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ladylooch · 1 year ago

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Wait! I finally have a blurb idea (I was in a drought for weeks) What if you and Nico have an FWB thing going on for months and no one defines the relationship? So now your friends are telling you that he'll never claim you as his gf because he doesn't feel the need to do that since you are that (this happened to a friend, is horrible) so they pushed you to date someone else. But when you are on that date you see Nico across the room and he is looking at you with his big puppy eyes he is heartbroken because he thought you were official or at least exclusive, and now you have to mean his broken heart and assure him that you also want that. 🥺🥹

Anything to You- Nico Hischier

A/N: Ahhhh the classic, we totally know what we are but then we catch feelings and we don’t. WE LOVE IT! Thank you for the fun request 😘

Word count: 1.2k (yes over a blurb, hope you don’t mind 🥰)

Warnings: Mature Themes (18+), angsty!

I still remember the first time Nico and I had sex.

It was rushed. In a bar bathroom where we both had gotten carried away grinding drunk on the dance floor with a handful of his teammates. Our hands and mouthes bumped against each other awkwardly. Neither of us removed our underwear, just slid the fabrics to a spot that we could fully connect. We both climaxed fast, the obvious sexual tension between us too much to hold back.

After was awkward; we were only supposed to be friends. We stumbled through the aftermath as we worked our pants back into place. He didn’t want anything serious. I kinda did, but hated the concept of dating. So, we decided we would be cool being once and a whiles with each other.

There was never any talk of forever. Never a breakfast in the morning. We slept at each other’s places, but it was always quick kisses goodbye as we ran off to our separate lives where we were just friends. I fell in love with him quickly. Nico stayed aloof.

Which is why I don’t understand the look of devastation on his face right now.

“Neeks?” I question, glancing over my shoulder at my date. Nico is silent, staring beyond me to Colton who is sipping on the glass of red wine I poured for him. In Nico’s hand is a brown bag, containing take out from our favorite Thai place.

“Ah…” He stammers. “Um, I thought I’d bring you dinner. Cause I thought you were working late like you said.” Troubled by guilt, I pinch my cheek between my teeth. I hadn’t wanted to tell him about Colton until I thought it was something real. I still don’t have an answer to that. “But you guys can have it instead.” He thrusts the bag out to me, avoiding my eyes. I can tell he is trying to hide how wounded he is.

“Neeks…” I reach out for his fingers. He pulls his hand away like my skin burns his.

“It’s… yeah. I’ll see you later.”

“Nico.” I step out of the apartment, watching his pursuit to the elevator. Someone is getting off on my floor so he dashes in immediately.

The ding of the elevator matches the light bulb illuminating above my brain. We may have never talked about forever, but we also never talked about seeing other people.

Shit.

The next few weeks, I feel like a stranger to Nico for the first time in three years.

He heads out of town with the team a few times, ignoring every one of my attempts to reach out to him. He’s left me on read, clicked the ‘fuck you’ button when I called, and refused the delivery of my latest attempt: Swiss chocolate truffles.

“I don’t know what to do.” I say to Kristen Haula when we are munching on Avocado Toast and siping mimosas at brunch. “He won’t talk to me.” She shifts awkwardly in her seat.

“I think he was surprised to see you with someone. It’s been a year since you two started whatever… this… is. Plus you did lie to him about what you were doing.” Her eyes widened like she is walking a cautious line between what she knows and what she is willing to share. She isn’t wrong.

“I know. I wanted to know what things were going to be with Colton. But that’s over.” I shake my head, smoothing out the napkin in my lap. “I honestly never thought I was anything special to Nico. With his recent behavior, that seems more true than ever.” Kristen snorts.

“Seriously? How are you two so off base with your feelings?” I stare back at her blankly. “He ordered you a WAG jacket for playoffs this year.” My stomach drops to the floor. “Still think you aren’t anything to him?”

I shudder in recognition. Now this is serious. Casual girlfriends, friends with benefits, puck bunnies, etc- none of them get WAG jackets. Only the women the players see a long-term future with do. And Nico ordered me one.

“Do you have the jackets yet?” I ask her after a big gulp of my mimosa.

“Yeah.”

“I need a favor.”

- - -

It’s late when I get to Nico’s apartment the next night. Almost midnight, but he had a game and I couldn’t risk the jackets being seen yet. It’s the most exciting time of year for the NHL wives and girlfriends. I don’t want to ruin their fun while I swing for the fences to woo the Devils captain.

Nico’s doorman knows me and let me into the building with zero hesitation. Clearly, Nico hasn’t told them I’m not welcome anymore. A little bloom of hope fills my chest. Maybe I still have a chance.

My knock on Nico’s door is loud, disturbing the quiet both inside and outside of his space. I bite my lip, hearing his soft footsteps coming to the door. I look down during the pause of him glancing through the peep hole. My ears listen intently, begging for the click of the lock.

It happens. A small smile tugs my lips up. My confidence rushes back in.

“Hi.” I greet him immediately. “Please don’t shut the door.” I hold my hand up. Nico’s eyes are wide and he is speechless, staring at the WAG jacket he ordered for me. It’s gorgeous, made of black leather with red accents. His last name and number are huge on my back. Sparky studs are perfectly placed on the points of the bold letters. It fits perfectly, like I am the only one who could have ever worn it this well.

“I broke our deal.” I blurt out fast.

“What?”

“We said this wasn’t anything serious. But I fell in love with you a really long time ago. I was so scared to tell you and because of that I hurt you. I’m so sorry, Neeks.”

“Yeah, you looked really in love with me with that guy in your apartment.” He scoffs. He’s hurt. His thick eyebrows are furrowed and he will barely look at me.

“That’s not fair.” I shake my head at him. “You never.. told me about how you felt. Now you’re upset with me for having someone else over?”

“I don’t understand how you could do… that. I can’t think about anybody but you.”

“Did you consider maybe he was a distraction so I could finally think about somebody else but you Mr. Perfect?” He straightens, jaw getting rigid. He grips the door tighter like he’s preparing to shut it. “But it’s nothing with him. Nothing like what you and I could be. It’s over.”

Nico looks down at the floor, then slowly drags his gaze back up my body, lingering here and there until his brown eyes get to mine. I can’t read him. I wish he would give me something. But if I have to leap all the way, I will for him.

“If it’s too late, I understand.” I whisper, heart beating so hard in my chest I’m confident he can hear it. “I can go back to what we were. I’ll be anything to you.” I whisper. He steps forward, reaching for my arms. He runs his fingers tentatively over the jacket, then steps forward even more to see his identifiers stitched onto my back. I look up at him, watching every flicker on his face as he brings it closer to mine.

“I want this. With you.” He murmurs, next to my ear. He presses his nose into my cheek. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, turning so our lips collide. He keeps talking between our kisses. “Want my name all over you. On your back, on your driver’s license, right in front of mine as Y/N and Nico Hischier.”

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Same reason you did. I’m scared to lose you.” He pulls back so he can look into my eyes. “This is not an easy life.. being with an NHL captain.”

“Cause it’s been so easy being friends with you.” I chuckle back. “I’m not afraid of hard work, Neeks. You know that.” He grins, then wraps his arms around me to bring me into his apartment.

There is nothing left for us to discuss.

This time, it’s clearly defined exactly what we are.

#Nico Hischier x reader #Nico Hischier imagine #NHL imagine #NHL blurb #hockey writing #my writing #b writes

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chernabogs · 1 year ago

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I made this post yesterday which @/hanafubukki and @/rayroseu and I kind offfff got inspired to actually write something LMAO

Labours Gained

Inc: Malleus, groundskeeper, nanny, briefly Maleficia WC: 2.2k Warnings: None, except swearing Summary: Consequences for your actions come in many forms. For some, it's a time out. For others, it's mucking around in mud all day.

Eirnan was a man who has endured many challenges in his life. Over 600 years of employment as head groundskeeper at Black Scale Palace meant he had faced wyrms, blight, drought, tenebrae boars which had torn up the root vegetables, and the odd employee who nicked a few carrots for their own personal use. He had served during Queen Maleficia’s first reign, and then the wars, and now her second reign. He knew which plots of land were most fertile for which plants, he knew of companion flowers and the medicinal benefits of the herbs, and his mind was an almanac of its own right.

Eirnan was a learned man… until it came to the matter of child-care. He never knew how to act around children, nor did he have any interest in interacting with them to begin with.

But now it’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and there is a very, very miserable boy standing before him.

He’s poorly dressed for the occasion—fine garments in the fields are a recipe for disaster—and the eight o’clock hour shows residual glossiness in those green eyes. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest and his lower lip is jutted out in a pout.

Crown Prince Malleus is a temperamental boy—everyone in Black Scale knows this. His latest explosion of emotion regarding an off-handed comment a tutor said (it was a jest! the man had cried while diving for cover behind trees to avoid furious lightning bolts) had resulted in a complete annihilation of the palace gardens. Eirnan had spent much of yesterday repairing the damage while mumbling about how ‘some things truly are genetic’ under his breath.

Then he had received a missive. A missive, which led them to this moment, in which he stands before the prince with his own arms crossed over his chest and his own equally unimpressed expression on his face. At a glance, one would think the two are related with how mirrored these looks are.

Eirnan pulls out a pocket watch and raises an eyebrow. “On time today, hm?”

“I was told not to be late,” Malleus bites back, attitude in his tone as he glares up at the groundskeeper. He doesn’t want to be here. Eirnan doesn’t want him here either. It’s Queen Maleficia who has shoved them together like two children in a time out.

Eirnan can’t help but wonder if he may have slighted her in the past and this is her round of revenge.

“Right, well, you’re on time but you’re certainly not dressed right.” His gaze skims over the boy's proper attire before raising to look at his nanny instead. The woman ducks her head and focuses intently on the book she holds, making it obvious that no aid will be given. This earns a scoff from Eirnan as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

What exactly can he make the prince do? Queen Maleficia made it clear that a lesson was to be learned today for his actions. Malleus was barred from using any magic, and the nanny was here to ensure that this was followed through. The prince knew no loyalty or secrets were kept by his staff—a sad reality for a seven year old to face.

“It isn’t like I just have clothes to get dirty lying about.” Malleus retorts again while continuing to glare up at him. There is little to no remorse present—just sheer grouchiness. “I don’t usually muck in mud.”

“Well, you’re mucking in it today.” Eirnan can’t help but have his own bite in his words as he turns and treks towards the nearby gardening shed. Malleus stands rooted in his spot for a moment before following, having to run a little to keep up with the older man's long strides.

The inside of the shed contains the extra attire that the staff wear when working the fields in the on-season. Although the prince is significantly smaller than many of Eirnan’s employees, he does manage to scrounge up some pants, a top, and gloves for the boy to wear.

The shoes are a lost cause. There are no boots that can fit the boy without making him goose walk around the field.

“Put these on then, either over your clothes or not, and then meet me back outside.” He tosses the fabric into the prince’s arms, making the boy stumble back with an oof! of surprise. Malleus looks down at the clothing before his lip curls in disgust. Eirnan does his best to stifle the satisfaction he feels about that as he steps out of the shed and slams the door shut.

