something, if he could return to school now that abilities are more regulated, if he could just go for a bike ride like he used to. The answer is always no, of course.

The only time he’s allowed out of the house is for visits to the doctor, which have also become less often for some reason. Eddie wonders why his medications remain the same even though he’s being seen less.

Sometimes, his mom gets tired of his curiosity.

“Eddie, you know why you have to stay in here, you know it! I can’t risk losing you, Eddie-bear. Do you know how many people are being attacked every day by these new monsters?!”

“But mom-”

“I don’t let you watch the news because it’s so terrible, every day there’s more attacks and more people sick and dead , I just can’t bear it!”

Eddie wants to tell her that he sees the news when she doesn’t think he’s watching, that things are starting to stabilize, that crime rates haven’t actually gone up that much and that people aren’t actually being attacked- but of course she doesn’t let him get a word it. It’s part of her defense against Eddie trying to fight back.

“Mom, listen to me, please -”

“Do you want to do that to me? Eddie-bear, you know how hard it’s been after I-” she sniffles for effect, “After I lost your poor father. I can’t risk losing you too, honey, you know that-”

“Mom will you just listen to me?!” He raises his voice, earning a gasp from his mother. The look on her face is almost scandalized. He doesn’t realize why until he gestures in frustration with his hands, and he notices a familiar glow. “I just want-”

“EDDIE!”

She interrupts him, running over and fawning over him until his glow dims and eventually fades. He’s bombarded with questions about how this could have happened, how could she ever let him out now, how they had to make extra sure to be careful, blah blah blah. He promptly loses all hope of ever getting out of there.

She corrals him to the stairs and up to his room, her shrill voice running nonstop the entire time. Eddie tries to tune it out, but it’s hard- she’s persistent, and his hopes are crushed. He hears the lock on his door click as she leaves.

Eddie barely notices the glow of his hands as he punches his pillow. He spends ten, maybe twenty minutes just punching, screaming, doing what he can to get his frustration out. Once he slows down, giving his poor bedsheets a break, he realizes that the glow has spread to just above his elbows.

“Stupid fucking glowy hands…” he mutters, glaring at them as if that would get it to stop. Of course, it doesn’t.

With a sigh, Eddie drags himself over to his bookshelf, grabbing something that sounds mildly interesting so he could distract himself from his stupid emotions and his stupid situations and his stupid hands. As he glances over the other options, his eyes land on something he hadn’t looked at in years- Richie’s mix CD. ‘Songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’. The glow in his hands fades as Eddie traces over the shitty doodles on the cover, and a ghost of a smile settles on his face.

He’s still pissed off that everyone abandoned him. He’s confused, he’s frustrated, he’s angry and he’s hurt- but most of all, he’s nostalgic. More than anything, he misses his friends, and he just wants it all back. He likes to think that there’s a good reason that they left him, and that they’ll be reunited one day and everything will be happily ever after- but he also knows that’s just a lot of wishful thinking.

Eddie breaks his thoughts by popping the CD into the player on his radio, pressing ‘play’, and flopping on his bed.

He closes his eyes, smiling to himself as the first notes of the song drift into the room. The CD plays on repeat until Eddie falls asleep for the night.

The next day, Eddie is horrified when his mother hires someone to install bars on his bedroom window. It’s for your safety, Eddie, she insists. The government is getting involved now, I can’t let them take you away.

But he knows they wouldn’t take him away. He knows he isn’t that lucky.

And he has the sneaking suspicion that his mother would have installed the bars whether or not the government was a concern.

Eddie’s hands don’t glow as bright anymore after that, though he isn’t sure why. Maybe he hated that stupid power so much that it’s in the process of disappearing- he hopes that’s the case. If he can prove he’s normal, then maybe one day he can leave.

In the next year, Eddie catches many newscasts about ability regulation. He managed to convince his mom to let him watch the news a little bit, because current events was something he had to be versed on in order for his home school requirements. She wasn’t happy about it, but ultimately he gets to watch the news more regularly now.

It’s something Eddie never quite cared about, news. When he was twelve and thirteen, the news was the most boring thing he could ever think of watching. But now, it’s a connection to the world he no longer gets to be a part of.

The last he’d heard, a few months back, was how the government had started allowing those with trained abilities to register as heroes. Their official title was something boring, of course- The National Force of Enhanced Individuals or something dumb like that. But everyone calls them heroes. Crime rates had been steadily decreasing since they passed the bill creating the force, and maybe, just maybe Eddie gets his hopes up when he hears that.

He hasn’t asked his mom about going outside in a while, but during this newscast, he thinks maybe he has a chance…

“So, that’s great, huh?” Eddie ventures from his spot on the couch, looking expectantly at his mother.

She’s sitting in her recliner, as she does most of the time, her attention on some magazine rather than the television. In response, she hums in question, not even bothering to look up.

“The- the Force of Enhanced Individuals…” he gestures to the screen. “Seems they’re lowering the crime rate. That’s great, right?” He cautiously explains, wary of the fact that this conversation could go to hell at any second.

She raises an eyebrow, glancing at Eddie for only a mere second.

“I suppose so, yes. It’s about time these streets got safer. You never know what could happen out there.”

Eddie pauses for a moment.

“So… it seems like things are more regulated now. More than they were a few years ago, I mean…”

She puts her magazine down then, switching her focus over to Eddie. “Eddie-Bear, I know you’re not trying to ask me to leave again, right? Because you know we’ve talked about this. You know why you have to stay here.”

And, there goes his plan.

His eyes are pleading, and he tries his best to sound reasonable, to make a point.

“I don’t- I don’t want to go far, just… I want to be outside more than just doctors visits, Mom! It’s not healthy for me to stay in here-”

“Don’t use your health on me! I know everything about your health, Eddie, and I know that you’re much better off in here, safe. ”

“I just want to go- go to the store with you maybe, or the library, or hang out in the backyard- I mean look, Mom, crime rates are down more than they’ve ever been! Heroes are protecting people!”

“Stop asking, Eddie.”

Her voice is so calm, so sure that Eddie feels like he wants to explode. He clenches his fists, and again, that familiar glow is back.

“No! I shouldn’t even have to ask, Ma!”

“Don’t you start this with me-”

“Most kids my age are outside all the time! They go to school, they go out with their friends, they do things! I don’t even know where my friends are!” He yells back, ignoring her retorts.

“Your friends don’t come here anymore, and it’s better for you that way! They were terrible influences, you don’t need them, Eddie-”

“I’d like to know where they went, why they left! I’d like to have the chance to look for them at least! Christ, Mom, this is a prison!” He gesticulates wildly in front of himself, pleading with his hands without noticing that they’re exactly why he won’t win this fight.

“Eddie, do not raise your voice with me. You’re scaring me, honey!” Eddie knew this tone well. “Why don’t you go upstairs and calm-”

“I DON’T WANT TO CALM DOWN, MA!”

As he yells, he swiftly throws his hands down to his sides, and something happens.

He can’t put words to it, but he feels a sort of tingling heat in his hands, and the next second he hears a crash- no, two crashes, one on each side of him.

Everything is silent for a moment, even his mother. Her mouth hangs open, though no words come out, and she’s looking at Eddie with something between shock and horror on her face. She turns her attention to Eddie’s left, and instinctively, he does the same.

There’s a visible dent in the wall there, as if somebody strong had punched it. Almost cautiously, Eddie turns his head to the other side, and notices an equal dent in the cabinet. Each dent is equal height, and Eddie knows what happened.

He’s still processing it, and he doesn’t want to be right, but he knows.

“Eddie…”

Her voice is so low, Eddie barely processes it. His eyes glance between the dents, then to the floor.

“Yeah… I’ll go to my room.”

After that, his visits to the doctor decrease exponentially so, only once every few months. But he’s given more medication than he’s ever had before. Given his little ‘condition’, he’s not surprised. It’s probably messing with his system somehow, and the medicine is helping with symptoms he hasn’t even noticed yet.

He feels tired all the damn time, even though he goes to bed early and wakes up a little on the later side. When he’s not doing his work or watching something completely idiotic that his mom insists he must join her for, he’s either napping or staring into space. It’s annoying- maybe that’s one of the things that the medicine is helping. Or maybe he’s just fucking depressed, who knows.

He’s also confined to his room most of the time, and his mom locks the door when she goes out. After his outburst, he assumes she doesn’t trust him, and he can’t be too mad this time, he knows. She’s just trying to keep him safe, of course.

He doesn’t have much schooling left. He still gets to watch the news for current events, but only when supervised by his mom. And, it’s better than nothing. He does okay on the work he’s given, although he knows it’s all minimum-effort curricula.

He has video games to keep him occupied, and a fair amount of books. His mom gets him things sometimes while she’s out, which is nice of her.

He’s also been trying to control his abilities.

Maybe it’s stupid. All he has are glowy hands… but he knows they’re capable of something else if they were able to mess up the walls that day. And if he knows anything about superpowers from the comics he reads, he knows that it’s much better for everyone if he controls this thing before he accidentally learns more about it.

It takes a lot of work to learn how to make them glow on command. It takes a lot of focus, and a solid month before he actually does it for the first time when he wants to, instead of it just appearing.

Awesome- now he can use his own personal flashlight whenever he needs it. Whenever his mom says “lights out” at 10pm and he still isn’t tired, or when he drops something and doesn’t have a phone flashlight to help him find it.

And it’s cool, it’s a great feeling actually, to be able to have a little bit of control over this shit. But it’s not enough.

Eddie’s mom is out grocery shopping, so naturally he’s locked in his room. He dreams one day of being able to blast the door open somehow, but he’s far from that. He dented the walls a little bit exactly one time, so he’s not exactly the pinnacle of power here.

But… maybe someday he could be.

A stool sits by Eddie’s window as a perch. He sits down as he opens his window, thankful that the weather is warming up, and for a moment he forgets his goal here. The open window is the closest he gets to being outside anymore, and every time he smells the natural air, he finds himself longing for the days he used to spend out in it. He misses biking around town, he misses the barrens, he misses the clubhouse in the forest. But a window is better than nothing.

He physically shakes his head to refocus himself.

Outside his window are several trees- his targets. It’s almost surreal, realizing exactly what he’s about to do, but he knows it’s important.

“Focus…” He whispers to himself, nestling his arm between two of the metal bars that lined his window now. He rests it lightly on the windowsill, spreading his palms as if trying to use the force.

Except, this isn’t the force. He’s not drawing anything to him, he’s trying to push it away .

His hands glow, which is no longer anything special to him. He figures they’ll glow brighter as he focuses more, as he prepares for… well, whatever he’s capable of, but at the moment, he doesn’t notice anything.

Thoughts keep crawling into his mind- how much he wishes to go back outside, to see his friends again, to have friends again.

As his mind wanders, the glow spreads up his arms, gradually becoming lighter. But, he’s not focusing. He’s reminiscing, he’s yearning for what he once had, and what he could have if he wasn’t in this stupid fucking house.

Wait, no.

Eddie shuts his eyes tight, willing the thoughts from his mind.

“I said focus, dammit.”

When he opens his eyes, he stares at the tree in front of his window, aiming his hand at it. He takes a deep breath, thinks of nothing but the tree, and-

And nothing happens.

Clenching his fist for a moment, he takes another breath and decides to try again. Hand through the window, eyes on the tree, focus on power. Mind clear, hand glowing, energy flowing, and…

Still nothing.

Eddie tries this for a solid half an hour before he gives up, slumping over his stool and resting his head against the bars. Maybe that weird blast thing was just a fluke, and there was no way to control it. Or, maybe it’s based on like, what he eats, or what he does during the day. Maybe he has a lot more investigating to do before he can actually make his powers do anything besides give him glowy hands.

The world outside the window catches his attention again, and he spends some time just watching it. It’s a nice day out; he can hear kids playing down the street, birds chirping, he can see squirrels and chipmunks scampering around, and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. Four years ago, he’d have been all over a day like this- riding his bike, relaxing in the barrens or by the quarry with his friends…

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that his front door is locked from the outside, that his own bedroom door is locked to keep him in, and that he’s a prisoner in his own home. It’s not fair that the only thing he wants to do is get out, to run, but he can’t. He’d trigger his asthma anyway.

It’s not fucking fair that he can’t even escape out of a window because there are fucking bars on it, it’s not fucking fair that everyone he knew, everyone who was ever kind to him had just up and left him why would they do that? Why did they do that?

(Eddie’s hands glow brighter, but he doesn’t notice.)

Was he really so forgettable that his friends could move on so easily? Or was that his mom’s plan all along? Had she told them to fuck off one day, and they all just listened? The school district still has to check on him regularly to make sure his mother is following the law- had they really noticed nothing? Or had he just never been worth the second thought?

(His hands are shaking, still resting on the windowsill.)

Richie made him a damn mixtape, for christ’s sake! A mixtape! You don’t do that for people you don’t care about, you don’t do that and then abandon them, forget about them, leave them to their warden of a mother and a lifetime of no real fucking human interaction.

(There’s a faint vibration in Eddie’s palms.)

Eddie clenches his jaw, runs his hands through his hair before placing them back between the bars, and shuts his eyes.

Fuck heroes. Fuck superpowers. Fuck this whole organization, the one that spiked fear into everyone and feeds off of it. Eddie’s mom is scared, now Eddie has to suffer for it, and there’s nobody coming to save him. These people have the balls to call themselves heroes, but who the hell are they saving?

“Fuck…”

(His palms brighten.)

“FUCK!”

Eddie slams his hands down against the windowsill and feels it before he sees it. Energy. Pure energy. And it came right from his hands, he knows it did.