It’s a beautiful cloudy day in Black Scale Palace, and this is going to be a long ordeal.

_____________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes of protest later finds Eirnan and Malleus standing before a re-soiled plot of garden near the edges of the palace. The boy's act of destruction yesterday had uprooted a majority of the roses that had been planted there, but a few bushes still remained standing—albeit charred and drooping from the assault. Near their feet are bundles of rose plants that Eirnan had been soaking in the greenhouse overnight in preparation for what was to come today.

The nanny had followed them to this area and is watching with interest from her position on a nearby bench. Malleus looks significantly less intrigued. His gloves are lying discarded on the grass along with his shovel and there’s a distinct air of boredom about him.

“So, what we’re going to do is use our shovels to dig up some holes, ‘bout 18 inches deep, 18 inches wide, yes? Then I need you to mix compost in there—”

“Compost?” Malleus’ head snaps to look up at Eirnan wide-eyed. “But I read that compost has—”

“Shit. Yes, there’s shit in there. Do you still want to fight about putting on those gloves?” Eirnan leans against his own shovel as he looks down at the young boy. Malleus’ brow furrows and his lower lip trembles before he’s grabbing the gloves and shoving them on his hands. He looks ready to cry or throw another tantrum. Eirnan tenses in case that does happen, the memories of the tutor running through the gardens yesterday still fresh in his mind. If Malleus’ does snap, that means he’ll be out here tomorrow, too.

Tough lesson.

“Anyway, mix the compost, and then we need to loosen the roots and put them in the mound. Keep the bud union—that’s the little knob there.” He pauses to squat down and point at the bud on the root. Malleus leans down to look at it as well before Eirnan continues. “About 1 to 2 inches below the ground. Briar Valley has a colder climate, so if we keep it up, it’ll kill the plant.”

“If a plant can’t survive the weather, should we really be planting it?” Malleus’ question is fair. Most of the time, one wouldn’t try to grow plants that can’t acclimate well.

“They can survive, they just need a little help. Princess Meleanor herself was an enormous admirer of roses—it’s her notes of how to plant them that we’re following right now.” Eirnan clears his throat before re-focusing on his explanation. He misses the flicker of interest in the prince’s gaze at the mention of his mother’s name. “As I said, keep it below ground. Then we refill the hole ‘bout three quarters with soil and pat it down. Water it a little, let it soak, and then water it again.”

“There are too many steps.” Malleus grabs at the shovel with an apprehensive glance at the dirt. “Can’t we use a little magic? We don’t need to use it for all of the steps, but one or two? I can just make all the holes appear—”

“No magic. Her highness’ strict orders. Unless you want Queen Maleficia to come out here and watch you herself, which I’m sure is the last thing you want, I’d advise listening to instructions.” Eirnan grabs at his own shovel before tapping it on the back of the prince’s heels, making the boy step forward. “Hop to it, then. This will take up a good part of your morning.”

___________________________________________________________

The first few plantings are painful. The boy doesn’t dig deep enough, and then he digs too deep, and then he buries the plant too deep, and then he doesn’t bother burying it at all. The process reminds Eirnan why he never had any children himself as he carefully explains and fixes all of the prince’s errors. Despite his complaints, the boy actually does listen to his advice, and soon the two fall into a quiet pattern of dig-plant-water.

The compost part is still met with many vocalized protests, though, and Eirnan soon does relent to doing that himself.

“How long does it take to grow?”

Malleus’ question disrupts the silence they had fallen into, causing Eirnan to pause and lean on his shovel again. “Three or so years for these ones. The one’s that are still rooted are fully mature, but I’m not too sure they’ll be blooming this year. The buds got damaged.”

Malleus, who has been sitting cross legged on the dirt with a bundle of rose plants in his hand, stares at the bushes for a moment while his thumb plays with the stems. “Did my mother plant those ones?”

“Before she left, yes. She used to plant new ones at least once every few years. When she got her own palace, she had an entire garden there as well.” Eirnan digs another hole as he speaks. He had been in service long enough to see Meleanor weaned off of Queen Maleficia. The girl had sat where Malleus sits now, and their near identical likeness strikes Eirnan as unnerving, as though he’s been projected into the past and is witnessing those spring days once more.

He clears his throat. “They’ll recover. Roses are hardy plants. Strike ‘em down, and they’ll get back twice as strong.”

“Are you sure?” Malleus looks up at the groundskeeper, his green eyes squinting against the light. Eirnan doesn’t look back as he keeps digging.

“Mhm.”

At the affirmation, the prince returns to planting, now with significantly less attitude than before. He’s almost enjoying the rhythm after a while. Despite his status, in the end the boy is still a boy, and it’s hard to keep a child from loving messing around in dirt.

It’s when the nanny clears her throat and brings over a basket of food that the two finally take a break from their labours to sit in the nearby grass. Eirnan rarely gets to appreciate the fine foods served to the nobles, so he’s indulging himself heartily in the miniature sandwiches that are present when Malleus begins to speak again.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Eirnan pauses, ham sandwich halfway to his mouth. “647 this spring.”

“647 years?” The boy's voice is incredulous as he looks at him. “You’re old.”

“And you’re a baby.” Eirnan grumbles back as he wraps a few of the sandwiches in a napkin.

His comment causes another flash of annoyance to cross the prince’s face. “I’m not! Grandma says I’m very mature for my age!”

“Did she say that to you before yesterday, or after?” He challenges back. Malleus’ cheeks flush as he grabs at a sandwich and takes a bite. After a few more, the scowl on his face softens before he continues his questioning.

“Why do you do this? The manual work? It’s easier with magic.”

“Keeps my stress down.” Eirnan chuckles. The nanny gives a sound that might be mistaken as a laugh, which is quickly covered by a cough while she begins packing the extra food. He mourns the finger sandwiches being lost to the basket. “There’s always something to do for these gardens, and when you’re planting, you can let your mind just fall quiet. Watching something that you worked hard to grow get appreciated by others is a rewarding feeling. Magic takes away from that. The instant gratification fades faster than the long-term that labour brings.”

Malleus falls quiet again as he finishes his sandwich. He then fiddles with his gloves, which are still too big for his small hands. He has dirt on his cheek and his chin that he seems entirely unaware of. Eirnan offers him a napkin to wipe it off, albeit gruffly.

“It isn’t bad.” Malleus finally mumbles when he accepts the napkin and hastily wipes his face.

“What, using magic?”

“No, planting.” Then Malleus looks up quickly with another furrow in his brow. “Except the compost. The compost is bad.”

“It’s shit.” Eirnan shrugs his shoulders and ignores the sharp look the nanny gives him. Malleus’ lips do twitch slightly into a smirk.

“It’s shit.” The boy repeats, causing the nanny to say his name in a scolding tone, which finally does draw a laugh from the prince. “How many more do we need to plant?”

“Three, maybe four. Shouldn’t take long.” Eirnan rises with a grunt and brushes a few spare crumbs off of his pants. The prince is quick to scramble to his feet as well. He seems oddly reinvigorated as he pulls his gloves on and grabs his shovel. He then cranes his head back to look up at the taller man with a spark of challenge in his gaze as that cheeky smirk continues to play on his lips.

“Let’s hop to it then, shall we?”

Eirnan snorts in amusement as the two return to the dirt patch, both unaware of the figure watching from the windows of the palace above, a pleased smile present on her lips.

#malleus draconia #twst #twst fanfiction #i didnt know if it was ok to tag directly so i just did a lil slash #i always feel awk tagging ppl LMAOOO #anyway this was super fun i love writing the 'exhausted adult and devious child' dynamic #i feel like malleus was just a cheeky lil guy growing up yk

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television-overload · 9 months ago

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of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 4/34 - phone battery

[Read on AO3]

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery.

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing.

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it.

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

~~~

SURPRISE - that was a short chapter, so here's another to make up for it

Chapter 5/34 - rulebook

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both… ”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again.

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed.

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically . Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“ You , I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable.

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight.

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought.

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest.

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding.

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses.

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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cowgurrrl · 2 years ago

Text

Name of the Game

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: When work separates you and Joel to opposite coasts, it's nice to know that things haven't changed [1.2k]

Author's note: IT'S HAPPENING PEOPLE

Warnings: famous Joel au, no outbreak :D, baseball talk, Joel being a shithead, yearning, the lightest touch of sexting

"I hate this, by the way." You say the second the ringing on the other line stops. Joel laughs, and his studio chair squeaks. You keep telling him he needs to replace it, but he's obviously not listening.

"Hello to you, too." He says. You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. It's been three weeks since you last saw him and the girls. He started recording a new album in Los Angeles, and you got sent off to New York City to shoot for your latest movie. You really didn't think being on opposite sides of the country would affect you two that much, but with the time change, busy schedules, and general exhaustion, you barely have time to talk. Plus, the girls are finishing up this school year, which is always a crazy time for him. You think it would be even if he weren't famous.

"Hi. I miss you." You say as you rummage through your bag for your water bottle.

"This is just temporary. I promise," he says, and you sigh. It's temporary until the next project or album or tour, you think. Your and Joel's work ethic is very similar, and it would be admirable if you didn't both pile so much onto your plate. "I miss you, too."

"How are the girls?"

"They're good. Sarah is stressed with finals and barely comin' out of her room, and Ellie sent me on a wild goose chase last night cause she needed a poster board for a project she's known about for a month. I swear, these girls are gonna put me in an early grave."

"You love them."

"I'd love 'em a lot more if they let me sleep."

"Mhm," you hum as you move to another bag, still looking for your stupid fucking water bottle. At this point, you're ninety percent sure you left it in the makeup trailer. Joel likes to joke that you can't go anywhere without that huge pink monstrosity of a water bottle, but you might be proving him right by frantically looking for it. Joel chuckles at your half-hearted response.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you?" He asks, and you smile. You give up on finding it and flop onto your hotel bed as if it were your own.

"Not more than usual."

"Very funny," he says. "How's New York?"

"It's good. I think we've got another week or two of filming. Everybody's doing great work, and the directors are fantastic, but I'm ready to come home."

"It'll go quick. Besides, you're not missin' much here."

"I beg to differ. It sounds like I missed world-famous rockstar Joel Miller battling it out with a fourteen-year-old in a Hobby Lobby at 9pm."

"It was actually a Michaels," he corrects. You can imagine him standing there with his hands on his hips as Ellie scans the different poster board types and asks his opinion. "The girls and I will still be here by the time you get back. They want us all to go out to dinner the second you get home."

"That sounds nice," you say. "Much nicer than long-distance phone calls at one in the morning."

"Yeah, why are you callin' so late? Not that I'm complaining." He asks, even though he's only three hours behind you. You yawn and stretch out on the bed.

"Shooting went late today, and I didn't want to go to bed without talking to you."

"You're getting ready for bed?" He asks, and you hum. His chair squeaks again, and he gets quiet. "What are you wearing?" You laugh at the question and look down at your ensemble.

"Oh, something super sexy."

"Like?"

"A ratty old Cubs jersey and a pair of sweatpants."

"A Cubs jersey?! You're breakin' my heart, baby," he says. "Send me the hotel's address so I can send you an Astros jersey to wear instead."

"I'll wear an Astros jersey when they can win a World Series without cheating."

"At least the Astros can win a World Series. What was the Cubs drought? A hundred and ten years or somethin'?"

"A hundred and eight, thank you very much."

"What if I got it signed by the whole team? Would you wear an Astros jersey, then?"

"No, but I'd give it to your daughters and take the credit for it."

"Now, that," he says. "Is evil."

"One day, I'll take you to Wrigley Field, and you can watch some real baseball. "

"Be careful. I'll take you up on that offer."

"I'm counting on it, cowboy." The line grows quiet on both sides, and you know this is the closest you'll get to him for the next few weeks. You listen to his breathing and imagine his elbows on the desk in front of him, lyric pages scattered around him, and his guitar within reach. You wish you were there so he could pick your brain about a melody or even just walk by and kiss his head when he's deep in thought. In the same way, you wish he was here so he could read scenes with you and bring your favorites in from catering.

"I can't wait for you to come home." He says so softly you almost miss it. You let your eyes close and take a deep breath.

"Me neither."

"It's late. You should probably sleep."

"Yeah," you yawn. "Tell the girls I say hi."

"I will. I love you."

"Love you." You say and hang up. You put your phone on the charger and try to fall asleep, but your brain is overrun with thoughts of what you need to do the next day on set, things to ask the intimacy coordinator for, and new ideas for scenes. Your phone buzzes next to you an hour later with a text from Joel— a video of him strumming a tune you haven't heard before. He hums lowly as he plays, and the gentle unfinished song continues in your dreams.

The next day is full of shoots, reshoots, touch-ups, and one exhausting scene of running through the streets of Manhattan that the director wanted to shoot at least seven different times. By the time you get to go home, you're sweaty, tired, and have at least thirty unread text messages from Ellie, almost all of them TikTok's that "Oh my god, you have to watch."

When you get to your hotel room, you go to throw your bag on the bed but stop when you see a big box wrapped with a red bow on it. You furrow your brows as you pick up the note attached and read it. For Wrigley Field - JM, it reads. You open the box, and a beautiful new Cubs jersey sits at the bottom with a signed baseball next to it. When you pick it up to look at it closer, it has your last name on the back, and you find an Astros hat at the very bottom of the box. For the World Series, the note reads. You laugh out loud and clutch the royal blue cloth to your chest.

You respond to any and all unread texts, emails, and notifications. After a shower, you slowly start to feel human again. Human enough to shoot a text to Joel.

Ask me what I'm wearing

Uh oh, he responds.

C'mon, you know you want to

What are you wearing?

You smirk at your phone as you shoot him a photo of you wearing the Cubs jersey, the fabric riding up your thighs just enough to show that you're only wearing a pair of lacy black panties underneath. Your phone lights up with his contact photo almost immediately, and you laugh as you answer his call.

"Goddamn," his voice is deep and gravely as he groans. "After that, I think I just might be the world's biggest Cubs fan."

#rockstar!joel miller #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel the last of us #joel miller drabble #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #joel miller au #the last of us au #the last of us fluff #the last of us hbo #bitch this was so fun to write

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curhartwrites · 2 years ago

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❤️ Happy WorldBuilding Wednesday! ❤️

What are your cities or towns like? Feel free to talk about the layouts or the people or the architecture, etc. and to talk about more than one if you'd like!

This is particularly juicy subject matter for me and I love talking about it. The Citadels: These are walled temple compounds where important spiritual leaders live and work. The walls are rough and jagged. They're made of rocks, scrap metal, and broken glass - designed to keep out anyone who would hurt the people inside. But once you get through the gates, the Citadels are beautiful. Structures inside resemble cobb houses or "earthships," since sand and stone are the main resources available for construction. But human garbage and detritus left over from the old world is everywhere, and can be quite useful, so some homes have "stained glass windows" made of colorful bottles, or frames made from old pipes. It's a strange juxtaposition of re-emerging primitive building techniques, and leftover glimpses of what life was like before the drought. Temples and homes alike are highly decorated. Water imagery is common in murals, wall carvings, and stone-and-glass mosaics. Windchimes fill the air with music. Fluid, organic shapes are preferred over square rooms and hard lines. At the center of every citadel is a fountain or well. The Angels of Yema live inside the Citadels, as do their protectors and companions, the Waterdogs. The Townships: Outside the walls of the Citadel are settlements of people who are devoted to the temples and the Angels. Because the Angels' work gives them much more access to water than people living in other areas, they're able to grow food and medicine. Simple cobb homes are the norm here, usually a little less ornate than the ones around the temple. However, the structures outside the walls usually incorporate more of the old world trash, like plastic and corrugated metal. The people here are able to enter the walls more or less freely, for worship and festivals, or to visit friends and family who work and live inside. The families of Waterdogs usually live in the townships. Life here is simple, slow, and (knock on wood) quite peaceful. Stray dogs are fed and treated with kindness, since dogs are associated with the Goddex Yema. The Wasteland: Beyond the protection of the Citadels stretches miles and miles of desert, and the remains of old world towns half buried in sand. Out here, no one stays in one place for very long. People travel alone or in small groups. Among the wanderers in the desert are dowsers and water witches - people who do not have the gift of Yema's Angels, but who use other water-related folk magic. Some of them have real skills, and some are charlatans. Other wanderers include traders, sex workers, and bands of storytellers and musicians. (One notable group that travels in the wastes are the Last Days Dancers: a small and mostly harmless cult of hedonists who believe that there's no point in trying to build the world anew, and spend their days drinking, doing drugs, having sex, and dancing themselves into euphoric delirium until they die of dehydration.) The Outposts: Scattered here and there across the wastelands are places where travelers can stop to trade, rest, and hear the latest gossip. The atmosphere in these places varies depending on who runs them. Two notable examples...

The Bowl: A large dry lake bed that serves mainly as a trading outpost and a safe place for sex workers to operate. It's a No Weapons Zone, and anyone inciting violence is promptly escorted out. Buildings here are mostly crude lean-tos, though some of the larger structures are built from the skeletons of boats.

Jimmy's: A smaller outpost surrounding what was once a bar - the only original building left standing in the remains of a small town. It's known for gambling and prizefights.

#writeblr #queer writers #worldbuilding #solarpunk #hopepunk #post apocalyptic #desert punk

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m1ckeyb3rry · 5 months ago

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LMAOO tumblr really said f u…but glad it worked out either way but I seriously need to find a better system for remembering if I actually sent something in or not….hmm….

Anyways hope your flight was nice!! And omg NOO the migraine :(( hope it goes away soon! I wish I had some tips or remedies but I honestly can’t remember anything that was super effective…..

Karasu serving as usual!! No because the Karasu nagi content from epinagi lately is fire like thank you for saving us in the drought that is the PxG match!!

First rin now ISAGI I saw your post and oh my god I was kinda shocked but then again I think we’ve mentioned this possible scenario at some point before so maybe it was just a matter of time….bro atp you’re gonna be providing more content for Kiyora than kaneshiro is you might as well just adopt him as your oc LMAOOO (I think your blog really just has manifestation powers atp let’s just face it)

I’m genuinely laughing my ass off (needed to write it all out for emphasis) at the “karasu anon requests (any)” LMFAOOOOOO but PAUSEEE SINGING READER KARASU??? That sounds very interesting!!!!! WAIT A DAMN MINUTE CHERRY TREE PT 2??? Sign me tf up part one slapped so hard