The glow of his hands dimmed to a dull shimmer, and there’s an obvious dent in the tree that had been perfect just a minute before.

Like last time, everything is still for a moment, oddly quiet. Eddie can only stare ahead of him at the injured trunk. He flicks his gaze to his hands, still tingling, still glowing.

So. That’s how his power is going to work, then.

After a few months of “good behavior”, Eddie’s mom stops locking him in his room when she goes out. It’s a start, he figures.

He “graduates” that spring, but there’s no ceremony, no speeches, no cap and gown. He gets a cupcake though, which is nice.

The news is still filled with stories about heroes, about thrilling stories of rescue, about new agencies funding research and training and about crime rates plummeting. It’s all good news in theory, but Eddie can’t help the pings of jealousy he feels for all the happy people he sees rescued.

Rescued.

Nobody’s come to rescue him. Nobody even looks for a situation like his- it’s not a flashy villain he needs to be rescued from. He’s in no mortal danger, not even any physical danger in all honesty. But does that make him any less miserable?

No.

And how many other kids are in similar situations? How many other people need saving, but are ignored for all this flashy hero and villain fantasy shit? Eddie thinks about these things a lot. But it’s not like he can do anything about it.

Something good, he guesses, is that he’s gotten better at damaging that poor tree outside his window. The trunk and some of the wider branches have visible scars, though they still aren’t much. Maybe he’s confined to small blasts or something, but it’s still kind of cool.

So his powers are tied to emotions? Good. He’s got a lot of those. And he thinks about them when he wants to channel his energy- that must be what his power is, technically. Energy.

It makes sense that he’s exhausted after he practices, in that case. He tries not to show it, though- he doesn’t want his mom to have any more reason to worry about him or keep him confined.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon in July when she runs to the store, and Eddie gets a few hours to himself for what he’s been calling target practice in his head. He doesn’t know what he plans to do with his tiny blasts of energy, but he figures it’s better to be able to have some sort of handle on them than to just have the ability to do it and no idea how.

Like always, he’s tired after he fires off a few blasts- both physically and emotionally. He thinks about those news stories, the smug faces of all those self-proclaimed heroes. He thinks about his situation, how he longs to leave, how he may as well be in an actual prison. It’s good stuff to keep in his mind when he wants to practice, but it’s hard to come down from, and it always just reminds him of how fucked his life is.

Sighing, Eddie pushes himself off his stool, taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head. A snack and a nap sound absolutely perfect right about now, so he decides to do just that.

He pads out of his room and downstairs, a little tempted to turn on the TV, but he was sure his mom would have some way of figuring out that he’d done it- she probably had cameras or something installed, or motion sensors, or a battery monitor on the remote. Something weird and over controlling, of course. It’s expected by now.

While Eddie rummages through the pantry, he understands why his mother had to go out. They were low on snacks of pretty much every kind, and he was gonna have to make something if he actually wanted food. Maybe pasta, that was an easy choice.

Spaghetti.

The voice of an old friend echoes in Eddie’s head, and he finds himself smiling softly before he closes the pantry door.

If he’s gonna make something, he may as well check to make sure they have cooking spray, and maybe some spices. Not that Eddie’s the best cook ever, since he’s not often allowed in the kitchen, but if he has to make something he’d rather it be edible and not something bland that sticks to the pot.

Okay, so he has no idea how to use spices besides like, salt and garlic, but he can still experiment.

Step one- learn where the spices are.

Eddie isn’t allowed to cook, really. Anything he’d done, he’d done while his mom was out. And it’s not like she’s the lord of good cooking, so Eddie’s also pretty amateur.

Finally, he opens a cabinet and finds some usable stuff next to the nonperishables. Garlic powder, some extra salt and pepper, oregano, basil, some extra baking soda and baking powder… and some old pill bottles? He takes the containers to inspect them, curious.

One of the bottles is labelled Phenobarbital, and the others Lorazepam.

That’s Nembutal and Ativan.

Sedatives.

His first thought is, obviously, that they’re just more medications lying around the house. It wouldn’t be surprising, since his mother seemed to always be going to another doctor, and she used to take him nearly once a week.

His second thought is that they had a set medicine cabinet, one that was organized by need. Why would she move them to a food cabinet instead?

And his third thought is one that scares him to death. Suddenly, he’s wondering if it’s not his powers that are making him feel drained.

Because, what had his mother ever needed sedatives for? Sure, one doubles as an anxiety medication, but there’s no way in hell Eddie is lucky enough for his mom to actually seek help for her paranoia.

Tentatively, Eddie opens one of the bottles, and he recognizes the pills as ones he’s given… often.

His breaths quicken, and he wants his inhaler but it’s upstairs- and is it even an inhaler? Or is there something else in there that his mom didn’t tell him about?

Suddenly the bottle is shaking in his hand, his fist clenched around it as the pills rattle around inside. And suddenly, it’s much brighter in the room than it was before. He feels a familiar vibration in the palm of his hands.

“Eddie-bear!”

He hadn’t even heard the door open. But he heard that voice. Her voice. That grating, shrill, helicopter voice. It only gets worse once she finds him in the kitchen, her footsteps quickening as she rushes over to him.

“Eddie-bear, what are you doing? What’s going on honey, put that down, you need to take your pills and go to your room-”

Eddie’s eyes are glued to the bottle.

Sedatives. Fucking sedatives .

He knew she didn’t trust him, but he didn’t think it would have come to this. He never thought she’d flat out lie to him like this.

His jaw is clenched, and he swallows down a lump in his throat as his mother keeps babbling.

“What the fuck is this, ma?”

She gasps as if scandalized. As if she has the right to be shocked, or to be upset at anything Eddie does after pulling this shit.

“Eddie- honey, you know that’s just your medicine. You’re sick -”

“These are sedatives, don’t lie to me.” He snaps his head up, glaring into his mother’s eyes. She takes a step back, looking at him like he’s some dangerous monster. And, hell, maybe he is.

“Eddie you- you needed them-” her tone is pleading, and it just pisses Eddie off more. “You- you needed something to help you, oh God-”

The fear is evident on her face, and the only thing Eddie feels is rage.

“Help me? You think that was helping me?” He drops the pill bottle then, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You-”

“Eddie, your eyes-”

“You drugged me!”

“God, have mercy-”

“YOU FUCKING DRUGGED ME!”

Eddie gestures in front of him, and watches with not-so-much horror as his mom stumbles backwards with an audible shriek.

There’s a moment where he wants to panic. But the anger takes over again, and he doesn’t care what happens to her. He doesn’t care what he did. He doesn’t care.

He needs to get away, he needs to go be alone. He takes off towards his room, but pauses as he catches a glimpse of his reflection in one of his kitchen’s glass cabinets.

His eyes… his eyes are glowing, just like his hands.

No pupils, no hazel iris, no whites. Just a glow, like a flashlight.

Before he has to listen to more shrieking, Eddie all but runs upstairs, slamming his door with more force than he thought he had in him. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he felt the house shake with the action.

He rushes to the window then, his body shaking with how fucking angry he is, and throws it open. Reaching both hands out in front of him, he aims, and it doesn’t take a second thought to fire a blast.

It’s easy when he thinks about everything, and when he feels like there’s so much… so much energy pent up inside him that he could burst.

The dent he makes in the tree is much more noticeable this time.

He grits his teeth, and fires another.

Fuck her. Fuck everybody.

A branch falls.

He fires another blast.

Fuck “heroes”. Fuck this society. Fuck this whole fucking world.

He hears his mom getting up from downstairs. And he’s not fucking sorry. Not one bit.

Eddie doesn’t speak to his mom after that.

He avoids going downstairs, and eventually she starts bringing meals up to him, pills in a neat little pile on the side.

They taunt him, the little white tablets. At first, he’s not sure which ones are the sedatives, and which ones he actually needs. But he’s not sure how much he cares anymore.

He stops taking all of them.

And, surprise surprise, nothing happens.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He takes the medication and hides it in a small box under his bed, covered by comics so his mom doesn’t find it if she ever decides to snoop around. And, after all this shit, he wouldn’t put it past her.

He’s 18 now. Most kids his age are going to college, going to work, moving out, doing something .

And Eddie? He’s making a plan.

He notices his mom trying to slip him more medication. And he’s wary of anything that she might be able to sneak a powder into.

He must be successful in avoiding her attempts to drug him, because he feels more alive, more energetic than he had at any time in the past two years.

The stool near his window becomes Eddie’s new best friend. Now that his energy is back, he’s better than ever at controlling his blasts.

He knows his emotions help it along, and he learns that the brighter the glow of his hands, the stronger the blast he can emit; and he learns that his blasts can be strong. It’s during a particularly intense storm that Eddie tests the waters a little more, and ends up knocking over one of the trees outside his window.

If he can knock over a tree, then surely he can knock out a wall, right?

He bides his time, but it takes everything in him to pretend like things are normal. He waits for winter to pass, paying moderate attention to the news when his mom goes out and storing up some essentials. Nothing too conspicuous- a jar of peanut butter here, a box of crackers there, and a few twenties from the stash in her room.

He doesn’t know exactly what he’s gonna do or where he’ll end up, so he does his best to prepare for anything.

He keeps a bag under his bed, right next to the box of discarded pills. His mom hasn’t been too nosy about his room- why would she have any reason to be, since he rarely leaves it anyway. By February, the bag consists of a few comics, the supplies he’d stolen from the kitchen, and the money. By March, he adds more money, two changes of clothes, a bottle of water, and a blanket. He wants to be prepared in case he has to leave early.

By May, the weather has evened out, the days sunny and long.

Eddie barely interacts with his mom, and something tells him she doesn’t much mind. She’ll insist on an “I love you” every now and then, but Eddie obliges in order to keep her at bay. He’s learned to play the part of the perfect, quiet, sedated little boy.

It’s a Saturday late in the month when Eddie decides it’s time.

His mother is downstairs, watching some mind-numbingly stupid reality show. He does one last check on his bag, making sure he had everything. He’d been able to steal about $250 without his mother noticing, which he figured was enough to get him, well, somewhere . Everything else is in place- even his inhaler, for good measure.

He slips on his best sneakers, which didn’t have much wear in them, since he’d been outside maybe ten times in the past two or three years. His clothes are comfortable, with a hoodie tied around his waist and a watch around his wrist for good measure.

He takes a step back, standing in the middle of his room with his bag slung over his shoulder. Soon… soon he’d be out. Taking a deep breath, Eddie raises his hands to the same height as the window, and he focuses his energy-

Until something catches his eye.

Something he spent a lot of nights listening to. Something he wants so badly to hate, but he can’t. It gives him too much nostalgic joy.

‘Songs to help spaghetti forgetti his regretti’

Eddie swallows a lump in his throat as he stands perfectly still, eyes glued to the little CD, sitting besides his portable player.

Part of him wants to leave it, to forget everything about this part of his life and start over, brand new. But, as much as he wants to forget everyone, to forget the Losers club, to forget Richie , he can’t. He can’t bring himself to do that.

With a huff, he grabs the CD, placing it safely in Richie’s stupid little case. He shoves them in his bag, then returns to the middle of the room, facing his window.

He can almost hear his mom’s voice in his ear, urging him to stop, telling him he’s too weak, that he won’t survive out there, that he should just stay safe here with her.

“Fuck you,” he responds to no one.

Again, Eddie raises his hands, angling them towards the window.

“This one’s for you, Ma.”

Boom.

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #reddie fanfiction #it fanfiction #reddie fanfics #it fanfics #it (stephen king)#my writing #my art #uh yeah heres this

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flatstarcarcosa · 4 years

Text

turn

summary: it’s been two years since murderbrawl, two years since steelport. two years of eddie and reese making a new existence in florida. two years in reality might as well be a decade in the wrestling world. tws: none?

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the feeling of someone leaning over them startles reese. they rip their earbuds out and shove their chair back with as much force as they can, bracing themself on the tabletop.

“woah- hey!” eddie’s voice filters through the blind panic in their brain and gets them to stop only just quick enough for him to avoid spilling piping hot coffee all over them.

“shit,” they say. relaxing and settling back into the chair. “i didn’t even see you come in.”

“yeah, apparently,” he says. he sets a mocha frappe next to their laptop before taking the seat across from them. “how’s the photos?”

reese grunts and takes a long swallow of the drink. 8 pumps of mocha, and a shot of espresso. “photoshop crashed and somehow lost all of my presets for the wedding i did last month, so i’m having to start over if i want the files to stay consistent.”

“time consuming,” he says. reese nods, setting the drink back down and resting their head in their palm.

“if i don’t make progress by the end of the day i’m going to have to call the client and eat some of the commission due to time.” eddie grunts in acknowledgement and pulls his phone from his pocket.

“well, shit happens,” he says, not uncaring.

“speaking of...” reese pushes away from the table and heads towards the bathrooms. they are scarcely gone two minutes when someone behind eddie speaks.

“excuse me,” says a male voice. eddie frowns, and doesn’t look up from his twitter feed. the biggest problem of discussing reese’s photography work in public is that someone always hears. they hear ‘photos’ and ‘wedding’ in the same sentence, and the next thing you know every bride to be in a mile radius is asking if reese is willing to work for clout and instagram followers.

“yes, they do photography, yes they do weddings,” he says in a long-practiced monotone, “no, they don’t have any openings, and no they don’t work for instagram likes. you can reserve a booking like everyone else and wait in line.”

“what?” the man asks. “oh, no, I wasn’t asking about that.”

eddie’s frown deepens. he taps his phone screen dark and turns. the man speaking to him looks to be mid thirties, with a dark complexion and short cropped hair.