Also wait riding lesson right when you got back from vacation WITH jet lag AND a migraine??? You’re truly built different I can’t even wake up at a decent time after traveling between time zones ok but Karasu bfb was a JOURNEY LMAOO I’m also never getting over that wc it’s insane

Shidou would go wild for Karasu’s sus comments LMAO adding Otoya to the mix would be so chaotic HAHAHA also someone needs to save yuki asap fr

LMAOOO Karasu truly the only thing holding PxG together esp since Loki probably does not care about the dynamics of the team beyond winning and Charles’ growth

Lukewarm is honestly the perfect word for it…but wait ok speaking did you see the chapter….because wtf….im ngl i still haven’t caught up fully with whatever happened after the yuta gojo freaky Friday but what just came out was wild

SHSHS thats actually so annoying….hopefully it gets resolved soon! Im not super well versed in the topic but have you looked into it being something like vertigo? Or is it till more likely the side effects thing? Either way hope that and your migraine goes away soon and doesn’t come back!!

Anyways I’m gonna go read your latest post and try not to convert to kaiserism (I probably won’t but it should prove for some more uhhhh clearheaded commentary (??) than if I was fully invested in the character too and not just your writing LOL)

- Karasu anon

FR like it all linked up and that’s what matters in the end 🤩 hm ik for me personally when i’ve finished smth and i have it in my notes app i put a little green checkmark emoji next to it?? so maybe once you’ve sent an ask in you could put a green check on the note or smth 🤔

icl the flight was kinda crazy my brother and i were judging the pilot HEAVILY because the landing was kinda bad 😭 we’ve both been flying since we were like 6 months old so we’re very used to planes and whatnot LMAOO we can even tell what went wrong…as soon as the guy started landing we were texting each other like “omg he didn’t descend enough in the air now he has to take the landing too high and he’s going to hit the runway too hard 🙄” “negative aura for the pilot fr” (second text was obviously my brother FJDKDJS he is nothing but a teenage boy through and through)

HAHAHA PLSSS no because i’ve always considered isagi boring because where is the angst potential?? but then i realized that he (and yukimiya who kinda falls into the same boat) are very very yuta okkotsu coded 😳 so like where the angst with characters such as karasu and nagi is the fact that the feelings are there but never quite acknowledged/understood in time, the angst with isagi and yuki and characters like that is that no matter how hard you cling to someone and love them there’s sometimes extenuating circumstances that just tear you apart and there’s nothing you can do abt it (ex all of the dying and whatnot that happened in pomegranate ink…like for the majority of the story reader and yuta are in a relationship but they just can’t be together because of the bs going on in their world) 😰 they’re definitely characters that work better in an au though because in a modern setting they are just too healthy and normal…okay also i’m realizing that me being bored by personality types that i’m supposedly most compatible with might have smth to do with why i’ve never been in a relationship irl 😓 JFKSKS

nah because watch me write a beautiful layered complex kiyora and then all of a sudden my little fun facts abt him appear in the manga or a possible ln 🤨 going to be raising some eyebrows and asking which of my followers is secretly kaneshiro at that point LMAOAOA

HAHA i’m probably going to give your idea posts special tags and then that way i can go back and reference them when i’m in dry spells!! but for now i’ll probably do one of the ideas from each post just so i can clear my inbox LMAOAO i’m going to have to go through and see which characters i’m feeling when i get to them 🤩 and yes the request is for a reader who’s good at singing but shy abt it!! it’s probably going to be on the shorter side (like the isagi ones) but yk my track record with saying that 😭 ALSO YOU HEARD RIGHT CHERRY TREE PT 2!! it’s going to take place when rin goes and finds the reader again after the world cup like he says he will 🥹 so much more of a time skip than instrument pt2 🫣 but i’m excited to write it!! rn i’m working on the nagi req because he’s #bae but cherry tree pt2 might be next 😳 trying to take a break from karasu so i don’t feel like i’m writing the same thing over and over LMAOAAO i’ve written quite a lot for him recently (aka bfb) so i’m switching it up and writing for other characters for a bit 🤩 i have not abandoned karasu nation though trust i will return just taking a second to do my duties to the rest of the fandom 🙏🏻

LMAOOO i’m always on my grind 😩 i missed the pony i ride so i had to go back fr 🙏🏻 tbh it was a struggle getting there but my lesson was pretty good so it all worked out in the end!!

THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING like shidou and karasu are actually two peas in a pod it’s insane to me that no one else has picked up on their duo potential 😟 i need them to be besties and a trio with otoya would be insane JFKSDJSJ yukimiya needs friends fr 😭 like poor guy doesn’t even have a canonical bestie in bllk…i’m trying to think of people without a set “duo” that he could be paired up with 🤔 like kunigami has chigiri, isagi has bachira + rin + barou, reo has nagi, and most of the other characters feel like they’re too young to be super close with him (like hiori and all)…maybe gagamaru?? actually that would be crazy because apparently gagamaru thinks one of his strengths is his good eyesight and we all know what’s going on with yukimiya’s eyes 😓 i can’t think of anyone else who’s definitely staying in the manga that doesn’t already have a bff though 😟

yes i did see the new chapter!! honestly idk how i feel abt it…i think it was just done weirdly 🤔 like a lot of people are defending the situation and saying it makes sense/is supposed to be a shock factor thing and while i can definitely see the appeal of that it still doesn’t feel cohesive to me?? like okay she’s back in the last five chapters it just doesn’t sit well for ME considering how important she’s supposed to be 😕 i’m sure people will say i have no reading comprehension or media literacy or wtvr for thinking that but maybe i’m also just sensitive because she’s a female character so i think it’s annoying she was dead for most of the story and then suddenly she’s relevant again randomly?? like to me that is not how you should develop a character especially when you already are on such thin ice with writing women 😰 also again i can see the shock factor aspect but in my opinion an author should not be out to surprise their readers just to say “gotcha 😏” yk?? like if nobara was going to come back it should’ve been done in a way that felt more natural than her just randomly springing up LMAOAOA i’m not saying she should or shouldn’t have shown up earlier in the FIGHT just that it didn’t feel as exciting to me as it could’ve because it didn’t feel earned or deserved 😬 but this is top ten opinions i’ll never share in the public because the jjk fandom WILL jump on me and say i can’t read and blah blah blah 🙄 listen like i said idm her coming back it’s just the execution was off to me!! but also maybe i’d be more hype if i was still super into jjk like i used to be 😔 truly atp i’m just reading to keep up with it and know what happens…maybe one day in the future i’ll go back and binge read the whole manga at once and maybe it’ll feel much more cohesive then!! but we’ll see

sadly i have no clue what it could be 😓💔 but fingers crossed it resolves itself soon 😩 and EEK not kaiserism…i had a brief dip into it because he’s just very easy to write about in literally any au but he’s not a character i can stay passionate abt for very long LMAOAOA like he’s not rlly one of my favs even though i don’t mind him that much

#answered asks

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apple-but-sour · 2 years ago

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hey there, hope you’re doing well. this is no hate to the cc’s, things have been rough and they’ve had their hands full for like half a year now with things they obviously want to do more. my problem is… am i the only one who thinks they’re beating a dead horse with the dream smp?

there’s talks of a closing event and a server revamp but i don’t think that was planned with the already developed plotlines in mind, more as a last resort. that means they will be dropped, and even if the server doesn’t reset, i don’t think there will ever be a conclusion. the only people ever online are new members trying to make their own lore, but since the already old one is crumbling, failing to incorporate themselves. every person added doesn’t feel like “hey fresh blood for the story”, it feels like “again, really? aren’t there enough half-baked plot points already?”

the people who are added are basically just handed clout for something the wider audience doesn’t care about anymore (compared to the ‘getting invited to the dream smp’ craze there was before) and then left on their own, while the characters who have had development either go in loops or just do not do anything at all. the recent plotlines with the og characters (from what i’ve heard) were also pretty triggering for what seemed like no real reason. the question of whether wil and the others handled sensitive topics well is another thing, but from a writing perspective, it sucks.

the dream smp (as a story, not a fandom) died, i think, when the creators just stopped being all that interested in it. wilbur, ranboo, quackity, karl, those are just a few who were ready to put in a whole lot of effort but never went through with it, as if waiting for some kind of cue, which never came because the group lacks any kind of organization. now everyone so busy and uninterested and just wants to move on already, which is good and fine and i am happy about it actually, but they are just putting off actually declaring it done for some reason or another.

so, what’s your opinion on this as a well-respected (by me at least, don’t quote me) dream smp analyst? i checked in to the analyst side of tumblr expecting it to be a little dried out from the lack of answers, but it seems somehow there’s still discourse. not directed specifically at you, but what’s the point of putting forth the energy to stay in this community anymore? there’s no new content to get excited about, so why bear the downsides (because people will always find new ways to be stupid)?

not asking you to quit, but it just feels strange as a somewhat-outsider. it seems the job of a lore analyst that used to be stitching together the pieces of the latest content and rearranging old information in new and exciting ways is just 1. get harassed 2. argue (or try to avoid it) 3. feel dejected because it’s obviously not getting better. why are so many people sticking around…? do some actually think the creators will pick this abandoned story back up just because they’re talking about it as if it was still ongoing (likely because none of them can make that call alone)?

i’m just confused and feel a little bad for the people who get treated badly over and over by hateful people that don’t let go even if the story is basically done. sorry if this was difficult to read, head full.

This... uhh... sure is an essay. I might not be addressing every one of your points since I frankly just can't be bothered but here's my perspective on the Lore Drought™ I guess.

Calling it beating a dead horse is a brave statement since Dream SMP still gets views. That server is a cash cow. The content creators know it's a cash cow which is like half the reason they don't want to abandon it. It still Gets Views it is still An Opportunity For Content.

I see little point in speculating on whether old arcs will be dropped once the Big Dream SMP News arrive because we simply don't know. Extensively speculating on it is likely to either set you up for disappointment or make you panic over nothing. But we do know that whatever Dream suggested and all the members are looking forward to is supposed to be a compromise between those who want to reset the server and those who want to continue the storylines that are already there. So the ongoing stories probably aren't getting abandoned completely. As for what exactly happens to them, we'll just have to wait and see.

I am really confused about your point about recent arcs being triggering. I guess points can be made about how the CCs should consider presenting trigger warnings for their streams and that taking the story in that direction limits the amount of people who can engage with it and is therefore bad for views, but I'm not sure that's the points you're trying to make. If people really don't like the direction of some storylines, they can just not watch them. I don't see the big problem here. You can choose what content to consume, no one is forcing people to trigger themselves. It's the content creators' server and their story and if they want to delve into darker topics, that's their decision. I've seen criticism of how that content is handled but none of it is something I agree with.

Another brave statement is saying content creators aren't interested in the server. In fact, everyone seems very excited to continue writing and creating content on it. Even Wilbur who wants to give his character an ending (likely because he wants to focus on his band) has shown great enthusiasm for his own story. It's doesn't seem like it's out of boredom or disinterest that he's wrapping his plot up. Quackity seems to be hinting at a Las Nevadas Finale. People don't want to move on, people in fact want to continue, but how disorganized the server is + outside circumstances seem to be getting in the way.