“i was, uh, wondering,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “are...are you killbane? the wrestler?”

eddie’s spine tenses and he sets his jaw as he runs his tongue along his teeth.

“i was,” he says flatly. “why?”

the strangers face lights up. “wow! i...you know without the mask, i just wasn’t sure,” he says. “i’m...well, it sounds dumb out loud, but i’m a fan.”

“hilarious.” says eddie, just as flatly as before. he’s had issues in the last couple of years, ever since steelport and murderbrawl, of encounters like this. ‘i’m a fan’, someone says, before beginning to crack jokes about his loss to angel and the saints. eddie’s added more than a few arrests to his record in the ensuing time, for cracking bones when the jokes stop being funny.

“no, i mean it,” the guy says. “my name’s sal, i’ve been following you since your defeat of angel in ‘99. was your last match with him the other year planned?”

“no,” eddie says. “you always bother people trying to have an afternoon coffee date, or is it just a special day?”

“i’m sorry,” says sal, “really, i didn’t mean to bother you. it’s just wild to see you, considering you’ve been ghosting the internet and the wrestling world. would it make me look like even more of a jackass if i asked for a picture?”

“yeah,” eddie says immediately, “it would. but fuck it, in for a penny, right?” he pushes his chair back and stands. sal fumbles for his own cell phone, grinning from ear to ear.

“do have any plans to get back in the ring some time?” he asks as he taps the camera app.

“not really,” eddie says. he cracks his neck and crosses his arms over his chest. he’ll do a photo, he won’t do a pose. not now, and probably not ever. those days crashed and burned when steelport got carpet bombed.

“aw, that sucks,” sal says. he steps closer and holds his phone out, still grinning into the camera. the phone makes a clicking noise as the shutter closes. he dares to hold up a peace sign, and snap another picture before putting it down. “lots of people are waiting for your big return match.”

“the hell makes you think i’m going to have a big return match?” eddie asks sharply. sal blinks.

“well...you’re...you,” he says. “why wouldn’t you, eventually? you still put asses in seats and money in bank accounts, it only makes sense.”

now it’s eddie’s turn to blink. he frowns a little as he digests the words.

“well, if you do decide to come back, just try and make sure ringsideseats or someone knows ahead of time,” says sal, “lots of people would be super pissed if they miss out on tickets because of lack of promotion.” he grins again and holds out a hand. it takes eddie’s brain a moment to catch up and for him to return the gesture in a handshake. “it was great meeting you, man. enjoy your coffee.”

when reese returns from the bathroom, holding and flipping through a newly purchased book they did not have when they left, they find eddie still standing next to the table. he’s leaning on the back of the chair, staring absentmindedly down at the worn leather seat below.

“i know we’d said steak, but you know, carrabba’s has steak too,” reese says. they slip the book into their laptop back and shut the lid on the computer. eddie says nothing, and they cock their head. “hello, earth to eddie, beef is on the line?”

“what?” he asks, looking up at them.

“i was trying to convince you to go to carrabba’s rather than longhorn,” says reese. “i feel like eating bread and shitting to death, in that order.”

“yeah, fine,” he says. he grabs the strap of their bag and slings it across his shoulder as reese picks up his coffee cup.

“are you okay?” they ask, pausing and looking up at him.

“i...just had the weirdest encounter,” he says.

“as in?”

“with a fan,” he says. reese groans.

“no one’s calling the cops again, are they?” they ask tiredly.

“no,” he says. he follows them to the door and pauses with his hand on the wood. the hot florida sun bears down on the glass windows, held at bay only by air conditioning. “do you think people would actually want to see me wrestle again?”

reese looks up from the cigarette they were fishing out of a pants pocket.

“uh, yeah,” they say, stressing the word. “i’ve been telling you that for over a year now.”

“no, i know,” he says. he pushes the door open, feeling the heat begin to seep into his skin as soon as the air conditioning is behind him. “i know you have.”

“come on, let’s get lunch,” says reese. they elbow him in the side as they bring a lighter to the end of the cigarette. “sounds like there’s a discussion to be had.”

he says nothing as they cross the parking lot to the car, and nothing still as reese navigates the two blocks to the restaurant. it is not until the first round of drinks are dropped on the table, and he has successfully wrangled a basket of bread out of reese’s gluten intolerant hands that he interrupts their whining chant of ‘wheat wheat wheat’.

“you know i spent so long on my own and doing my own thing, i don’t know where to start from the bottom up,” he says. he takes a sip of neat scotch and pops a crust of bread into his mouth. “i...can’t get by on the power of my name any more, not unless i want to just fucking job like an idiot, so i’d have to put out feelers...”

reese sits up straighter, dropping their phone on the table top and sliding it to the left.

“are you...being serious?” they ask. eddie looks up from swirling the straw around his drink to meet their gaze.

“i think so,” he says. he grins, just a little and just briefly, but for a moment...

for a moment, he looks like the guy they used to watch from across a crowded casino, the one who entered a room and immediately took ownership of it. the one who could be felt as much as heard when he spoke, the one who dared try to fight off a veritable army with his bare hands.

for a moment, eddie looks like killbane again, and reese feels themself beginning to fall from the top once more.

#reese.fic #reesebane #self shipping #self shipping community #eddie #idk i had a thought #also i have LOTS of thoughts actually about his spiraling depression post sr3 lmao #he gets to a point where he doesn't even want to WATCH wrasslin and i'm like hey okay look #who the fuck are you and what makes you think i'm not gonna watch wrestles in my own house i liked wrestles before i liked you big boy

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toxicsquad · 4 years

Text

There is no better way to get to know someone than through a good question tag. In this case we have decided to make an Indie game dev question tag with the responses of our four developers. We hope that it will reveal many unknowns, but if you are left with any questions, do not hesitate to use our ask.

What part of game development are you responsible for?

Athe: I write and write, I melt in my seat, I correct, I cry and then I program. It’s an endless cycle. Occasionally I laugh like crazy while I eat Pringles.

Sam: I draw and color without leaving the lines (almost always) the sprites, the illustrations and the ravings that usually occur to us past 3 in the morning.

Illy: English translations.

Sher: I draw BGs

What tools do you use (hardware / software)?

Athe: Recently my desktop PC has passed away, so I’ve had to rescue my old PC from the garage. I also have a laptop that saves my life more times than I would like to admit. As for the software, I need, above all, drive documents, video editing programs, image etc (I have an Adobe package) and of course Renpy and Atom.

Sam: My main friend and companion is my tablet, a wacom intuos S (pistachio color, so cute). As programs I mainly use the Paint Tool Sai, because there is nothing in this life like its stabilizer. And less frequently than I would like (for details, texture brushes, effects ...) I also use Clip Studio Paint, which I only know how to use at about 2% of its capacity ... If someday I have time I would love to stop and learn seriously what can be done with it.

Illy: During the school year I live in a residence, so I use an old laptop, and when I return home I use a desktop computer that never has memory space. I translate the chapters in the same Atom where the complete script is and I keep them in google drive files where I share them with our beta reader. I also use editing programs like photoshop when I have to translate comics or procreate for when my artistic skills are required.

Sher: ipad+procreate+some final tweak in photoshop, I don't need much more

What is your favorite part of the job?

Athe: Would it be wrong if I say that is when we released the episode? During the whole production time everything is very stressful, there are times when it’s really uphill, but when we release a new chapter it feels soooo good. It's like saying to yourself, yeah, dammit, I can do it. Look at everything you've climbed by yourself. You're doing it right.

Sam: In general, my favorite parts are when the first scenes start to be programmed, and I can see the sprites with the backgrounds, the texts, and how the illustrations look. Everything always looks so much better when viewed in-game… I also really like being able to check out the script as it is written. And from the artistic part that concerns me, when I see that my hands capture the idea that I had in my head ... Especially in character designs.

Illy: Having to find a way to translate very spanish expressions into English, research vocabulary that I have never had to use and commenting on some translations with our beta reader (which we adore) to make it understandable without losing the original meaning.

Sher: I like to do the lineart when the sketch is complete, if I no longer have to think about anything else and it's just going through it, I find it very fun and relaxing

What is the most difficult part for you?

Athe: Offf, yes, I admit it, sometimes writing is the WORST. Other times I love it, especially when I can expand on the descriptions or stop at a part that is intimate or that I find interesting (for example, Hasiel's conversation from 6.3, small spoiler: P). But, I HATE having to paste scenes, often the protagonist moves between scenes and you always have to add lines to those transitions that really do not interest anyone, but that otherwise the text would be confusing. Anyway... It is a very wide world, with a lot of history, I have to deal with what I need readers to know to understand the facts, although sometimes it gets a bit boring.

Sam: What part does not... Rather who e.e Zihel and Ariel are a thorn in my side. Especially Zihel. I know it has to do with the fact that it has never been my strength to draw boys, and much less if they are more masculine in appearance... That's why I also suffer a lot from drawing muscles. Another thing that brings me a headache is the perspective of the illustrations. Every time I try to get out of the typical shot or poses a little... It doesn't work out.

Illy: Doughy’s stuttering ¬.¬

Sher: chairs, sofas, tables... anything with four legs is my enemy

Anything to help or encourage you while you are working?

Athe: I need music, no, seriously, I NEED IT. I’m unable to focus without it. If, on top of that, I can get what I hear to act as a sounding board for what I write, the text is a thousand times better... But the muse is a pretty bad person.

Sam: Having a show/movie in the background that entertains me. The longer the better, so I don't have to stop to think what I want to put on next.

Illy: Eating sunflower seeds to trick my brain and not be tempted to do something else that distracts me.

Sher: I try to see other artists to motivate and inspire me before I start drawing, what I find most difficult is that initial push and that is where I need the motivation, then I usually have something in the background but it is not necessary

Something that’s a pet peeve or discouraging?

Athe: Some narrative climax moments. Generally, they are not important plot moments (that is almost entirely decided), they are often small decisions to go from scene A to scene B, but I can spend a LOT of time deciding which is the fastest and best way to tie those two ends. I'm the worst.

Sam: Many times when starting, I can't get the poses to fit the way I want, for example.

Illy: Finding many parts in a row that I find especially difficult to solve and that make me believe that I have forgotten how to English properly. And looking at how many lines I still have left.

Sher: When I don't know how to fill in some area, if I see something very empty but I don't know how to solve it, I can spend days looking at the screen without being able to advance, even if I have other areas that I could do in the meantime

What is required on your table or work surface?

Athe: Notebooks, sticky notes, pens… I’m a person who writes everything down, especially the tasks, but I also order the story by color schemes. The stack of sticky notes have 9 different colors, each one represents a character and I play a lot with them for a lot of nonsense. Besides, even though I have been writing on the computer for many more years than I wrote by hand, I still have a preference for the analogical.

Sam: Coffee, sweets, chocolate, cereals... And cats.

Illy: My phone, the sunflower seeds, a Capital America: Civil War 1L water cup, sticky notes that remind me of tasks.

Sher: I have nothing really lol all my things are for decoration

Your most productive hours?

Athe: Owl. Totally nocturnal. Although I have several crises a month to force myself to work at other times that always end... Wrong.

Sam: Also at night for the most part, although I can no longer stay awake as long as I endured before having a job (the good old days...) However, in the middle of the afternoon, when the zoo that I have at home is still taking a nap, I also manage to go a long way.

Illy: From when I finish eating until 7 or 8 in the afternoon, when I don't have to cook, clean, run errands...

Sher: I take over for Illy apparently, from 7 or 8 is when I start to get into the mood until bedtime

Do working hours make you forget to eat or make you eat twice as much?

Athe: It depends, in the past I ate a lot, now if I have stress I don't eat anything. If I'm in a normal productive phase and I'm not on my nerves, I'm probably eating by inertia.

Sam: They make me eat more, but especially junk food e.e And they make me forget healthy meals, especially dinner at night.

Illy: It depends on my mood, but I usually eat twice as much.

Sher: I'm generally a VERY distracted person so I don't usually get to focus on a task to get to either of those two modes but I guess when I am sooooooo much on the task, I forget. But that happens like a couple of times a year and "forgetting" is "I delay an hour."

What part of your set up would you improve / change (in aesthetics or functionality) if you had no money limit?

Athe: I'm trying to match some of my peripherals with the rest. They are all a damn different color, apparently I'm cursed... Now seriously, I wish I had a better graphic card that would allow me to make video captures, some speakers and a quality printer.

Sam: Actually, I don't think I need anything more complex than what I already have… But if I had to improve something, I'm curious about the most professional tablets, the big ones with the included screen and all that stuff.

Illy: A new laptop that lets me open 4 chrome tabs, Atom and photoshop at the same time without dying.

Sher: A pc screen that will not change the colors I use on the iPad would be nice, really

Which character are you most like? And why?

Athe: Phew I think the easy answer would be to say Akane ... But, Akane is a better person. : P

Sam: This is very difficult... They are all very different, but still I do not think I look much like any of them. If I have to say something, I could identify with Maske's tendency to avoid problems, and his more homey and calm side. And well… Since Akane has been an OC of mine for many years, surely I have something of her too.

Illy: I think I partly have Maske's instinct to stay out of trouble, and on the other hand Joe's shallowness, although tbh I wish I really did look like any of our awesome babies.

Sher: surprised because (unpopular opinion around here) is one of those who I "least care" about really but I would say that Pin because he is a little dumb, happy and probably has a Satanic room and proud of it

Favorite CG/art.

Athe: AT THE MOMENT. Maske chapter 1. It couldn't be more predictable. I know.