I am not putting forth energy to stay in the community in the way you seem to be implying (like I'm holding onto a sinking ship). In fact, I've tried to distance myself from it and focus on something else multiple times, but these goddamn Blockmen Roleplay have gotten a death grip on my soul and there is no escape. You can see me become more inactive from time to time as the lack of content gets to me only to start incessantly posting once the Blorbo Syndrome returns full force. I don't exclusively engage in petty discourse (when I notice that becoming my primary activity in the fandom I tend to take one of those step-backs coz it usually means my interest has dried up a little). I rewatch VODs, I watch VODs I've never seen before, I talk to people about AUs, I read fanfic, I post enthusiastically about my blorbos, I spin my blorbos in my brain. Sometimes I find entertainment in revisiting old content and looking at it from a new perspective. Like, I don't think you can only ever have interest in a show that's ongoing. I am going to be sticking around until I manage to fixate on something else but it ain't happening yet, I've tried. Even if the revamp (or whatever it is that will soon happen to the Dream SMP) doesn't produce regular content the way we're being promised I am probably still going to stick around because my enjoyment doesn't hinge on getting fresh content. And it's the same for many others.

Like, overall, I get how it can sometimes feel like the fandom is just the same old discourse & harassment over and over again. As I've said it does get to me as well sometimes and then I just take a lil break until my enthusiasm returns. But I still find plenty of enjoyment in the Actual Content, even if it's old content, as well as in interacting with / creating fancontent. I guess for others their enjoyment is much more dependent on getting Regular Content, by the sound of things you might be one of those people, and that's fine!! But some people just wanna go crazy over the same scenes over and over again and create their little AUs and write fic and that's fine. People interact with content differently, and for some there's still plenty to enthuse over, which is why the fandom is still pretty active despite the lore drought and all the broken promises of content.

#apple answers #anon #long post #negativity

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peeterparkr · 3 years ago

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red; tom’s version|two.

chapter two: the lucky one. “You don’t feel pretty, you feel used”

pairing: Tom Holland x Reader story summary: you’re reminiscing through your relationship a month after the heartbreak and breakup. Wondering if it went wrong from the very start when Tom arrived at New York, and him being a cautionary tale or if the problems came along the way. Perhaps the key to find back your way to him is going back through the nice things before the heartbreak came. Or is it too painful to go all over again?

chapter summary: bottle caps, a red scarf and two coincidences that probably mean something warnings: angsty a bit, cussing, word count: 6.7k playlist (updated after each chapter, including Red songs+ other for the chapter): Spotify | Apple Music

fic masterlist previous chapter next chapter

Present day. One month after the breakup.

Tom knew he had to stay quiet. Or rather, there was barely anything he could say while he was plotting his next words. He could barely believe he had a chance.

Walking down the streets with her quietly as he saw her, arranging her own thoughts. She had agreed to listen.

And he knew it was because whatever they’d felt, it made it worth it.

Y/N was angry. Not sad, angry. He had expected her to be crying. He didn’t want to be the reason why she would and he tried thinking he wasn’t. Though, deep inside, he was perfectly aware that he would be blamed for the tears that she’d shed in the last few months.

He wasn’t proud of that.

Guilt blinds. And Tom was blind in an attempt to shield. It was easier to shield on his own excuses that would serve barely as a plea to forgiveness.

Glares were directed at him. Her jaw was clenched and she had crossed her arms. The moment she’d realized what she’d agreed to, she’d turned stiff.

“Aren’t you cold?” Tom had tried asking.

“I don’t wish to speak to you.”

Fair.

And it was the middle of the night once again, how many times had they not walked under the stars with barely a destiny to reach. And now he was walking to his doom.

Y/N was mental.

In a good way. But the girl had taught him how insane you can be when it comes to relationships. In the best way possible, not as an insult.

Tom knew that he had fucked up. And he had been in New York for a while, though he hadn’t spoken to her directly, knowing that approaching her would only wound her.

It was colder now, Christmas was barely around the corner. In any other circumstance, it would’ve added to the romance.

Here it was just a bad omen of whatever would come next. The lights flickered as soon as they were walking past them.

“Are—are we not going to talk?” Tom questioned anyway. “I thought—“

Y/N shrugged. “I’m still deciding it, you see, I don’t know if I want to listen to you break my heart in an attempt of forged honesty.”

Tom dug his hands in his pockets. “I genuinely want to apologize.”

“And I genuinely don’t like you,” she snapped. “You see my problem?”

Tom sighed. “Fine,” he gulped. “But you are cold, that thing isn’t covering your neck or chest.”

Y/N had gone for a rather inadequate option for a cold winter day. Though Tom would agree that the black dress had been yet another punch to his stomach, all of course with an attempt to make him regret it, it was still rather unsuitable for the freezing city. But she looked stunning.

Her coat barely covered her, and her crossed arms were probably more of an attempt to warm herself and it served as a clear exposition of her anger.

She didn’t answer, however.

“You could wear this,” Tom offered, showing her the red scarf that once belonged to her. Tom liked to think that it now belonged to them.

The red scarf that had become a token to their relationship. From the very first day.

Y/N looked at it, and reluctantly took it. “It’s only because I’m cold.”

But Tom wanted to think it wasn’t only because of that. Wearing the scarf meant she was opening a door for him.

Seeing her again had been quite different from what Tom had expected, her hair was different and her makeup too. Her gaze seemed lost.

Whoever was standing beside him didn’t seem like her. She was a stranger, a very familiar one. But there wasn’t that visible spark that he’d fallen for. Not that he wouldn’t be able to love the figure in front of him but he feared he was the reason for its disappearance.

“It smells like you,” y/n whispered as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.

Tom smiled, briefly. “I’ve been wearing it. Your own smell wore out,” he regretted saying that. “That sounded way too creepy or cheesy.”

“Both, somehow,” she agreed. “Don’t ever say that kind of shit again.”

Tom gulped a chuckle, “noted.”

There was still that y/n in there, the one that liked the kind of cheesy things that he could say. The ones that came up at the right moment. Though, there was still that y/n that didn’t take any bullshit.

Tom hadn’t gone exactly through diamonds and sparkles after the breakup. And the city was now quite different from when it had first received him. Now covered with dark smoke and trash, with only skeletons of trees.

Guilt drowns. And Tom was, undoubtedly, drowning in a drought. Everything had dried off yet he felt like he could barely breathe.

Knowing you’re the reason for someone’s hurt is no fantasy.

And he was broken, too. Very, very broken. However, he knew he was seen as the bad guy here and he wouldn’t call himself less, and he wouldn’t admit he was aching too.

So he was trying to ignore it.

Her apartment building hadn’t changed. Not that Tom had expected it to, but it was nice to come to a familiar place. He noticed the stairs were still rusty and unclean and creaked as he walked in. New creaks had come in that he hadn’t memorized yet. He hoped he would have the chance to.

Y/N stopped at her door, with more questions than answers to give him.

“I really don’t know if I can do this,” she admitted to him. “But I know that if I don’t give you a chance to explain yourself I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That’s fair. But…I’ll do whatever you want me to, but please let me explain it to you,” he begged. “I—If you want me to leave New York and never come again I’ll understand.”

Y/N crossed her arms and leaned against the door, a red door that would open to memories he couldn’t quite forget.

“I already said I would listen,” she recalled. “But—“ her eyes met his, they looked tired. “I am having an inner monologue on why this is stupid.”

“Care to share?”

She took a heavy breath, “Well, you see, Tom, if that even is your real name…”

“Really? You’re—“Tom tried hard not to roll his eyes. “Yes, my name is Tom.”

“Tom….”

“Holland.”

“Hm, interesting. Holland, I remembered it being something else. You’re a liar, just making sure,” she said. “I’m—I just feel stupid. Because I shouldn’t be feeling this way for such a short relationship, is that even—was it? Can we even call it that?”

Her words felt bitter to Tom’s own tongue. He understood why she was defensive. “Yes.”

“Well, I don’t fucking know, maybe we confused whatever we were feeling with love, or—“

“I didn’t—“

“Could be easy, Tommy, you’re an actor, actors, as far as I know, act, and man did you play such an amazing role,” she snarled as she opened her door, leading the way. “Be quiet, by the way, I don’t want to wake up Lula or Jules.”

Tom walked in into what seemed a messed snapshot of how he remembered the place. It was the same, in essence. But sadder. The apartment still had a few sweaters here and there, and y/N’s notebooks all over it.

He could see Lula’s leftovers in their coffee table and some candy wraps that Julia had probably been eating while reading her book.

He turned to that one corner and saw it, the jukebox that had been what had defined y/n’s and his relationship. He dug his hand into his pocket to search for the locket y/n had given back. Tom squeezed it as he searched in his pocket for something else.

Guilt kills. And Tom was dying.

“Here,” Tom said as he reached out for three beer caps in his pocket, “I brought these to you,” he offered them to her, knowing there were jars full of them.

Y/N collected them. Or rather, it was her latest collection that she’d later use for her art. Or whatever she was into at the moment.

The apartment was small. It had two bedrooms which they all shared. They’d rotate whoever had the luck to have the single room. So small. And yet it felt so big.

Y/n pursed her lips but then took the beer caps and placed them on the counter.

“We’re going to the roof,” y/n said. “I’m just getting us some wine—No,” she shook her head, probably realizing that having wine would make the moment a tad more romantic or cuddly than she expected it to be. “Make yourself useful and make some tea, I’ll go change myself, I’m freezing.”

She’d brought blankets and a hoodie he hadn’t remembered he had left. They didn’t have to go to the roof, Julia was staying with Matt and Lula was not back yet from wherever she was.

She had stayed quiet, for a bit. Cuddled up in the same couch where they—

“Do you like your tea?” Questioned Tom.

She looked up. “Yeah, you can add that to your many talents. Right before lying.”

“I make better tea than lies? Good to know.”

Y/N shrugged. “How long have you been here?”

“A… few days,” Tom admitted. “I have been trying to walk up to your door but I keep getting lost in the subway, and when I did come here I panicked and cried.”

Y/N shrugged. “I thought I saw you, the other day,” she said.

“Oh?”

“It wasn’t you,” y/n confessed. “So I just yelled at a poor stranger. I—I genuinely feel sorry for him.”

Tom tried not to chuckle. “What did you yell?”

“I called him a bastard and asked what was wrong with him,” she scrunched her nose. “Not my proudest moment. I was kicked out of the bus.”

Tom gulped. “I’m sorry,” he took a deep breath. “You can yell at me if that helps.”

She shrugged. “No, I think I’m good, I let it all out with him,” she grimaced. “But I might just—“she picked up a pillow and threw it at him with barely any energy.

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “But I can be your punching bag, I deserve it,” he admired. “I see the jukebox,” Tom said, motioning to it.

She shrugged. “Yeah, would be stupid if you didn’t. It’s quite big. Barely any space left.”

Tom chuckled. “I meant—“

“No, no, I know what you mean. I’m trying to ignore it,” y/n admitted. “I notice it too, every day. Almost threw it away.”

Tom nodded. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, it’s a very functional jukebox, the music on it,” she said. “It would be stupid to throw out something like that.”

Tom had expected a different answer, one rather more romantic. Like, that maybe throwing it out would’ve meant throwing him away.

“Right. I’m surprised the cops haven’t come for it.”

She smiled.

She… smiled?

She smiled.

Tom hadn’t thought he would see it again. So comforting. And genuine. Not forced.

“It’s not stolen,” she reminded him, “not really.”

Tom decided to smile back, but to himself. He couldn’t really look her in the eye.

“I guess I also kept it for the same reason why you kept that stupid scarf,” y/n added. Quieter now.

Tom took a deep breath. “It’s a fashionable accessory.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “It’s been out of fashion for 10 years.”

“Trends come back.”

Y/N looked up. “Not when they're horrible, no,” she said with a heavy breath. “I don’t—“She shook her head. “No, we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” Tom questioned.

“Talk like you didn’t break my heart,” she snarked, gulping down her thoughts. “I always knew your heart never truly belonged to me, you know?” y/n said, holding to her mug. The tea was probably cold now. As so were they.