Sam: I quite agree with Maske in chapter 1. But I would also put Pin in chapter 5 and Akane in chapter 6.2 on the top.

Illy: Kyeran in Coco's tank ?? Is he even real? Being basic is my brand.

Sher: surprised again and disappointed but I would say that of angel Hasiel because I like pretty dresses, pretty hairs and pretty wings

Favorite BG/scene.

Athe: The Red Light District amazes me. I already liked the life of that place, its history, but the way of expressing it... Uggg Sher took it to another level. The dirt on the street, the night, the constricted buildings...

Sam: I think I’ll say Raziel’s square, I like it a lot from the first day.

Illy: I don't know if I can choose just one T__T but I would say that the Red Light District and Valefar's pub are at the top.

Sher: for not repeating the red light district that I also like very much, I really like the areas of Coco's laboratory, including the “main” area although the perspective is horrible and makes the characters look tiny, but I like how it looks :(

Your favorite chapter to date?

Athe: Ufff... The first and second one I assure you no, hahaha. I will say that the third one, but also for things that are not necessarily from the chapter, but of the production. It was a good moment. I felt that everything was flowing with ease. We all assumed a clear role, they were times that made us feel comfortable and capable of assuming what came next, I think it was a qualitative leap also, both in texts and in art.

Sam: Oh. Well let's see... Chapter 5 is amazing for me, for everything that happens but also because there are many personalized interactions and choices. I can't say I have a definitive favorite, but it could come close… Also from the last ones I really like the 6.2.

Illy: Chapter 5 has so many details, so many things happen, it's hard not to be my favorite. But the last ones with the specific routes are so great that if I stay with the 5 it’s with the pain of my heart to have to choose one.

Sher: I would say 5 also because in the end when a lot of things happen is when you remember the most

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No hay mejor forma de conocer a alguien que a través de un buen tag de preguntas. En este caso hemos decidido hacer un Indie game dev question tag con las respuestas de las cuatro desarrolladoras. Esperamos que os aclare muchas incógnitas, pero si os quedáis con alguna no dudéis en usar nuestro ask.

¿Qué parte del desarrollo del juego llevas a cabo?

Athe: Escribo, escribo, me derrito sobre mi asiento, corrijo, lloro y después programo. Es un ciclo sin fin. Ocasionalmente me río como una demente mientras como Pringles.

Sam: Dibujo y coloreo sin salirme de las líneas (casi siempre) los sprites, las ilustraciones y los desvaríos que suelen surgir a partir de las 3 de la mañana.

Illy: Las traducciones a inglés.

Sher: Hago fonditos

¿Qué herramientas utilizas (hardware/software)?

Athe: Recientemente mi PC de sobremesa ha fallecido, así que he tenido que rescatar mi viejo PC del trastero, también tengo un portatil que me salva la vida más veces de las que me gustaría admitir. En cuanto al software, necesito, sobre todo, documentos de drive, programas de edición de video, imagen etc (tengo un paquete de Adobe) y por supuesto Renpy y Atom.

Sam: Mi principal amiga y compañera es mi tableta, una wacom intuos S (color pistacho, muy cuqui.) Como programas uso sobretodo el Paint Tool Sai, porque no hay nada en esta vida como su estabilizador. Y con menos frecuencia de lo que querría (para detalles, pinceles de texturas, efectos…) también utilizo el Clip Studio Paint, el cual sólo se usar como a un 2% de su capacidad… Si algún día tengo tiempo me encantaría pararme a aprender seriamente todo lo que se puede hacer con él.

Illy: Durante el curso vivo en una residencia, así que uso un portatil del año que reinó carolo, y cuando vuelvo a mi casa un ordenador de sobremesa que nunca tiene espacio en la memoria. Los capítulos los traduzco en el mismo Atom en el que está el guión completo y los guardo en drive donde los comparto con nuestra beta reader. También uso programas de edición como photoshop cuando tengo que traducir viñetas o procreate para cuando mis habilidades artísticas son requeridas.

Sher: ipad+procreate+algún retoquito final en photoshop no necesito mucho más

¿Cuál es tu parte de favorita del trabajo?

Athe: ¿Estaría mal si digo que es cuando sacamos el episodio? Durante toda la producción todo es muy estresante, hay veces, que se hace realmente cuesta arriba, pero cuando liberamos un nuevo capítulo sienta taaaan bien. Es como decirte a ti misma, sí, joder, puedo hacerlo. Mira todo lo que has escalado tú solita. Lo estás haciendo bien.

Sam: En general, mis partes favoritas son cuando se empiezan a programar las primeras escenas, y puedo ver los sprites con los fondos, los textos, y cómo se ven las ilustraciones. Todo queda siempre mucho mejor cuando se ve dentro del juego… También me gusta mucho poder cotillear el guión conforme se va escribiendo. Y de la parte artística que me toca, cuando veo que mis manos plasman la idea que tenía en mi cabeza… Sobretodo en diseños de personajes.

Illy: Tener que buscar la forma de traducir a inglés expresiones muy nuestras, investigar vocabulario que no he tenido que usar jamás y comentar algunas traducciones con nuestra beta reader (a la que adoramos) para conseguir que se entienda sin perder el significado original.

Sher: me gusta hacer el lineart cuando el sketch está completo, si ya no tengo que pensar nada más y es solo ir repasando me parece muy divertido y relajante

¿Cuál es la parte que más te cuesta?

Athe: Ufff, sí, lo admito, escribir a veces es lo PEOR. Otras me encanta, sobre todo, cuando puedo explayarme con las descripciones o detenerme en una parte íntima o que a mí me parece interesante (por ejemplo, la conversación de Hasiel del 6.3, pequeño spoiler :P). Pero, ODIO tener que empastar escenas, a menudo el protagonista se mueve de escenarios y hay que agregar siempre líneas a esas transiciones que realmente no interesan a nadie, pero que de lo contrario el texto quedaría mal montado. En fin… Es un mundo muy amplio, con mucha historia, tengo que lidiar con lo que necesito que los lectores sepan para entender los hechos, aunque a veces se haga un pelín peñazo.

Sam: Qué parte no… Quiénes, más bien e.e Zihel y Ariel son mi espinita. Especialmente Zihel. Sé que tiene que ver con el hecho de que nunca ha sido mi punto fuerte dibujar chicos, y menos si son de aspecto más masculino… Por eso también sufro mucho dibujando músculos. Otra cosa que me trae de cabeza es la perspectiva de las ilustraciones. Cada vez que intento salirme un poco del típico plano o poses… No sale bien.

Illy: El tartamudeo de Doughy ¬.¬

Sher: sillas, sofás, mesas… cualquier cosa con cuatro patas son mis enemigos

¿Algo que te ayude o anime mientras estás trabajando?

Athe: Necesito música, no, en serio, LA NECESITO. Soy incapaz de concentrarme sin ella. Si ya consigo que lo que escucho haga de caja de resonancia de lo que escribo, el texto es mil veces mejor… Pero la musa es bastante mala gente.

Sam: Tener alguna serie/peli de fondo que me entretenga. Cuanto más larga mejor, así no me toca pararme a ver qué es lo que quiero poner después.

Illy: Comer pipas para engañar a mi cerebro y no tener la tentación de ponerme a hacer otra cosa que me distraiga.

Sher: intento ver otros artistas para motivarme e inspirarme antes de empezar a dibujar, lo que más me cuesta es ese empujón inicial y es donde necesito la motivación, luego ya suelo tener algo de fondo pero no es necesario

¿Algo que te corte el rollo o te desmotive?

Athe: Los nudos narrativos. Generalmente, no son nudos gordos de la trama (eso está decidido casi en su totalidad), a menudo son decisiones pequeñas para pasar de la escena A a la escena B, pero puedo tirarme MUCHO tiempo decidiendo cuál es la forma más rápida y mejor planteada para atar esos dos cabos. Soy lo peor.

Sam: Muchas veces a la hora de empezar, no conseguir encajar las poses como quiero, por ejemplo.

Illy: Encontrar muchas partes seguidas que me cueste especialmente resolver y que me hacen creer que no tengo ni idea de hablar inglés. Y mirar cuantas líneas me quedan todavía.

Sher: cuando no se como rellenar alguna zona, si veo algo muy vacío pero no se como solucionarlo puedo tirarme días mirando la pantalla sin ser capaz de avanzar, incluso aunque tenga otras zonas que pudiera ir haciendo mientras

¿Qué no puede faltar en tu mesa o superficie de trabajo?

Athe: Libretas, post-its, bolígrafos… Soy una persona que lo anota todo, sobre todo, las tareas, pero también ordeno la historia por esquemas de colores. La pila de post-its tienen 9 colores diferentes, cada uno representa un personaje y juego mucho con ellos para miles de idioteces. A parte, a pesar de que llevo muchos más años escribiendo a ordenador de los que escribí a mano, sigo teniendo querencia a lo físico.

Sam: Café, chucherías, chocolate, cereales… Y gatos.

Illy: El móvil, las pipas, un vaso de 1L de agua de Capital America: Civil War, post-its que me recuerdan las tareas.

Sher: no tengo nada realmente lol todas mis cosas son de adorno

¿Tus horas más productivas?

Athe: Búho. Nocturna totalmente. A pesar de que tengo varias crisis al mes para forzarme a trabajar a otras horas que acaban siempre… Mal.

Sam: También por la noche en su mayoría, aunque ya no aguanto trasnochando tanto como antes de trabajar (qué tiempos aquellos…) Aunque a media tarde cuando el zoo que tengo en casa aún está echando la siesta también consigo dar un buen empujón.

Illy: Desde que acabo de comer hasta las 7 o las 8 de la tarde, cuando no tengo que cocinar, limpiar, hacer recados...

Sher: le tomo el testigo a Illy aparentemente, a partir de las 7 u 8 es cuando empiezo a entrar en el mood hasta que llega la hora de dormir

¿Las horas de trabajo hacen que te olvides de comer o te hacen comer el doble?

Athe: Depende, antes comía mucho, ahora, si tengo estrés no como nada. Si me encuentro en un rango productivo normal y no estoy de los nervios, probablemente, esté comiendo por inercia.

Sam: Me hacen comer más, pero sobretodo porquerías e.e Y hacen que me olvide de las comidas sanas, sobretodo de cenar por la noche.

Illy: Depende de mi estado de ánimo, pero normalmente comer el doble.

Sher: en general soy una persona MUY distraída así que no suelo conseguir centrarme en una tarea para llegar a ninguno de esos dos modos pero supongo que cuando estoy muuuuuuy dentro de la tarea, me olvido. Pero eso pasa como un par de veces al año y “olvido” es “lo retraso una hora”.

¿Qué parte de tu set up mejorarías/cambiarías (en estética o funcionalidad) si no tuvieses límite de dinero?

Athe: Estoy tratando de que alguno de mis periféricos peguen con el resto. Todos son de un maldito color diferente, al parecer estoy maldita… Ahora en serio, desearía tener una mejor gráfica que me permitiese hacer videocapturas, unos altavoces y una impresora de calidad.

Sam: En realidad, no creo que necesitara nada más complejo de lo que ya tengo… Pero por mejorar, me llaman la atención las tabletas más profesionales, las grandes con la pantalla incluida y eso.

Illy: Un portátil nuevo que me deje abrir 4 pestañas de chrome, el Atom y photoshop al mismo tiempo sin quedarse tieso.

Sher: Una pantalla de pc que no me cambiara los colores que uso en el ipad seria bonito la verdad

¿A qué personaje te pareces más? ¿Y por qué?

Athe: Ufff Creo que la respuesta fácil sería decir Akane… Pero, Akane es mejor persona. :P

Sam: Esto es muy complicado… Son todos muy distintos, pero aún así no creo que me parezca mucho a ninguno. Por decir algo, me podría identificar con la tendencia a evitar problemas de Maske, y su lado más casero y tranquilo. Y bueno… Dado que Akane es OC mío de hace muchos años, seguramente tenga algo de ella también.

Illy: Creo que en parte tengo el instinto de alejarme de las movidas de Maske, y por otro la superficialidad de Joe, aunque tbh ojalá parecerme realmente a nuestros bebés geniales.

Sher: sorprendida porque (unpopular opinión por aquí) es de los que “menos me importan” realmente pero diría que Pin porque es tontito, feliz y probablemente tenga una habitación satánica y orgulloso de ello

Tu CG/arte favorito.

Athe: DE MOMENTO. Maske capítulo 1. No podría ser más predecible. Lo sé.

Sam: Coincido bastante en la de Maske del capítulo 1. Pero también metería en el top la de Pin del capítulo 5 y la de Akane del capítulo 6.2.

Illy: ¿¿Kyeran en el tanque de Coco?? ¿Es siquiera real? Ser básica es mi marca.

Sher: sorprendida de nuevo y decepcionada pero diría que la de Hasiel de ángel porque me gustan los vestidos bonitos, los pelos bonitos y las alas bonitas

Tu BG/escenario favorito.

Athe: Me flipa el Barrio Rojo. Me gusta la vida de ese sitio, su historia, pero la forma de plasmarlo… Uggg Sher lo llevó a otro nivel. La suciedad de la calle, la nocturnidad, los edificios constreñidos...

Sam: Creo que me quedo con el de la plaza de Raziel, me gusta mucho desde el primer día.

Illy: No sé si puedo elegir solo uno T__T pero diría que el Barrio Rojo y el bar de Valefar están en el top.

Sher: por no repetir el barrio rojo que también me gusta mucho, me gustan mucho las zonas del laboratorio de Coco, incluida la zona “principal” aunque la perspectiva sea horrible y haga a los pj parecer diminutos, pero me gusto como quedo :(

¿Tu capítulo favorito hasta las fecha?