Tom was taken aback by that statement. “I—at the beginning—“

“No, it never truly did. Not completely.”

“I—“ but Tom didn’t have an answer to it.

The night was cold and New York was still awake. But it felt like it was them and only them even if they felt like oceans apart. He hated it. The first time he’d ever been truly lucky he had run out of luck.

Y/N watched him. “I always knew it was meant to be for a short time and I didn’t need anything more, I somehow knew that you’d hurt me,” she explained.

Tom had never meant to go this far. “I never meant—“

“Imagine if you had meant it though, how crushed would I have been. It wasn’t your intention, and yet I ended up crying on the floor,” she said, ironically

Tom couldn’t say more but an “I am so sorry.”

“I know you are,” she said. “I hope you are.”

Tom stared at her, “I am.”

Y/N directed him a single glance. “I don’t think you understand, Tom. This month has been the shittiest in my life.”

Tom didn’t have enough words to apologize. Or he had too many to say. Instead, he could word out anything.

“The worst part is that you also gave me the best fucking days of my life,” she continued. “So I’m at a crossroads here. Because there’s a part of me that thinks it was all bullshit and there’s also the part that knows it couldn’t be.”

Tom watched her. “It was not bullshit,” he said. “It was real.”

“That’s the worst part,” she pointed out. “I think, yeah, all of it being real then it makes it hurt even more because that means I lost the best thing to ever happen to me and you lost something so real.”

Tom nodded. “I lost the best thing to ever happen to me, too.”

Y/N was, without a doubt, the best thing he’d never looked for.

“Did you lose it because of me? Or did you lose me?” She quickly questioned, raising her brows.

Y/N was also a murderer.

“Well,” she took a deep breath, ignoring his sight as he was trying to know how to Answer. “You better start explaining yourself.”

“Before I—I… I… Right, well—Before I came here—I—Ella—“

She closed her eyes. “Actually, no.”

Tom paused, in fear.

“Here’s what we’re going to do, we will….” Y/N tried arranging her thoughts. “Tell me from the moment you hopped on the plane.”

Tom stayed quiet.

“I need to know how it looked from the moment you arrived, not… before, although I’m risking the fact you’re an unreliable narrator.”

“I am a terrible narrator,” he admitted.

Two months before the breakup. Tom’s version.

Tom remembered how little it had taken him to make the decision to escape. He had decided to escape from what everyone told him he should love.

With a backpack, his passport and a half ass made suitcase, he had hopped on the first flight to New York. No regrets as it had taken off. Sweet Escape airlines had been so kind to him.

Not telling anyone about it. To their eyes, he probably was only late to a party, and they’d see him in a few minutes with an excuse of an apology.

Yet, he was on a plane. Escaping from the perfect life.

They always said how lucky he was. Didn’t they? How incredible it was to have what he had. Because he had everything.

And he was running away from it. He watched the people on the plane, his seat was unflattering, next to an old lady who seemed to be rather impolite.

He remembered when he had made the decision to run out, the night before, a camera flash had blinded him and time had suddenly stopped. Just a few hours before hopping on the plane. Everyone expected him to do something he was not ready for. Everyone thought it would come.

Even Eleanor.

Especially Eleanor. Ella was probably counting only the minutes for his arrival. He had promised her he would be there.

No one could ever judge Tom for the decision he had made. Well, everyone would. But Tom liked to believe they couldn’t. As a technicality, that is. That they had absolutely no right to do it.

His parents wouldn’t be proud of it. Too bad.

Tom was nervous, though. The decision had been, undoubtedly, rushed. He hadn’t shown up to that early brunch.

Still wearing a suit, with a white buttoned shirt unbuttoned on his neck. He had still almost gone to that brunch in that FancyAss restaurante.

A brunch? He thought to himself. How incredibly out of character it seemed, he had become a caricature of whatever they wanted him to be.

Did he have to apologize to Eleanor? He didn’t want to.

He really didn’t want to.

He looked at his phone, Harry was calling him. A few other texts from his mother, too. Two missed calls from Ella. Probably wondering why he was late. He hoped they didn’t wait for him, for he would never arrive.

New York was a bit far from it.

The whole flight had been him trying to figure out if it was a good choice.

But he was given an ultimatum, and when those come you have to decide.

His decision was to go to New York. And it was the best choice.

It was, of course, but it was alright to doubt it. It was not likely of him to simply run away.

He didn’t have it all figured out. And that’s why he was clutching his backpack. He was chasing a dream that he didn’t even know he had.

Maybe that’s why he was running away. He didn’t know who he was. But of course he had heard it, how he looked like a million bucks. And he had said it to everyone else the night before, how the stars looked like diamonds in the skies.

He was making a name for himself, he knew that. Or rather, they were making a name for him. And he didn’t know who he was.

The flight was rather short, or maybe Tom barely had any time to think about it.

Running away from his own country, from his family, friends and from Ella, whom he barely had a title for right now.

The city was quick to receive him with bustling crowds, people pushing and rushing. But also opening up as he was walking in. Dancing around him.

How magical. He thought to himself as he tried texting Harrison, hoping his best friend wouldn’t mind receiving him at his place.

Tom managed to get a taxi that was waiting right outside the airport.

He hopped in and grinned to himself proudly. He was there.

With a new city ahead of him and no one expecting anything from him. With no one telling him what to do, with no one giving him an ultimatum and no one with orders for him.

“Where to?” Asked the taxi driver, as he stared from the mirror.

Tom, though he was not proud of it, was having a moment. “I’m running away from my life,” Tom explained. “don’t you ever get tired of the role you’re supposed to play? Like you were not meant to play it but now you’re too stuck in it.”

“Man, I'm sorry, I ain’t got no time for that kind of poeticbullshit, I need an address.”

The moment ended quickly. “Right. Sorry. I’m an idiot… uh, it’s this one.” Tom had to look up for Haz’s address.

“Every time,” the driver sighed, chuckling. “Why do y’all think New York is some sort of magical city that will give you the answer to whatever you’re going through.”

Tom’s smile widened sarcastically, “Well, isn’t it?”

“Guess it is, in a way, but I’ll tell you something,” the driver stated, “whatever you think New York will give to you, it'll be the very opposite. It won’t be what you want but it might just be what you need.”

“Oh really?” Tom chuckled, “who’s the one with the poetic crap now?”

“No, I’m messing with you, damn all you tourists believe that kind of thing huh? New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of huh.”

“It’s what we’re sold,” Tom gave in.

“That sounds pretty, don’t it? To not get what you want but what you need.”

“It does.”

In a way, he was right. Tom would’ve thought he needed a break. To escape. That’s what he wanted right?

But what did he need?

The city welcomed him with a short rain, the water reflected the twinkling lights, as the shadows were reflecting the life he had left behind. The people rushed with their coats, as they were off to their lives. And it felt like he was finally breathing.

Although he would not share his thoughts with the driver again, Tom thought this was what he needed. A new start with no one that would judge him.

That’s probably why he’d chosen New York, the people are too busy living their own crazy lives to focus on someone so insignificant like him. He didn’t have to be whoever he was before, the pretty face, the cool guy everyone liked.

No, he was a guy in a stupid cab, and not to be worried if they said he hadn’t chosen a better ride, on a bigger car.

No, no announcement of whatever he was going to do on the papers because his dad had arranged it.

No, now he was but what he always wanted to be. One of those cautionary tales that they tell about people who go mad and escape and live.

He was a legend now.

Maybe they were right, he was lucky. He was lucky because he had finally made it out of there.

And he saw the lights, with Broadway shows waiting for him, with new adventures coming. With a new life that he wanted to create. The Broadway signs changed to Tom’s sight.

‘A very new life for the Lucky One.’ Starring Tom Holland.

A new beginning.

Maybe he was lucky. Though he never wanted to be in the spotlight. He constantly was, though.

Except, of course, for the fact that Haz hadn’t really answered his text the way he wanted to.

Haz probably didn’t believe Tom that he was in the city.

He would just knock at the door then.

“Well man, I hope whatever kind of role you want you get it,” the driver had said as Tom had hopped off.

Harrison’s building was far from fancy. Harrison had often described it as an ‘affordable pigsty’. Tom wouldn’t describe it as anything else.

But it was perfect. The perfect stage for his new charade.

Tom carried the now heavier backpack and suitcase up and was lucky enough that someone had entered the building so he could go up and show up uninvited to Haz’s apartment. If he could call it that.

He knocked, two times and Haz opened the door.

“Piss off, you’re not actually here!” Was the way Haz had decided to greet.

Tom laughed. “I fucking am.”

“You bastard,” Haz grinned before pulling his friend into a hug. “No way, I didn’t believe you. Man, I’m so glad to see you!”

“You too, man your place is…” Tom couldn’t finish.

“A pigsty but it’s home, I’ll make some place.”

And they had.

Haz had left a few years ago, with a dream in his head and a chance to make it. Or… a chance to get a chance to make it.

Leaving London had been quite such a simple decision for him. An inspiring actor that could’ve made it back at home but decided to leave for New York? It was stupid, honestly. Very anticlimactic of him.

But like Tom, Harrison had to escape before he was pulled in.

Just like Tom had been, tangled up. Tom’s ‘big break’ had yet to come but his family had managed to get him to the rising star he was.

He loved what he did, acting was definitely his true passion but not like this. Not buying his way into parts, not going out with someone so he could be considered. Hanging around with the right people just so they could get him a role.

Haz had gone for plays instead, and Tom knew he was fantastic. But he also had to get his big break. The industry had a funny way to say this.

“So, you just left?” Haz asked with a beer in his hand as he’d taken Tom to his favorite bar. Beers were cheaper there, and given that it was a Thursday, the happy hour lasted longer.

The bar was different from what Tom had expected. An old jukebox that was playing odd songs, colorful things. Very odd.

“I bloody just left,” Tom admitted. “What was I supposed to do?”

Harrison rubbed his face, “I dunno.”

“I couldn’t keep pretending,” Tom said, as he played with the bottle. “I—It wasn’t me.”

“But didn’t you just get cast in—something important?” He questioned.

Tom sighed, “Not for talent, no.”

He had seen a girl walk up to the jukebox and pay again to play “Twist and Shout” by The Beatles, she moved her head along to the song.

“Man, who bloody cares?” Haz rolled his eyes bringing the attention back to him. “You’re getting somewhere! You look pretty, you’re cool, and you’re getting somewhere.”

Tom knew where Haz was coming from. Things were going perfectly, one could argue. But it didn’t feel real. It was just a game of make believe where Tom had eventually been dug in.

“It wasn’t that,” Tom admitted. “Ella gave me an ultimatum.”

Harrison stopped, probably now understanding more why he had left. “And how do you feel about that?”

Tom stared at his beer. “Not how I’m supposed to.”

Harrison watched him. “One can only pretend for so long.”

“Yeah,” Tom sighed as he undressed the beer bottle.

“Does anyone know you escaped?” Haz asked.

Tom grimaced, pulling out his phone, turned off. “No, well, Harry knows, I told him I had left but didn’t tell him where to,” he said before unwillingly turning it back on, to show the billion notifications popping up. Multiple text messages, missed calls. “I need a new phone so I can keep this one turned off.”

“I think you should tell someone, otherwise they’re going to call the police or something,” Haz suggested.

Tom sighed, “Before I do let me go get another round,” he said as he headed to the bar.

Though Tom should’ve known right then and there that his life would change, he was very oblivious as he saw a couple. The beautiful girl sitting right beside… some guy. The very same girl who had played ‘Twist and Shout’.

She wasn’t smiling anymore, and Tom could only interpret her stare as something unpleasant. The guy and her were both stiff.

Tom couldn’t blame the guy because he was often criticized for also being like him. Not being able to make the beautiful girl beside him smile. Not understanding her worth and brilliance as anyone else in the room did.

She had dressed up, it seemed, just for her very date and he was just… there. The guy was simply an unuseful accessory adorning her side. His eyes were glued to the TV on the bar, a program that seemed to be very uneventful.

Tom often liked overhearing conversations, and this time wasn’t an exception.