Athe: Ufff… El uno y el dos os aseguro que no, jajaja. Diré que el tres, pero también por cosas que no son necesariamente del capítulo, sino de la producción. Fue un buen momento. Sentí que todo estaba fluyendo con facilidad. Todas asumimos un rol claro, unos tiempos que nos hacían sentir cómodas y capaces de asumir lo que venía después, creo que fue un salto cualitativo también, tanto en los textos, como en el arte.

Sam: Ay. Pues a ver… El capítulo 5 es una pasada para mi, por todo lo que pasa pero también porque hay muchas interacciones personalizadas y elecciones. No puedo decir que tenga un favorito definitivo, pero podría acercarse… También me gusta mucho de los últimos el 6.2.

Illy: El capítulo 5 tiene tantos detalles, pasan tantas cosas, que es difícil que no sea mi favorito, pero los ultimos de rutas específicas son tan geniales que si me quedo con el 5 es con un poco de dolor de tener que elegir uno.

Sher: Diría el 5 también porque al final cuando pasan muchas cosas es cuando mas se te queda grabado

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10. Drop shipping. With drop shipping, what you’re essentially He is selling someone else’s stuff for a small or big profit without having to deal with shipping. So you basically act like a mediator or an average guy. You can do this by opening the shopify store and then connecting it with oberlo. Oberlo is basically an app that integrates with shopify, and that is what a lot of people do Use a source of the things they want to sell in their store. The basic principle of drop shipping is, you are setting up a store or any channel where people are Things can be bought from you. Then once you buy something from you, you are paying the manufacturer, usually much less Then what you got, and then you have the manufacturer ship to the customer. All without seeing or touching the product. The best part of drop shipping is that you set your price for the product you want To sell, then take profits and pay the manufacturer the rest. So yes this drop shipping in short. If you are interested in drop shipping, there are tons of tutorial here on YouTube, that You will be shown a step-by-step guide to creating your store, finding products, ads, Find influencers, finally shipping and get paid.

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jade4813 · 5 years

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A Lie, Told Often Enough, Chapter 11

Author Notes: Inspired by @fallinginloveinaflash‘s AU prompt. All credit for the idea goes entirely to her.

Title: A Lie, Told Often Enough

Rating: NC-17

Synopsis: Iris just landed her dream job at a PR firm and her first assignment is reforming the bad boy image of celebrity artist Barry Allen. He’s overly cocky and well-known for being a playboy, but Iris has never met a challenge she couldn’t handle.

Chapters: 11/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Her heart was hammering in her chest as Iris walked into the living room and found her boss standing there, waiting for her. Perhaps it was a blessing that she’d had so much experience playing to the cameras lately; it made it possible for her to force a smile and hide her concern as she stepped forward. “Mason! This is quite the surprise. Is everything okay?”

Mason’s gaze flickered from her to Barry, entering behind her, and he gave a slight nod. “I’m sorry to bother you both at home, but there’s something I needed to bring to your attention. I didn’t think it could wait.”

Her smile became a fraction brighter even as her stomach twisted at those foreboding words. “Oh. Well, why don’t we sit and you can tell us about it,” she suggested, as though the warmth and love that pervaded every inch of the Allens’ living room would act as a protective talisman for her. Surely Mason wasn’t here with the intent to fire her?

Once they were settled in, however, Mason looked down at his hands as though pondering how to begin. “Iris, there’s…I stumbled across something yesterday and I thought it was…well, a fluke, but I did some digging and it turns out…” Trailing off, he heaved a heavy sigh and reached into his pocket. Pulling out some folded papers, he handed them over. “These are just two of the stories that are going to be run this week. These will be posted tonight, but I have it on good authority that others are coming.”

With trembling hands, Iris unfolded the documents in her hand. The copy was devoid of photos, but the headings spoke for themselves: “How a “Good Girl” Captured the Bad Boy of Music Row” and “Fashion Icon: Dress Like Iris West…for Less!”

“Those are only working titles, of course, but I don’t anticipate too many other changes before these go to print,” Mason explained as she skimmed the articles.

Iris felt Barry’s presence as he leaned over her shoulder to read, and then he let out an incredulous laugh. “That’s it? When you showed up, I was a little concerned that someone had – uh – Photoshopped nude pictures of us or something. What’s the problem with these?”

Mason didn’t answer right away; he simply watched her in silence. She forced herself to meet his gaze, feeling like she had the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head. She barely knew how she managed to speak the words, as her entire body had gone numb as she processed the implications of the headlines. “It’s…the problem is…the problem is I’m the story.” Flicking a quick look his way, she explained, “These aren’t about you. Or even about us. They’re about me.”

She could see he still didn’t see where this was headed, but she couldn’t worry about that right now. Sucking in a deep breath, she asked, “Am I – does this mean I’m fired?”

“Why would you be fired?” Barry asked in confusion.

Mason looked at Barry – her client – and explained in a voice devoid of apology, “Because the minute she became part of the story, I told her she would be if she failed in this assignment. Publicists are supposed to drive the story. Not be part of it.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!” Barry blurted angrily, leaning forward like he wanted to throw Mason out of his house.

On instinct, Iris reached out and put her hand on his arm, though she drew it away again just as fast when she realized Mason was watching them. “No. Barry, it’s…it’s okay. So, Mason? Am I fired?”

Her boss shook his head, though his expression was still unreadable. “It’s like I told you, West. In this business, a mistake isn’t a mistake if it’s a success. But it does change things. We have some decisions to make.”

Leaning back to put some distance between them, Barry said, “Look, we don’t need to make a big deal out of this. If this is going to be such a problem, then we can just break up. We can spread the rumor that we broke up, I mean. Problem solved.”

Mason sighed. “The thing is, I’m not sure that would solve our problem at this point. Once I heard that these stories were in the works, I started digging into things a little bit more. I – and I assume the two of you were as well – was so focused on how people have responded to your relationship and Barry’s image makeover that I didn’t notice how they were responding to Iris on her own. She…well, to put it quite bluntly, she has amassed a number of fans already. People are responding to her, to what they perceive about her, outside of her relationship with you.

“If I was absolutely certain that a staged breakup at this point wouldn’t backfire, I’d say we should do it. But now I don’t know. If we spread tell people you’ve broken up, then, of course, it might mean people would stop being so interested in her and in another month or so, she could fade into obscurity. But it could also be that those fans don’t get bored and move on, and a breakup could undo all the work you’ve put in. Either because people conclude it was all PR, or because they assume you lived up to the reputation we’re trying to change for you.”

Unable to take it any longer, Iris snapped, “Can you not talk about me like I’m not in the room?” In that moment, she didn’t care if he thought she was being rude or unprofessional. Once she had his attention again, she demanded, “Okay, so if breaking up isn’t the answer…I know you better than to think you came here without some kind of plan. Let’s hear it.”

For the first time in their entire conversation, Mason smiled at her. “You know what we have to do, Iris. If we can’t change the situation, we use it to our advantage. We embrace your newfound celebrity. With any luck, you’ll be just another flash in the pan – big news today, but forgotten tomorrow when another celebrity couple steals the spotlight.” After a second’s hesitation, he conceded, “Of course, it could be that you’re not. But we can only tackle this one problem at a time.”

He was leaving something out. She could tell. Her eyes narrowed, she pressed, “And Barry and me? Our relationship? What’s your plan there?”

“Ah. Yes. Well. I hope, at least, that people are interested in you now because of the fairy tale nature of your relationship. Beauty and the Beast, you might say. He’s been – well, he’s had a certain reputation, so to speak, and you’re the woman who tamed the rebel. And right now, people aren’t sure whether to root for the fairy tale ending or if they’re just waiting for him to fall from grace. So…so we give them that fairy tale ending, and we hope that after the dust settles, they move on.”

Iris and Barry exchanged a dubious glance, and then he asked, “Wait…what do you mean by ‘we give them that fairy tale ending?’”

Mason pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it, putting it on the table between them. A large diamond glinted in the morning light pouring through the windows. “Well, how would the two of you feel about an engagement?”

I can’t do this, Iris told herself a few minutes later, as she and Barry stared at each other in silence. After dropping that bombshell, Mason had asked if he could use the restroom – no doubt wanting to give the two of them a moment to process his plan.

Barry’s voice was soft when he finally asked, “So, what do you want to do?”

She shook her head, a wild, uncontrollable movement. “I-I can’t do this. I know – it’s not – I can’t. This is – you and me – this has been – it’s complicated enough already! To pretend we’re engaged on top of everything else?” she stammered. “Are you actually considering this?”

His gaze dropping to the floor, he shrugged. “It’s not the same for me, I guess. I’m used to putting on an act. How is it really that different from pretending to be dating, when you think about it?”

“Because I – don’t you want it to be real?” she demanded. When his eyes shot back to hers, she realized how close she’d come to betraying herself. Iris closed her eyes and turned her face away, afraid of what he’d see there. Because the truth was, when he’d asked her the night before if she wanted to be his friend, that was when she realized it. She wanted to be more. She didn’t know when it happened, but she’d been on a precipice of her feelings for him for some time. Seeing him the day before, the way he was with his family… Seeing the real Barry Allen – it was all she needed to tumble over the edge.

She was falling in love with him, and the thought of pretending to be engaged to him when she knew it would only be an act on his part, she was afraid it would break her.

But fear held her back from telling him the truth, and so she latched on to the nearest excuse. Her voice trembling, she murmured, “When you get engaged one day, don’t you want it be real? With someone you really, truly love? I’ve seen the way your parents are together, the love they share. I can’t – I can’t ask you to make a mockery of it like this.”

His fingers were gentle when they stroked her cheek. “Iris, I don’t think of it like that. I don’t think we’re making a mockery of anything.”

Desperate to get a hold of herself, aware her emotions were too raw and too close to the surface, Iris jumped up. “Look, I just…Can I have a minute? I need to think, okay?”

Barry’s eyes were hooded, hiding his thoughts, as he rose to his feet beside her. “Of course. I’m – for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You’re only in this position because of me, but please believe me when I say I never meant for you to get hurt.”

She almost laughed because she knew he still didn’t understand. She hadn’t been hurt yet. But she was afraid she was going to be. And she couldn’t think of any way to stop it.

She didn’t know how much time passed as she sat in the guest bedroom and listened to the low murmur of voices through the wall. Her mind raced around in circles as she stared with unseeing eyes at the rumpled spot on the mattress where she and Barry had slept together the night before.

Try as she might, she couldn’t really think of a way out of the situation. Everything Mason had said was true. If she and Barry broke things off now, there was a chance it would backfire on him, making her last few weeks in the limelight totally in vain.

But more than that, she didn’t know how she could pretend to be engaged to Barry and not fall even more in love with him. How was she supposed to protect her heart when she’d already given it away?

For a moment, she considered telling him the truth. Confessing everything. But she knew better than anyone that she wasn’t the first – and undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last – to fall for Barry Allen. She had no illusions about his feelings for her. As he said, he was used to living a lie. She didn’t believe for a moment that he was as foolish as her – foolish enough to mistake this lie for the truth.

Long before she could come to a decision, she heard a gentle knock on the door. “Come in,” she called softly.

She was unsurprised when Barry walked in, stopping a few feet away. That he looked nervous and uncertain was a bit unexpected, however. His hands in his pockets, he glanced at her and then away as he asked, “Mason is leaving soon. He wanted to know if you’ve come to a decision.”

“Have you?” she asked in return. “What do you want to do, Barry?”

“This isn’t about me.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “It kind of is. It takes two people to make an engagement, after all. Even a fake one.” When he didn’t respond, she patted the mattress, inviting him to sit next to her. As he sank down next to her, she clutched her hands in her lap and pressed, “You haven’t answered my question.”

Instead of responding, Barry opened one fist to show the diamond ring he held. Iris caught her breath, looking at the simple diamond band. “That isn’t the ring Mason brought,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “No. This was my great-grandmother’s.”

“Oh, Barry, I couldn’t –” she began, but her voice broke off when he reached out and grabbed her hand.

For the first time, he held her gaze. But instead of arguing, when he spoke, it was to tell a story. “You know, my dad gave my mom this when he proposed. My mom used to tell me the story all the time when I was younger, because he’d slipped it into her hand when they were feeding ducks together, and she almost threw it into the water before she realized what it was. She would laugh when she remembered the look on his face when he lunged forward to stop her.”

“I – that’s a sweet story, Barry, but don’t you see that’s why I can’t –”

Ignoring her interjection, he continued, “Of course, when I was younger, I didn’t understand the big deal. Who cared about some stupid ring? So one day, when they were retelling the story for the millionth time, I asked them. It’s just a silly ring. Why would it matter so much if she’d accidentally fed it to some ducks? And I’ll never forget what my dad said.”

Iris watched as his face softened at the memory. “He said it isn’t just a ring. It’s a promise. When he put this ring on her finger, it was a promise to her that, no matter what their future life would bring, no matter what difficulties they would face, they would do it together. He would be right beside her, every step of the way.”

Releasing her hand, Barry brushed the back of his fingers along the curve of her cheek. “Iris, I know this isn’t what you wanted. I doubt you ever wanted to pretend to be engaged to someone you – well, at any rate, I know this can hardly be the life you would have chosen. And I know I should say I regret the last few weeks, but that would be a lie. Still, if you don’t want to do this, I understand.

“But if you do want to do this, then this is my promise. I don’t know how long this is going to last. But however long we’re doing this, however long our pretend engagement goes on, then we’re in it together. I’ll be right beside you. Every step of the way.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. Staring at the ring he held out to her, Iris nodded slowly, holding her hand out to him. As he slid the ring onto her finger, she whispered, “We’re in this together.”