“I recently discovered my new collection,” the girl said. Tom noticed the scarf on her neck,“I will start collecting bottle caps.”

The guy looked over, “Is it going to be for your new project that you’ll never finish?”

“I will finish it,” she said as she took off the scarf, now playing with it, tying and untying it. “And I’m going to ask Ben here to save me as many as he can.”

“Y/N,” the guy said. Pretty name, thought Tom. Fitting. “You never finish them.”

“Art is never finished, William,” the girl, y/n, defended again. “It’s only… abandoned.”

“My point,” The guy, William, rolled her eyes, “You never get through with them.”

“I do,” she defended herself. “You just never pay attention to it.”

Tom watched her frustration. Even then the guy wasn’t really into the conversation. He didn’t blame him, really. But he was more on y/n’s side.

“I think you should pay attention to more important stuff. Instead of wasting your time doing whatever.”

“Art isn't whatever,” she sighed, and then frowned, noticing Tom was watching them.

“I’m not saying it’s whatever, y/n, but you’ve got to have other dreams rather than collecting beer caps.”

Y/N looked away, “It’s for a painting.”

“A painting you’ll get bored of eventually, it’s always the same, y/n,” the guy was still too busy with his own beer watching the TV.

Y/N clenched her jaw but then directed her glance at Tom, still intrigued by the conversation.

Tom cleared his throat as he finally got his beers, the guy opened them for him but Tom asked for the beer caps.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help but listen,” Tom admitted before giving her the beer caps. “Good luck on your project.” The girl finally smiled as the guy accompanying her glared at him.

Tom shrugged and dedicated them both a smile before going back to Harrison. Had Tom been William he would’ve appreciated that someone made his girl smile, it was a waste not to share her smile with the world.

And Tom, out of everyone, understood what the girl had said, people bringing him down were always for him so to have genuine support from a stranger would help her. And him.

Yes never getting anything done but still having a passion for it was accomplishment enough.

“So what’s your plan?” Haz asked as soon as he was back. Tom watched the girl, still.

“I have none,” Tom admitted, watching as y/n and William were still arguing, probably now over the fact that Tom had left the beer caps. He didn’t feel guilty, even when both of them were pointing at him as the argument kept going. “I will just—Get a break for a few days. A well deserved vacation.”

Haz watched him. “Right.”

“You know, be a tourist,” Tom shrugged. “I—I dunno I just needed to get out,” Tom sipped from his bottle as his eyes were glued to the couple, now arguing loudly but not loud enough to be understood.

Haz followed his gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“Dunno, they’re odd,” Tom shrugged. But they weren’t really. He just saw his future, so uninterested to the girl beside him.

“Not really, you should get used to that,” Haz said. “But—You’re going to tell Harry, right!”

“Problem is,” Tom brought back the attention to Haz. “I don’t think Harry will be able to keep the secret.”

Harrison crossed his arms. “What are you really doing here Tom? You do realize that you’re hurting everyone—“

“Yeah, yeah fuck that, I know, I feel guilty. But—I can’t anymore. I couldn’t fucking stay there, not anymore,” Tom snapped. “It’s not Ella’s fault. Well not entirely but—“

“No, I know,” Haz rolled his eyes, “guess the perfect life can get boring.”

Harrison thought so too then. That Tom had the perfect life. How was it perfect? How was it really? Tom was not perfect. He was far from it, nothing about it was spectacular. He wasn’t living. Even though everyone around him thought he was having the time of his life Tom couldn’t help but feel miserable.

He wasn’t getting what he truly wanted. He didn’t enjoy the roles he was getting or the parties he was attending. He was far from what his dream was. And though his ‘breakout’ would come eventually and he’d have the chance to be who he wanted to be, it wasn’t coming any time soon and he doubted that he’d be able to be happy.

Or maybe he would be. He needed a break.

Tom caught up with Haz, his life, his misery and whatever the conversation led to, it’s fair to say that Tom’s head could barely pay any attention. His decision was sinking. He’d escaped his life.

He saw the girl from before leave, with the guy following her with frustration.

“They’re gonna break up,” Haz said watching them too.

Tom saw the girl had left the unfashionable red scarf behind.

He expected them to come back for them but they didn’t.

Eventually, Tom and Haz left. Tom picked up the scarf. He tried to say that it was a little reminder that he’d helped someone. He had actually been drawn to it. He couldn’t explain why. So he kept that idea.

Of course, he’d seen the red scarf and then regretted instantly taking it. Haz had judged him too.

“Why the fuck would you pick up a stranger’s scarf?”

“Because.”

The next day, with very little sleep and a bit of a headache from the jet lag and the beers, and after telling Haz he’d be productive, he decided he wouldn’t be and instead he wanted to visit a museum. Again, he was unsure as to why he wanted to go there. Lately he only followed his instinct.

But then again he had escaped so he could do whatever he wanted, and going to a museum seemed like something they’d never expect him to do. So that’s what he did.

But of course, he didn’t know much about art or anything so he decided he’d end up at the MET. Where else would he start?

He had planned getting on the subway but he decided he didn’t have time to memorize it and he didn’t want to look like an idiot so instead he took another cab. He didn’t tell the drivers this time any poetic bullshit.

When he got to the MET, he was immediately lost. Tom had this stupid habit of never knowing where the hell he was.

He didn’t mind this time. He would take the time to explore, to think to himself. To stare and read and to learn a little.

How ironic it seemed to be at the place where so many people were at. Basic, maybe but he was still enjoying it.

The big walls and endless exhibitions were making him feel small. And he hadn’t felt that way in a while. He liked that.

His path wasn’t being decided and he only followed his heart. He got to the musical instruments exhibitions.

A piano made him stop. It resonated with him. In some sorts, or it was interesting enough for him to make him stop.

“That’s the oldest surviving piano,” a voice mentioned from behind.

Tom blinked, realizing he had stared too long at it. “Oh?” He looked back at the voice and though Tom did not believe in coincidences he couldn’t help but think this was an oddly magical one.

The beer cap girl from the night before.

“Yeah, it dates back to 1538 and was created by—pardon my pronunciation—Bartolomeo Cristofori, the Italian man who is credited with inventing the piano,” she said, staring at it too. Her hair was slightly messed up. Wearing an overall that was covered with slight paint stains, a white cardigan over it.

“Oh, I would’ve never thought that,” Tom said. “It looks old.”

“Yeah,” she hadn’t looked at him, she was too entranced by it, her arms were crossed. “It's very old.”

Tom stared at her instead, how weird it was. He should’ve brought the scarf. No, that would’ve been weird, weirder than taking it.

“So you work here?” Tom questioned.

“No, I’m just incredibly good at lying,” she stated.

“Wha-what?”

“That fact I gave you, yeah that was a lie,” she grinned and finally turned to him. She tilted her head.

“Oh it sounded… very real,” Tom felt like an idiot.

“Yeah, I’ve worked on that for a while, lying to tourists, you’re my first one of the day,” she said. “So, a pleasure lying to someone with an accent.”

“It sounded very real,” Tom cleared his throat.

“I know, it’s a real fact, just slightly twisted,” she grinned. “I gave you the date wrong.”

Tom coughed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, and you straight up believed me,” she grinned. “The date is right there yet you listened to a random weirdo,” she grinned.

Tom blushed, “well, you sounded very—“

“No, don’t feel bad, it’s an art, lying to people,” she grinned.

He nodded in agreement.

She watched him curiously, “Do I know you?”

Tom faked to not recognize her. “I don’t think so.”

She narrowed her eyes, examining him head to toe. Then stopping at his face. “No, wait, were you at Bennie’s Beer Garden last night?”

She had recognized him.

“Uh—I was at a bar,” he decided to fake ignorance. “Oh—“he snapped his finger. “Wait are you—?”

“Beer cap girl, yeah,” she smiled. “Yeah, that was me, but I looked better last night.”

Tom smiled, “No, you look fine.”

“What a coincidence, thanks for the beer caps, by the way,” she chuckled. “How weird, and now you’re the first one I lie to.”

“It’s a pleasure, thank you,” Tom laughed.

“You must think I’m crazy, collecting beer caps and lying to strangers,” she blushed now, stepping back from him.

Tom did think that. In a good way. The girl seemed to be whatever he wanted to be: a fucking weirdo that don’t give two shits about anything in life.

“Surprisingly, no,” Tom shook his head. “I would lie to people instead if I was good at lying.”

Ironic, it seemed. Didn’t he make a living out of lying? Didn’t he technically lie his way through life?

“Yes, it's very tiring work, people say they don’t like being lied to,” she said. “I do, that’s why I love reading whatever is trending on twitter.”

Tom cackled, and turned his attention back to the piano.

“I’m y/n, by the way,” she mentioned casually.

“Tom,” he answered simply.

Y/N nodded. “So, Tom, what's your favorite lie supplier?”

“I watch movies,” he said, “or celebrity gossip.”

“A classic,” Y/N grinned. “Yeah, we all choose the lies we want to believe, I guess.”

“People like that, believing lies and feeling like they’re true,” Tom gave in. “Especially if they’re pretty. They help us escape reality.”

Y/N nodded slowly, and smirked. “We are getting deep now, huh?”

What the fuck did New York do to Tom that he randomly said poetic bullshit to strangers. He was embarrassed. “I—sorry.”

“No, no, I like that,” y/n was excited. “I guess you’re right. Lies are a way to cover something.”

“Yes, sometimes lying means protecting,” Tom bit his lip.

Y/N tilted her head. “Is it really?” She didn’t want to agree. “I would say lying is a way to actively hurt someone.”

“Well, were you trying to hurt me with your lie?” Tom challenged.

She licked her lips, defeated. “In a way,” she gave in. “I was trying to misinform you. So.”

“Well, what if the truth hurts more?” Tom questioned.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Then it’s a paradox.”

“Excuse me,” Someone interrupted them. “I’m sorry, y/n? I thought you weren’t coming today.”

Y/N smiled, “oh yeah, I wasn’t, I just forgot something in my locker and decided to walk around.”

The other guy turned to Tom. “Did she give you a fake fact?”

Tom chuckled, “she most certainly did.”

“Y/N, you can’t keep doing that,” the guy warned her. “You’re gonna get fired.”

Y/N grinned as she watched the guy go.

“I thought you didn’t work here,” Tom chuckled.

Y/N smiled mischievously, “I do, just another lie I said to you. You’re very lucky, two lies in one.”

Tom chuckled. “huh. Yeah, lucky me.”

“Yes, now if you’ll excuse me, little British man,” she grinned. “I’ll go lie to other people, nice lying to you.”

Tom grinned. “Yeah, yeah, nice… believing your lies.”

“Enjoy the Met,” she grinned. “Hope I get to see you again, thanks for the beer caps.”

“Thanks for the… lies,” he said, watching her leave. Maybe he was lucky.

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latin-dr-robotnik · 3 years ago

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What do you do what there’s a lack of SonAmy content help😭

Not only me, the fandom is super dry! I swear, I take a peek at the SonAmy tag every once in a while and it's nowhere near as busy as it used to be. Come, anon, let's cope together.

Personally I'm feeling a bit burned out with the Sonic series as a whole after these past few weeks of absolute chaos, and some of my closest friends here also agreed on collectively moving to other fandoms to chill for a bit. There's also the fact all the future major sources of SonAmy discussion and inspiration, mainly Prime and Rangers, are still so far away! I tried writing some Rangers!SonAmy, but right now it's super hard to get a solid idea of what that world is going to be like with only 30 seconds of a CGI teaser.

So, yeah, SonAmy content is lacking right now, and the drought is certainly going to continue. Amy's birthday is coming in a couple of weeks but I don't know if I'll end my next story before that. Still, over at our little lovely Spanish Discord server (el mismo que está en mi post destacado e.e) we get SonAmy updates pretty much every day, thanks to lovely people like @waywardcollectionchai and more bringing to our attention the latest going on with the ship, so it's not like I'm entirely out of the fandom haha

Anyway, I think I teased you about that one project I was working on. Would you like to read some very, very early bits? It's a short story about Sonic being strangely absent from Amy's birthday party, and his mysterious motivations that supposedly led him back to Little Planet, the place where it all began:

[The first part isn't finished, little skip here]

Amy grabbed her backpack, her hammer and opened the front door of her house. Tails followed right behind, and then walked to his plane.

Tails climbed inside the cockpit, and before starting the engine he looked down at her. "If you see anything suspicious, call me and I'll be there as fast as I can, okay?"

"It's okay, Tails!" Amy raised a thumbs up, "I'll call you if something ugly happens, you focus on getting everything ready for the night, I'm sure Sonic and I will be back real soon!"