#a lie told often enough #barry allen #iris west #fanfiction #my fanfiction #rock star au #westallen

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pens-swords-stuff · 5 years

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Character Creation Tag [Clara]

@honiewrites tagged both my writeblr and mainblog (@undinisms) for this like forever ago! Thank you so much, I love being tagged!

For all the other people who tagged me for this... I’m making individual posts for each of them (eventually, who knows how long it’ll take) so I haven’t forgotten you!

Going to do this for Clara!

1) What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.?)

I think the very first thing about Clara that I came up with was that I wanted a kind of aloof, cold, academically smart girl — so the first element was an archetype, I suppose!

2) Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind?

I don’t think so! I think I developed Clara in a vacuum without really considering other characters. She may have been one of the first developed characters for it actually...

I know that her best friend one true love Caerwyn (by @decantae) existed in some form when she was created but I don’t think he had much impact when I was originally designing her. I can’t even remember if they were meant to be a ship at that point honestly... It’s been a while.

3) How did you choose their name?

Visuals are really important to me especially when it comes to naming. Like, the face has to fit the name, you know? Therefore, face claims are really important to me in the character creation process.

So once I settled on Aja Naomi King as her face claim, I spent a couple of minutes staring at her face before going “you know what, you look like a Clara.” It was relatively painless actually, I think the name came to me very quickly. It was simple, elegant, sophisticated, and matched Aja’s face so I was happy with it!

Originally her full name was Clara May Williams, back when she had an American background. After that iteration was scrapped and I brought her back for Morsmordre months later, I decided that Clara Williams didn’t fit her anymore. She was British now, and she needed a new surname. Choosing a new surname was also really easy, the name Wilcox just popped into my mind.

Clara Wilcox is her name now (middle name pending), and I like it a lot better than her original name! I definitely think it fits her better.

4) In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts?

Clara is a main character of Morsmordre: a Harry Potter AU fanfiction I’m writing with @decantae. Just to give a rundown of the canon divergence: In Morsmordre, Voldemort succeeded in killing Harry Potter when he was a baby, and the first Wizarding War never ended.

Blood status is really important in the Wizarding World, and Clara is a half-blood. So due to her muggle father and pureblood mother, Clara developed a skeptic, scientific approach to magic in comparison to other wizards. This is a really important part to her character because her approach to learning magic is by dismantling and examining the theory behind it, rather than the application — it comes up a lot in Morsmordre because she’s a scholar at heart, and she’s not super great at putting things into action.

Her half-blood heritage will also begin to become more important as the war continues, and it’s not just muggleborns that are persecuted.

Houses are huge in Hogwarts, and I knew that I wanted to make a Ravenclaw character, so that definitely played a huge role in creating Clara. She had to be smart in some way, thirsty for knowledge. I always knew that she would be very book smart, but not people smart because I wanted her to be a bookish Ravenclaw who wasn’t that great at interacting with people.

5) Is there any significance behind their hair colour?

Not particularly! Her face claim’s hair is black, so...

6) Is there any significance behind their eye colour?

Not really! Her face claim’s eyes are brown so...

7) Is there any significance behind their height?

I have a really bad habit of making female characters short (I’m super short, so), so I actively made her a bit taller than I normally would in an attempt to break that habit and diversify my character heights. She’s 5′5″ or 5′7″ I think?

8) What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?

I can relate to Clara’s inability to open up and be vulnerable. Despite being fairly emotional as a person, she has a lot of difficulty opening up about how she really feels, or even taking an introspective look at herself to figure it out.

I seem like I’m super well-adjusted, but I internalize a lot of problems and I hate being vulnerable in front of others; I have a lot of trouble opening up, and really connecting with emotional rawness to anyone, and Clara also has difficulty with that.

9) Are they based off of you, in some way?

Nope! I’ve mentioned this before, but I purposefully avoid putting parts of me into a character because they become really bad self-inserts. Some people can make that work, and it’s a valid thing — it’s just that I personally can’t make it work.

10) Did you know what the OC’s sexuality would be at the time of their creation?

Honestly I’m still not sure about what her sexuality is, because I cannot imagine her with anyone else but Caerwyn. I straight up have mentioned that she’s just Caerwyn-sexual since she’s never really expressed any sort of interest in anyone else, regardless of gender.

That being said... All of my characters’ default sexualities are bisexual. If Caerwyn just straight up didn’t exist (as in, if @decantae never made him in the first place), I think she would definitely be attracted to girls as well as guys!

11) What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: Writing, drawing, edits, etc.)?

Well, for one: I’m bad at art.

Two, Clara’s face claim might be Aja Naomi King, but it’s really hard to find high quality photographs of Aja that look like Clara. I mess around with photoshop and I’ve made a couple of edits for Clara, but it’s always been difficult finding images that could be Clara.

I also mess around with video editing sometimes, and I’ve actually made a crappy movie trailer for Morsmordre. Although Aja Naomi King has a lot of clips that could be Clara, she doesn’t speak in a British accent like Clara. I ignored that detail for the edit but it was always in the back of my mind.

12) How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?

So the current draft (it’s like a second draft... except we never finished the first. We just decided to rewrite it anyway) is at the very beginning of the Morsmordre story. Similar to Harry Potter, we’re going to follow the lives of the main characters as they go through school. It starts in 4th year, then I believe that Morsmordre will end a couple years after their 7th, when they finally achieve their goals (even then, that’s suspect and not set in stone).

Me and @decantae have planned far beyond that, including headcanons for their children, what they’re going to be up to after the events of Morsmordre, possible sequels, relationships, etc.

13) If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?

Clara (and others) might think she’s super rational and logical because of her braininess, but she’s actually ruled by her emotions and heart. Even if Clara’s brain knows that something is completely stupid and that she shouldn’t do it under any circumstances, she’ll jump in if her feelings say yes.

She studies a lot and tries to learn everything she can so that she can prevent being caught off guard as much as possible. She likes being in control, and knowledge is one of the ways she maintains it (or at least, the illusion of being in control).

14) What is something about your OC that can make you laugh?

Her banter and relationships with her friends can be really funny at times. I love the dynamic between her and everyone else!

15) What is something about your OC can make you cry?

She’s going to go through a really rude awakening when she becomes disillusioned with the world. She’s fairly idealistic right now, and she’s going to go through a lot of painful growth when that idealism shatters.

16) Is there some element you regret adding to your OC or their story?

I’m actually really pleased with how Clara turned out, so I don’t think I have any regrets.

17) What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC?

She really likes peppermint!

18) What is your favourite fact about your OC?

She’s really extra! She’s really dramatic!

Also her family is literally the most wholesome, loving family ever and I love it.

Tagging @souliloquyyy, @kriss-the-writing-nerd @inkspilledqueen @writings-of-a-narwhal for this, feel free to do this or ignore!

If anyone else sees this and wants to do it, please go ahead and say I tagged you!

#tag games #oc #ocs #writing #clara wilcox #morsmordre #pens-swords-stuff #my ocs #my wips

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coolestqcumber · 6 years

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Through the Viewfinder (Jisung - Stray Kids)

Word Count: Apprx. 2.4k

Summary: “Through the viewfinder, I found you” : The Story of How I Fell In Love Through 10 Pictures

Inspired by the AO3 Changlix Fic “Falling: a photo essay by Lee Felix” (guys read this it is so beautiful I love it)

Photo #1 - Annoying

“Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you beg your friend. You literally have your palms pressed together in prayer and Jisung still refuses your request. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Didn’t your professor assign this project a month ago? I would’ve thought that Ms. Photography-Goddess would’ve been halfway done with it already. Yet here you are, wanting me to model for something that’s due tomorrow.”

You pout, “I was halfway done! But the project states that our muse has to be consistent throughout the entire semester. And I used my ex as my muse and I would rather throw myself off the clock tower rather than ever talk to him again.” Jisung’s annoyed expression softened. He knew you had a rough split with your boyfriend a few days ago. But his still didn’t agree. You let out an exasperated sigh and whipped your camera out of your bag. “Look! You don’t even have to do anything!” You peek through the viewfinder and adjust the focus before holding down the shutter button, lens clicking furiously.

You only stopped snapping pictures after the peeved library assistant, Minho, threatened to throw you out if you made anymore noise with your camera. Letting out a content hum, you scrolled through the shots you had taken. You grinned and selected a few pictures of your best friend reading his books with a disgruntled look on his face. His expression suggested he was clearly not amused by you choosing him as the subject of your photos.

Photo #2 - Immature

You stick your elbows out, trying to keep your camera steady in the jostling crowd. Jisung and a couple of his friends were having a show a few streets away from the university and you wanted to seize the opportunity to get some more shots for your photo assignment.

Jisung had always been a hyper kid and he bounced around constantly to the rhythm of his rap. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem for you. However, combined with the swarms of fangirls shoving around from all sides, most of your pictures came out blurred and unusable.

You tsked irritably as you sorted through the pictures you had taken earlier that day. “I just don’t get it,” you seethed as you deleted another photo from your camera roll. Jisung peeled his attention away from his snacks and asked, “Get what?” Another picture deleted. “How you have so many girls thirsting after your dumb a$$.”

Jisung looked offended. “I will have you know that while I may be a dumba$$, my a$$ is a cute a$$.” Your eyes took a roll. “Oh! I finally found one that wasn’t ruined!” you exclaimed excitedly. Then you scowled down at the high-def picture of your best friend dabbing and groaned. “Han Jisung, you are something else.” The idiot had the nerve to look proud and reply, “Thank you.”

Photo #3 - The Fool

Finals were coming up so you and Jisung were in the library again. The two of you studied for exactly 10 minutes before starting to goof off. However, it all went downhill when one of the paper airplanes you were tossing at one another sailed off course and onto the desk of one very miffed library assistant. And Minho was now in the process of chewing out Jisung.

Jisung looked like a kicked puppy. And even though he was taller than Minho, the fire burning in the assistant’s eyes made him slouch over in attempts to make himself a smaller target. You giggled quietly and slipped your camera out. Click.

Uh oh. Now Minho’s furious glare was now directed towards you. You smiled sheepishly and shoved your all things into your bag before high-tailing out of there, leaving Jisung to take Minho’s wrath. (That guy was seriously scary.)

Photo #4 - Hot Model

Finals were finally over. Jisung had pulled an all-nighter cramming for his physics test and was now knocked out on your bed. You wrinkled your nose at the sight of him drooling, but didn’t wake him. He just looked so innocent slumbering through the day. His face was clear of blemishes and worry. There was no loud exclamations coming from his mouth. And (dare you say it?) he almost looked cute.

You smiled softly and the camera was in your hands before you knew it. The shutter clicked a few times before you set the device back down. While it wasn’t the most attractive photo you could’ve taken of him, it captured the purity of Jisung’s character. There was something about the way his hair was carelessly being crushed into the pillow, the way his hands curled to his chest in a childlike manner, and the way his full lips slightly drooped open that made the picture captivating.

Using your thumb, you gently wiped the saliva from the corner of your best friend’s mouth. You grimaced at the wet sensation and wiped your hand on Jisung’s shirt. Jisung let out a breathy exhale and flopped about in his sleep. You fought the laughter bubbling in your throat. He did look really cute.

Photo #5 - Butterflies

“Too candid? What does that even mean? How can a picture possibly be ‘too candid’?” You practically screamed the last few words at the TA and he winced. You almost felt bad for Woojin. You were quite scary when you got angry. “All the pictures you’re taking are in places and situations your muse would normally be in. If you want to add more variety to your photos, you need to put your muse in an unusual setting. Perhaps something with more color.”

You sighed and nodded in agreement. All the pictures you’d taken so far were pretty drab. Woojin patted your shoulder awkwardly, “Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re a very talented in photographer. But you have a lot of potential for growth, so try challenging yourself. Yeah?” You gripped the strap of your camera bag. “Yeah.”

Which is how you ended up surrounded by massive flowers at the local botanical garden. You tried not to panic as another bee buzzed by your ear. “Y/N! Look!” Jisung whisper shouted. There was a butterfly resting on the center of his palm, lazily fanning its wings open and shut. Jisung’s eyes were wide with wonderment and he was grinning like a little kid.

This was the picture you were looking for. You pressed your eye up to the viewfinder and snapped away. When the butterfly finally grew tired of Jisung’s staring, you captured the look of awe on your best friend’s face as his eyes followed the butterfly’s flight up up up into the open sky.

Then, he turned his attention to you. Jisung’s eyes met yours and suddenly you thought you were seeing a different kind of butterfly. Or rather feeling it.

Photo #6 - Chance

You were trying to teach Jisung how to play a card game. He was looking quizzically at his cards, contemplating which one to use. His brows were furrowed and his lips were in the most adorable pout which disturbed the butterfly that had taken up residence in your stomach since the day in the garden, causing it to flutter about.

Unconsciously, your fingers found their familiar grip around your camera. Jisung noticed you lifting your camera up to eye level and his expression quickly morphed into a flirtatious one. You were about to complain how he ruined the candid shot when you saw the picture you had taken. One of Jisung’s eyebrows was lifted and his eyes twinkled suggestively. The cards held in his hands were fanned out and covering the bottom half of his face. But you could somehow still tell he was smirking. It made him look more mature. And it made the lone butterfly explode into a cloud of butterflies.

Photo #7 - Change

You went to another one of Jisung’s street corner performances. This time you brought a tripod and he rapped while staring intensely into your camera lense. This Jisung brought a fiercer tone to the image captured. His eyes burned with a fiery passion and you could almost feel the powerful rhythm of his rap just by looking at the picture.

You pulled your cap lower over your eyes, trying to shield yourself from the jealous glares of the fangirls surrounding you. Some of them had brought cameras too, but Jisung only paid attention to yours. “Why you?” a girl asked. She was wearing a skirt which was insanely short for the chilly fall weather and you briefly wondered if she ever worried about flashing the public whenever the wind blew. Her eyes raked down your figure, filled with judgement. “Um, I’m just a friend who takes pictures for his social media.” You made up lamely, not in the mood for a lengthy explanation.

Later, you were nervously running your fingers up and down the strap of your bag as Woojin silently evaluated your new pictures. “Looks like you tried some new concepts.” Your fingers twisted the strap violently. “And…” Woojin smiled softly, “And it totally worked out for you. The professor will be proud.” The TA turned his attention back to the pictures splayed out on the desk and hummed thoughtfully. “So what do you think?” you asked, relaxing visibly. “About what?” You shrugged, “About the subject? The project is supposed to tell a story. What story are my pictures telling you?” Woojin rubbed his chin.

The TA didn’t answer directly at first. He placed the two pictures you had taken on Jisung during his street performance (one of him dabbing and the other of him rapping). “Do you sense a shift between these pictures? It’s almost as if the photographer is viewing her muse from a different perspective,” Woojin said carefully. Your brow furrowed as you analyzed the pictures with your eyes. The first one felt more casual while the other was definitely more intimate. “So…” you pressed. “You’re totally whipped,” Woojin deadpanned and your heart missed a beat. You pursed your lips. “Maybe I am.”

Photo #8 - Flower Boy

“Flowers? Again?” Jisung whines as you push him down to lay on the grass. “Yes, I want to try experimenting with some photoshop elements this time. And I think flowers would make a pretty good theme.” You pull out container of flower clippings from your bag and dump it unceremoniously over his face, causing him to groan in protest under the mound of blossoms.

You laugh and sweep most of flowers off, revealing his pouty expression underneath. Colorful petals dot Jisung’s hair and your breath catches in your throat because he is just so damn beautiful. “Okay, now close your eyes. And try to make it seem like you’re having a good dream.” Jisung’s eyes fluttered shut and a the faintest smile graced his face.

You blinked several times and reminded yourself that you were here to take pictures for your assignment, not to indulge yourself in your best friend’s good looks. You cleared your throat and peered through the viewfinder.

After editing the picture you had taken, you sought out the TA again. “Dang girl, you’re getting insanely good,” Woojin complimented as his eyes scanned the photo. The grass in the background of the original picture had turned out to be a bad choice due to the school’s lack of proper lawn care. You decided to turn the background into water, making it seem like Jisung was floating in a bath of flowers. You beamed at the TA’s praise as you did spend a lot of time creating the final product.

“So what’s the deal? You two together yet?” Woojin asked, handing the picture back to you. You gingerly slid the photo into a folder, “No. I mean I don’t know if we’ll ever be ‘together’. He’s my best friend and I wouldn’t want to lose him just because of a stupid crush.”

Woojin chuckled, “Do you know why I love photography so much?” You tilted your head in curiosity. “It gives me that opportunity to turn something others see as plain into something awe-inspiring. You’re literally creating beauty.” Woojin crossed his arms and leaned comfortably on the desk, his eyes smiled. “Won’t you give yourself the opportunity to create something beautiful?” You knew he wasn’t talking about your photographs.

Photo #9 - Handsome

You have never wanted to hit a person so bad before. “I am NOT wearing makeup!” Jisung screeched, dancing out of your grasp. “I am a man! Men don’t wear makeup!” You finally managed to get a firm grasp on his shirt and wrestled him into a sitting position. “Says the guy who spends 15 minutes putting BB cream on every morning.”

Jisung went still with shock. “Minho, that traitor. He said he wouldn’t tell.” You shrugged and picked up your makeup brush. Jisung narrowed his eyes, “And since when have you gotten so buddy-buddy with that library nerd?” You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to make some smart retort when you caught his expression. His tone was playful, but his demeanor seemed a bit deflated. Was he...jealous?

You turned to set your brush back down in order to hide the smirk on your face. “If you’re gonna be all prissy about it, I guess you don’t have to do makeup. But this time I’m focusing on emotion and I wanted a bashful vibe, so you need to find a way to blush naturally.” Jisung tapped his fingers rhythmically against his legs, thinking hard of solutions that didn’t result in him having to sacrifice his dignity.

“You’re hot,” you suddenly blurted out. As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt yourself freezing up with utter mortification. This was probably not what Woojin has described. In fact, it was the exact opposite. This wasn’t beautiful. This was ugly, and it was going to end ugly with lots of ugly tears.

But the effect your blunt statement had on Jisung was immediate. His gaze automatically dropped down to his lap, refusing to let you see how embarrassingly pleased your words made him feel. Pink spread across his cheeks like paint being smeared across a white canvas. You gulped and your camera flashed.

When you were done, Jisung asked to see the photos you had taken which surprised you because he was never interested in looking at the pictures before. You crossed the room to where he was sitting. His arms snaked around your waist and pulled you down to sit on his lap. Jisung nestled his chin on your shoulder, peering over at the image on the camera screen. It was your turn to blush.

Photo #10 - Together

A simple picture of intertwined hands.

It’s been a while since I’ve done a long one. I always start them but then taper off because the ideas just start drying up. Such a shame. I literally have drafts I started writing 3 years ago that just sit there.

#stray kids #stray kids scenarios #stray kids han #han jisung #han jisung scenarios #jisung scenarios #han #jisung #kpop #kpop scenarios

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sirfrogsworth · 6 years

Text

I'm profoundly baffled by people who say Trump is a "religious person" just because he wants more people to say Merry Christmas. I saw this comment today on his Facebook page.

"Regardless if you agree with everything Trump does, it’s nice to see a president be sincere and open about his religious beliefs."

This man has only been "religious" in times where it benefited him. I have not seen any indication that he takes his Christianity seriously. Nor do I think he is anything close to a "good Christian."

Allow me to demonstrate...

The seven deadly sins.

Gluttony: His favorite meal is burnt steak with ketchup. His body is a temple.

Lust: Grab them by the pussy!

Greed: Gold plated toilets.

Pride: "Sorry losers and haters, but my I.Q. is one of the highest--and you all know it! Please don't feel so stupid or insecure, it's not your fault"

Sloth: Days after the crisis in Puerto Rico, Trump spent his weekend playing golf instead of working.

Wrath: "...when somebody disrespects our flag, to say, 'Get that son of a bitch off the field right now, out, he's fired! He's fired!’”

Envy: President Obama had one of the biggest inauguration audiences ever seen. Trump... not so much. Despite this, Trump's press secretary declared, "That was the largest audience to witness an inauguration, period. Both in person and around the globe."

Are these the lies of an envious man? I invite you to judge for yourself.

So we have the deadly sins covered. How about the commandments?

1. You shall have no other gods before Me.

A bit philosophical, but I would say Trump worships money and power before any deity.

2. You shall not make false idols.

Trump is his own idol. Evidenced by the fake framed Time magazines with him photoshopped onto the cover posted proudly in his golf resorts.

Trump’s narcissism has reached near legendary levels.

3. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.

"President Donald Trump says the Navy should ditch longstanding plans for electro-magnetic catapults for its aircraft carriers and go back to goddamned steam."

Ah yes, goddamned steam. The devil's energy source.

4. Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.

Instead of attending any kind of church, here is a lovely picture of Trump golfing... on a Sunday.

Poorly, it seems.

5. Honor your father and your mother.

He has honored his father by accepting a small loan of a million dollars, building up a fortune, making horrible business decisions, and eventually declaring bankruptcy six times. Some might say he tarnished the family name.

He has honored his mother by never really talking about her and pretending she barely exists.

6. You shall not murder.

"In Donald Trump's first 7 months as President, we tracked 1,196 alleged incidents in which we assess at least 2,819-4,529 civilians died."

He is on pace to out-drone Obama in his very first year.

7. You shall not commit adultery.

HAHAHAHAHA!

Sorry. I couldn't contain myself on that one.

During divorce proceedings, Trump pleaded the fifth 97 times to avoid admitting to adultery. In his infamous Access Hollywood audio recordings he said, "I moved on her like a bitch. But I couldn’t get there. And she was married."

He clearly takes marital bonds very seriously considering he has tied the knot 3 times

8. You shall not steal.

Trump stole $258,000 from his own charities to help settle legal disputes. He also took over his son's charity for sick kids with cancer and used it to make profit.

He literally stole from kids with cancer.

9. You shall not bear false witness.

On average, Trump lies about 5 times per day. In his first seven months in office, he tallied a total of 1,057 false or misleading statements.

10. You shall not covet.

This commandment used to be about your neighbor’s house and his super cool donkey that was far better than your crappy ass. I’m not sure that applies to modern day coveting. For this commandment I decided to return to Time magazine. Trump has coveted being Time's "Person of the Year" for quite some time. Some might say he is obsessed with it.

It all started back in 2012.

"I knew last year that @TIME Magazine lost all credibility when they didn't include me in their Top 100."

Later that year...

"The Time Magazine list of the 100 Most Influential People is a joke and stunt of a magazine that will, like Newsweek, soon be dead. Bad list!"

In 2015 they finally did put him on the cover. He seemed to change his tune a bit.

"On the cover of @TIME Magazine—a great honor!"

But then he changed his mind again.

"I told you @TIME Magazine would never pick me as person of the year despite being the big favorite. They picked person who is ruining Germany."

His fellow super religious and non-creepy friend, Bill O'Reilly, backed him up.

"Thank you @oreillyfactor for your wonderful editorial as to why I should have been @TIME Magazine's Person of the Year. You should run Time!"

After the 2016 election, Time finally gave in and named him "Person of the Year."

"Thank you to Time Magazine and Financial Times for naming me "Person of the Year" - a great honor!"

(Fun fact: Hitler also won in 1938!)

And that brings us to now, where Trump decides to "low-key" covet this "great honor." Apparently he is much too busy getting people to say Merry Christmas to accept the award.

"Time Magazine called to say that I was PROBABLY going to be named 'Man (Person) of the Year,' like last year, but I would have to agree to an interview and a major photo shoot. I said probably is no good and took a pass. Thanks anyway!"

*cough* Bullshit! *cough*

And that is Donald J. Trump... impressive Christian role model.

In the spirit of Trump’s Christmas crusade, I invite you to look upon this hellscape beautiful Christmas scene with his lovely wife, Melania.

Happy Holidays!

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leelem0n · 5 years

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Flat stomach anon. With the exception of two of the pictures you showed, tbh I think those people are just fat like me. I've seen people IRL with flat stomach even after eating. I've seen pictures of you on your tumblr and your stomach is flat. Also, if it's normal to only have a flat stomach in pictures, then why does everyone on FPH bully people who look literally just like the ones in the pictures you posted? Also, if I got down to 8-12% bf% would my stomach be flat then? (1/2)

(2/2) Including the bellow the belly button part (I’m the anon who asked about that in the pst too). I’m just trying to not get bullied and have a man love me and also trying to not get bullied by FPH type people IRL.

My stomach is flat in those pictures, yes. It’s not that all the time. Honestly, I was so shocked for you to use me as your “See, a 24/7 flat stomach is possible” example. I figured it was implied that I didn’t have that going on for me since if it was totally doable then I’d tell you how it happened. I’m not trying to hide any secret fitness tipz n trix here.

You sent this a bit ago, and I immediately took pics of my stomach in different poses to prove it��and I sat on those pics. I wasn’t really sure about posting them. But then I realized that it meant something to people like you for me to post. It also meant something for me to put myself out there.

You see, the pics I post online aren’t fake. They’re not photoshopped at all, and I even stopped using filters a few months ago. They’re not me sucking in or using shapewear or anything, but they are me taking “better” pics because of posing and clothing choice. Simply standing/sitting up straight and choosing to wear clothes over the naval rather than under makes a world of difference. Here’s what I posted on Instagram:

Most “real people” on IG (those that aren’t being sponsored by companies) will post real pictures of ourselves…in good poses. The thing about social media is people post when things are going well (with some exception). In some of my posts, you see that I’ve got on Gucci shoes, a Burberry coat, holding a Burberry bag, or that I’ve gone to travel. What you don’t see are all the everyday purchases I’m making, which are off-brand items. You don’t see the items I put back so I can save up money. You don’t see me choosing the actual destination over the preferred destination since the former was on sale but the latter wasn’t. We post about graduation, but we don’t post about all the tests we did poorly on. We post about new cars we buy, not about the sputtering junk pile that was our first, second, third car. We post when we win some money from a lottery or raffle, not about the countless other times that we failed to win anything and foolishly kept wasting out money; even in the lottery/raffle win, we don’t explain that overall it’s still a loss. We post drinks with friends that are cute and tasty-looking, not the end-of-the-night bottle chugging of the nastiest, cheapest vodka we were able to buy for under 5 USD.

In other words, you cannot look at people on social media and assume that all these good things they post about makes up the majority of their lives, that their great hair is great 100% of the time, that their sparkly eyes sparkle beautifully 100% of the time. Even for successful people, there are times of failure. And in many cases, that failure shapes the later success.

I don’t think anyone posts this stuff to lie to others. I don’t post pics of my trips to make it appear that I’m rich and well-traveled. I post pictures of them because I was happy and excited and that’s a rarity in my life. All the pictures I have of my “flat stomach” are a small percentage of all the deleted pictures where I internally yelled at myself for looking so disgusting, for having a “melted candle” for a body.

I began posting about mental health issues that I suffer from for this reason, too. Someone had messaged me about their depression, then said, “Well, you wouldn’t understand.” I asked what they meant, and they said that I was obviously a happy person who wouldn’t understand depression. What a shock it was for that person to learn that I’ve dealt with suicidal ideation since I was five (and it never went away) and have been diagnosed not only with depression but anxiety and other issues. I wasn’t “hiding” those problems, I just wasn’t talking about them because I didn’t feel like they were worth talking about or that others would be interested. It turns out people are interested and those things need to be discussed. In the same way, I realize now that “imperfect” pics should be posted along with the “acceptable” pictures.

As for your reasons to lose weight, you should lose weight because it’s the healthy thing to do for your body. Bullying is shit and should be reported, not bowed to. If someone is bullying you…actual bullying, not just saying some mean things…you need to report it to authorities (whomever they may be). If someone is “just” saying some mean things, don’t deal with them. Additionally, people will say mean shit no matter how much weight you lose. I actually had a guy follow me around online posting repeatedly about how he was disappointed in my laughable body because I wasn’t as muscular as he expected me to be. I’m not even sure what that thought process involved…he had an idea, on his own, that I would be some kind of uber-muscular She-Hulk, and when he saw that I wasn’t, he felt the need to make fun of me. Not just once, not just in one place, but posting across several platforms that I was a disappointment because I didn’t meet his random expectations. When I explained that I used to be larger (which I didn’t post pics of, so I wasn’t misleading anyone) but can’t lift like I used to because I’m disabled and he’s effectively mocking me for being disabled since that’s the only thing holding me back, he proceeded to continue to blame me for his own ideas, and then when I stopped replying he didn’t stop posting. In other words, I lost weight, look objectively better (and some would say “fit”), and even that wasn’t enough to stop random douche bags from being douche bags. People will always find some reason to be a dick to you, that’s just how some people are. You need to find a way to deal with it. Again, actual bullying is different, as that involves threats and blackmail, and it should be reported to authorities. Someone being a dick to you can be reported to their place of work (if applicable) or a forum where the dick behavior occurred (if applicable), but otherwise there’s not much you can do outside of a shift in thinking.

I can’t answer your question as to why some people on FPH mock people who have flabby-but-not-overweight bodies. I am not one of those people, and I haven’t been on FPH in over two years now (maybe three?); you’ll have to ask them directly. Or, better yet, stop allowing people who have no say in your life and cannot affect it in any way make you feel things about your body and your life. This isn’t a case of, say, racist assholes posting racist things and maybe making racist votes and in that way it may affect you. Their opinion of you from across however long a distance cannot affect you in any way. There is no law against your body type, there can’t be one made. You don’t see these people in real life. Unless you’re interested in changing minds so that the people that they do encounter IRL have a less shitty time interacting with them, there’s simply no reason for you to give any fucks about what they have to say.

In fact, that’s how I was able to post those pics here: I had a shift in thinking. I hate my body so much that nothing anyone says will be worse than what I tell myself on a regular basis…and that’s rather freeing, so I am no longer afraid to post my shitty self.

As for trying to wrangle a man with a new bod, you still need a personality and realistic goals to match. A nice body will open the door for you, but you need to be able to walk through that door with a sound mind and contributions you can make to the relationship. You cannot rely on a good body to score and maintain a relationship.

I hope this has been helpful.

#weight #weight loss #fat #fat loss #obesity #excess skin #overweight #body #body issues #body positivity #health #fitness

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meowtastrophe · 5 years

Text

to my eight-yr-old self

How are you?

Well, it’s the year 2018 and I have to say --no, we don’t have flying cars yet. Well, we still have aeroplanes if you count that as a flying car-- you’ve come far. Who knows you are able to keep your life till now, right?

No, you are not taking HRM because you are not in college.

No, you did not slack off and had to repeat high school or something.

No, you did not stop school.

The curriculum just kind of changed haha. The DepEd decided to add 2 more years in our high school so you are now in grade 12. It’s not too bad, don’t worry. Over the years you’ll realise that you want to keep studying so upon learning about the change, you were actually quite glad about it.

You’ll be graduating this year so just hang in there. I still remember that ‘to my 18-yr-old letter’ you wrote me--on the diary of wimpy kid thingy--back in Grade 3. You asked me that I should take the Hotel and Restaurant Management course no matter what. Well... you kinda took a different path. In seniour high--that’s what they call the grades 11&12-- you have to choose from these 3 tracks:

STEM, which includes sciences, technology, engineering, mathematics and all that hard stuff;

HUMSS, which is Humanities and Social Sciences, and;

ABM, which is the one you expect me to take because it’s all about Business.

Guess, what? You took the second one HAHAHAHA.

What happened?

A lot had happened, actually. Let’s breeze over it:

In grade 3, you got your period.

You got home from school and went straight to the comfort room as usual. When you pulled down your underwear--there, it surprised you. BLOOD. You absolutely had no idea what the heck was that. You thought at that very moment that you about to die. Mom went abroad when you were at a young age so she never got to teach you these things. Don’t worry though because luckily, mom’s on vacation that day so she was there to guide you the essentials. You did not know how to use a pad. You opened it and well... kept on ‘opening’ it. You kept peeling the outer layer to a neverending pad of cotton. Mom saw your struggle but she just chuckled and gave you a new one.

In grade 4, you didn’t have friend yet

But, you were hanging in there. Nothing happened here, really. You were still adjusting and did not have a permanent friend yet. You just watched anime, edited pictures in photoshop, and all that. You were still very very very shy around this time. You couldn’t speak at all. You were one of the quietest people in the school. You had a very bad social anxiety. You were still discovering yourself. But you hanged in there.

In grade 5, you met Y, became friends with her and;

You left home. This one greedy sister of your grandmother of yours (mom side), let’s call her L, took your childhood home. You still remember what she told you “che, e ate jemima mu naman neh.’’ And I still remember how baffled you were. On how she pulled out the barangay card and showed up in front of our (you and l) home with barangay officials for some reason. On how you thought “wait what? why are getting our home? aren’t you guys rich? you have a backyard pool for christ’s sake. ate jemima’s life--your guys’ life--is so much better than us. what need does she have in our home? why ours? where will we go now?”. Fortunately you found a house near-- literally in front-- of your cousin’s (dad side) house. You tried living there. This is just the start.

In grade 6, you are still best friends with Y. However;

It was not like before. Your dad started neglecting you more. He got depressed. But of course, you did not know that at a young age. He wouldn’t go to the house for days and leave you with no money nor food. You liked going to school because it distracted you but there were times where your dad didn’t let you go to school even if you are all dressed up because he’d go to the house drunk in the morning so he’d rather catch up on sleep rather than dropping you to school. There was even a time where you guys fought and ignored each other for a month or two and that’s where you felt alone the most. You felt like even your aunt, uncle, and cousins parallel to your house were avoiding you--which you were certain they did--so you didn’t have anyone. You were glad that you were on your school break and you didn’t have to worry about not being able to go to school with all that is happening. Most of the time, you’d have no food to eat. Your electricity was cut and you’d steal from your neighbour’s. You also won’t have any drop of water. It was no different from being homeless except, you just somehow found a long-time roof.

It’s not all that bad though because you got to live the simple life. It was fun in a sense that since you did not and could not get everything, the littlest things were enough to make you--everyone in the family--happy. You learned to appreciate the smallest of things. You learned how hard it so to not be able to eat a meal 3 times a day so it’s very hard for you to leave a single grain of rice on your place and you'd accept any food offered to you at the present. You learned how to live through the struggle you faced... for a short while at least.

Then you snitched on your dad to your mom.

In grade 7, high school came, you were not classmates with Y and;

You did not live with your dad. After graduating from grade school, you moved to San Fernando to live with your grandfather (mom side). You also lived with his girlfriend, let’s call her M, and M’s daughter, let’s call her N. The first few months were quite alright. They took good care of you. Made you breakfast and all that. At one point, however, everything went south and you don’t know when and how. M just managed to break you mentally. Pour salt on the already existing--but small-- wound. Well, I guess it was our (you and I's) fault. This was your first time living in with other people. You got used to relying on others. You were not used to doing chores and all that because you never had to do that back at home and at the house. M would compare you to N. Grandfather would turn a blind eye on the situation-- not seeing or hearing anything. M mentioned on how she now understands as to why your dad neglected you. As to why he doesn't like you. That hit you hard. You started blaming yourself for everything. You realized how useless you were. You started thinking that no one loves you... not even your dad. You felt much more alone.

You regretted snitching on your dad.

In grade 8, you met A and she helped you a lot.

Things got worse. You hated yourself more. You did unimaginable things; such as the vice of slice and trying to kick the bucket. However, A was there. That person’s presence comforted you. Because of that person, breath still leaves your mouth. What happened to Y? She had other groups of friends haha. It’s not her fault though. Don’t blame her. She has her own life. She has the right to choose who to befriend and who to hang out with. She was liked by people so it’s not her fault that she drifted away from you for a while. It was all fine because, at the very least, A was there. Also, around November, you moved to the house your grandmother (mom side) worked hard for. The house was much better than home but it did not still felt like home. You started living with your dad and grandfather. M went abroad and N lived with her grandmother.

In grade 9, you were not classmates with A.

You felt A, too, slowly drifting away from you. You felt like she didn’t want to hang out with you anymore and you thought to yourself ‘well no one ever sticks to me. not even my dad so I understand’. So you took the initiative to leave her alone. You also did not blame her and thought that same as you did to Y. And Y, well, was still living her own life but you guys are still friends. But you had a change in a group of friends too. You befriended some people in your classroom and, though it was just short-term, they were enough to fill the void of loneliness.

In grade 10, you thought everything is finally going well.

Until your grandfather was the one who neglected this time. He was the one in charge of the finances at the house but he used them for his vices. He did not get to pay for the house for 3 months and naturally, my grandmother got mad. She asked for my grandfather to leave and he did. My dad, this time, was determined to change and redeem himself. We both thought that he’s going to be handling the money but guess what, L--yes, that L-- was the one put in charge. My grandmother's mind was clouded. She became one of those feminists who thinks ‘men are trash’ or something. Since L lives in the same subdivision as ours she was the most convenient choice. Soon after, they also asked dad to leave the house. You got separated again, for the second time. You lived alone in the house. You would go to L’s house for meals but you still lived alone in the house. You got compared, again, to Jemima, her daughter. Well, you have always been compared to her. You are connected to her because you grew up with her. When our family sees you, they always ask you about her. About how and where she is. If she's doing fine. They never asked me tho. She was an extrovert so she had more friends, much more sociable, the family likes her more for she is much more approachable, she's much more famous, famous enough for the city to know her, and she is prettier. You cannot forget the time when Jemima had food leftovers and L was like ‘don’t you want to eat it? so that become pretty like her’.

Around this time was also your saddest birthday. It was your sweet 16th. You did not have a huge celebration because you just planned to treat your friends. Mother sent you money, your dad gave it to you, and then that's it. However, I was alone that day. You don't know where but some reason dad wasn't there. The house was literally empty. You actually tried contacting your friends prior to the day: Y, K, and A. Yes, only 3, you're quiet picky with the people you get close with. But, they couldn't make it. Your birthday is in summer so they all have their plans. Enjoying their vacation and all that. Living their life. No one could come. And then,

3 days later, A came to the house. Carrying McDonald's and a small cake. You... I never felt so appreciated then.

In grade 11, mom went home.

My grandfather died due to stroke so mom had to go home. She asked dad to stay in the house for a while because he was a pretty convenient errand boy. But what’s the point of errands when you don’t have money? L was holding the money. She is a busy girl, you know. That’s why mom was having a hard time whenever she needed money because L always didn’t have the time. So Mom just asked for the card, where the money is, so there won’t be any difficulties. But L didn’t want to give it and was like ‘don’t worry, your money is safe with me’. And we were all left dumbfounded.

Everything changed since then.

What changed?

Mom put you in charge of the finances but since you were busy with school and everything, you passed the torch to my dad. My mom and grandmother let dad live with you because if not, you will be alone again. You have been living peacefully since then. And now, you are writing this blog.

So why did I take HUMSS instead of ABM? Around grade 8, I realized that I wanted to be a psychologist. Maybe because that is what I needed the most that time. I wanted to become what I needed. At the same time, I thought I wanted to help those who were struggling like me but I realized that I just wanted to learn how to help myself. Since everyone would just leave me eventually, I wanted to learn how to take care of myself. That’s why you took interest in psychology. And over time while diving deeper into the field, I got fascinated by other mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, psychopathy, and likewise. I took interest in the mind of criminals and now, I am now aiming to become a forensic psychologist.

This may change again, though. Everything changes. Decisions are not absolute and that is fine. Just like what happened in the past years, you’ll never know what will happen. One day it’s like this and the next thing you know everything is going downhill. But do not worry about it because that doesn’t matter. You cannot control the situation and the things happening around you. You cannot defy the natural flow of things. What you can control, however, are your emotions. You can control how you react to things. It may be easier to be said than done but it helps a lot. How you approach the things being thrown at you will help you mentally. Just keep your composure and let the time pass. Focus at the very moment. At what is in front of you. Worry about the future later when it’s the next one on the plate. Your current challenge right now is writing this blog and you should you just focus on it. But make sure that whenever you do something, do your very best on it. You just can’t do things just because you have to. Since that should be the only worry you have, give your all to it.

Do not worry about the future. About what you want to do for the rest of your life because you have the rest of your life to figure that out.

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