The two nodded, and immediately set off in opposite directions.

[I'm gonna throw another small timeskip here, the lead up to Little Planet isn't complete]

Amy landed on Palmtree Panic, and was completely mesmerised by the beautiful vibrant mix of nature and technology coexisting together in harmony. The half-circuitry, half-nature palmtrees, the flowers raised from previously defeated robots, the cristaline river in front of the taller peaks of the region, the Good Future Sonic fought through time and space to reach was already here, in present form.

"My Sonic radar tells me he's here, that's for sure" Amy thought to herself, "but WHERE exactly are you, Sonic? And why here, of all places?"

After looking around aimlessly, Amy decided to go closer to the river separating the palmtree hills from the mountain region. She then started following the river, probably heading east, or whatever east is like in this planet floating so close to home!

Following the river, Amy slowly got closer and closer to Collision Chaos. As she entered the bright blue pinball zone, her body started to shiver. That was the place Metal Sonic took her away, one hell of a first impression! Even after all this time, the sole thought of that moment frightened her.

[Another incomplete time skip coming, this time leading up to Stardust Speedway]

The loud musical city slowly showed itself as Amy walked up the hill. The river marked the city limits, but just before that last frontier a single flower stood in the middle of the open field. The grass surrounding it was sparsely burned, showing signs of fighting.

Two blue flashes of light raced past that flower. The leading figure jumped right before a cliff wall, leading the second figure to crash into it with a force that shook the entire place like an earthquake.

The other figure landed perfectly on the grass, revealing to be none other than Sonic the Hedgehog.

He turned around to check the flower, "how many times do I have to tell you? Do NOT touch the flower! Seriously, Metal, do I have to hardcode that into metallic skull?"

In the process he noticed Amy, standing with her arms crossed.

"Having fun, Sonic? Should've told me my birthday gift was a fight with Metal!"

"Oh, hey Amy! Heh, if I knew I would be fighting for so long, I would've called you hours ago. It's not like I need backup, but..."

Sonic immediately noticed Doctor Eggman silently approaching the flower with the laser from his Eggmobile ready.

"Oh no you don't!"

Aaaaaand I think I showed you enough already. Again, I don't know if I'll get it ready before September 23, but I promise it's going to be a fun little time. This time I'm trying to stay away from stuff like kisses and tsundere Sonic, buuut I still want to throw in all the regular SonAmy fluff. Anyway, imma head out, dear anon!

#ask latin dr robotnik #sonic the hedgehog #sonamy #okay i went a bit overboard with the preview bits lol #it's all pieces from a draft so i'm not too worried about grammar and stuff #that's for the final cut

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omoi-no-hoka · 4 years ago

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Omoinohokaさん, in your latest post, you mentioned using etymology sites. I was wondering if you would have the time to share them, or maybe your favorite one? In any case, thank you for always creating such interesting posts!! I hope you're having a nice, peaceful evening. Take good care of yourself! :)

namidagawaさん、thanks for your lovely ask! 💗

I use a ton of different resources to make the Word of the Day posts. Here’s the ones that I use the most.

First, I go to good old Google and type in the word and 語源 gogen (etymology). I also do the same thing with the word and 由来 yurai (source). Then I comb through all the different results and find the most credible ones.

1. 語源由来辞典 gogen-allguide.com

This site doesn’t have all words, but it is my first go-to. Here’s where I learned about 村八分 murahachibu (ostracism). It gives you the definition and then the etymology and is very highly reputed.

2. 漢字・漢和・語源辞典 okjiten.jp

This site explains how each kanji means, how it came to be, and the etymology behind its very first iteration. Here’s what it had to say about 蔓, one of the recent words of the day.

3. Yahoo Questions

I know that the English Yahoo Questions are kinda famous for being meme and joke fodder, but the Japanese take Yahoo Questions very seriously. While I don’t like relying on it for answers, sometimes I find that Japanese people have asked the same questions about words I’m looking up. If the best answer includes sources, I will use it as an explanation.

4. 成り立ちで知る漢字のおもしろ世界: 人体編 The World Becomes More Interesting by Knowing Kanji Etymology: Human Radical Collection

This is a book I found very recently online. It has a lot of explanations about kanji and their etymology. This is where I found 脆い’s etymology the other day.

5. Wikipedia

It’s not very common for there to be an entire page about a word, but sometimes there are! When I was looking up the etymology of 嘆く nageku (to wail, lament) I read up about 旱魃 Kanbatsu (drought or the God of Drought) on Wiki.

6. 苗字由来net https://myoji-yurai.net/

Sometimes I do collections of unusual Japanese surnames, and this is where I get all of that information from. It’s a super cool site! I use this to look up people’s names when I can’t read them or I want to know more about them as well.

It gives you their name, how common it is in Japan, about how many people have it, how it’s read, and, sometimes, the etymology of the surname.

7. jisho.org

Where would any learner of Japanese be without jisho? God praise the people that made that site. This is where I get each word and kanji’s on-yomi, kun-yomi, and meaning in English. I also use their example sentences if they have them.

8. 用例.jp http://yourei.jp/ and ふりがな文庫 https://furigana.info/

Sometimes the words I have are so low-frequency that jisho doesn’t have an example sentence, so I turn to other examples on Japanese sites like yourei.jp or furiganabunko, which both have examples of words pulled from various published works like books and newspapers. Some of the examples they use are very old, like from before WWII, and are hard to understand, so I have to hunt for ones that I think will be easier to understand for everyone.

And that’s about it!

Other than that, sometimes I happen to come across entire articles about “Did you know the true meaning of x kanji?!” that are super helpful haha.

Now you guys know all of my secrets and can look up the etymologies all on your own! XD

#asks are open #japanese resources #japanese study resources #japanese linguistics #study japanese #learn japanese #kanji #study kanji #learn kanji #namidagawa

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josjournal · 4 years ago

Text

Full Moon Ficlet #435 - Deluge

Written for @fullmoonficlet

Stiles sat at the table in the library of the rebuilt Hale house, his head buried in a book while stacks of more books surrounded him. He rubbed at his temples, trying to focus on the words that had been swimming in front of his eyes for the last ten minutes. The latest monster of the week didn’t fall under anything he’d dealt with in the past. Stiles had been up for the last twenty-four hours pouring over every book in the library trying to find something, anything to lead them in the right direction.

Groaning, Stiles stood from the table, stretching until his back felt looser before dropping back into the chair. Reaching for the next book, he pulled it towards him, opening it to somewhere in the middle. He started to curse and shove it away when he discovered it was a spellbook and not one of the bestiaries they had copied from other packs they’d been building alliances with.

His eyes caught on a spell, the words in Latin but he recognized some of them. The spell seemed to be to create a flow of information. Stiles thought it might be like forced osmosis. If he could use it on the books, then it might help him figure out what was happening in the preserve. The random fires were becoming dangerous with the drought currently affecting the area. They would have thought it was a regular arsonist if they weren’t blazing simultaneously across the town.

For a moment, he hesitated, remembering Derek’s warning about using magic without thinking. He knew he wanted to help and Derek was out in the preserve trying to keep the fires under control. He reached for his phone to call Lydia to double-check his Latin but remembered she had a trip to the spa with her mother that weekend and had threatened bodily harm if she was disturbed for anything less than an absolute emergency.

Glancing back down at the text, he chewed his lip for a moment before speaking the words from the page. “Producat usque ad summum flumen super terram de sermonibus siccitatis.” He closed his eyes and waited for the flood of information, predicting it would be at least slightly painful.

After a few minutes when nothing happened, he cracked open one eye and glanced at the book, frowning. He heard noise downstairs, like tapping against the windows just as his phone started ringing, Derek’s name and photo showing on the screen. He tapped the screen open and heard a rushing sound in the background, Derek shouting his name over it.

“What, Derek? I can barely hear you!” The call cut off and Stiles tried calling back but the call went to voicemail. Panicking, he ran down the stairs, planning to head in the direction Derek said he’d planned to patrol.

Yanking open the front door, he was knocked off his feet by a massive flood of water roaring into the house. He scrambled to keep from being pulled beneath the surface as he heard Derek shouting his name in the distance. His shoulders smacked into something hard and he swallowed a mouthful of water as he let out a shout. The last thing he remembered was something clamping around his arm, pain shooting through him before everything went black.

The world was moving as Stiles jerked upwards, water and bile spilling from his mouth. His chest burned as he was gathered into a strong hug, the world tilting ominously. Blinking his eyes, he realized that he was wrapped in Derek’s arms, the both of them sitting precariously on the front door that was floating somewhere near the upstairs landing.

“Did we put in a swimming pool?” Stiles asked, confused when Derek’s body began to shake uncontrollably. “Are you crying?” Derek pulled back, his face was wet with tears, but he was choking back laughter. “What happened?”

Derek shrugged. “I was patrolling and heard a rumble in the distance. At first, I thought it was a storm coming, and the next thing I knew, water was rushing towards me. I tried to call you, but the water knocked the phone out of my hand. I had just reached the house when you opened the door and disappeared.” He pulled Stiles into his arms again, running his nose along his hairline before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I thought I’d lost you for a minute.”

“Where did the water come from?” Stiles asked. “Is it getting deeper?”

“I don’t think so.” Derek grabbed the stair railing and pulled the door towards the top of the stairs. He helped Stiles out and onto the second floor. “What were you doing?”

“Research,” he said, heading towards the library, Derek following closely. “I still can’t find the source of the fires and the spell I tried-”

“Spell?” Derek asked, hurrying to the table and picking up the spellbook. “Which one?” Stiles stared at him. “Which spell, Stiles?”

Moving closer, he pointed at the spell, watching Derek’s lips move as he read over the words. He grabbed Stiles’ phone off the table and opened the translation app, snapping a photo of the words and hitting “translate” before handing the phone to Stiles with his eyebrows lowered in his most annoyed expression.

“Bring forth the flood to end the drought upon the surrounding land,” Stiles read, biting his lips and looking up at Derek. “Oops?” Derek cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed, before taking Stiles’ phone back to call Deaton for help with a counterspell.

Cross-posted to AO3

#sterek #fullmoonficlet #eternalsterek #sterek ficlet #my writing

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rjzimmerman · 3 years ago

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I’ve done several flights on EcoFlight over the mountains and deserts of the western US with Bruce Gordon, pilot, founder and Executive Director of EcoFlight. He recently did a series of flights and, no surprise, had to deal with smoke from all the western wildfires. Here’s a note from Jane, his Conservation Director, based upon what she sees from the air:

I work all over the Western United States, and I am lucky enough to recreate in our gorgeous public lands, so I get to see what is happening in the West on a daily basis. The situation we are in is dire - a climate crisis, a climate catastrophe, a climate emergency. Scientists have long predicted the heat dome, caused by pollution in the atmosphere that traps heat beneath it, and between it and the ground. We are all experiencing this in the West right now: drought, the melting of arctic ice (over the past 30 years, the oldest and thickest ice in the Arctic has declined by a stunning 95%), warmer oceans, stronger storms, more devastating wildfires, and the evaporation of our ever-diminishing fresh water. Fires are earlier this season, and way more violent and dangerous. And the smoke in these photos is just a small example of the problem. I flew through smoke so thick near Bozeman that you could not see the ground or the blue sky above. I landed in Jackson, Wyoming, where it was freezing because the smoke had blocked the sun from penetrating through to the ground. Yes, we all use oil and gas, but can we use less? Can we be sure to offset our carbon? Can corporations lead the way to a cleaner atmosphere, as they did with extracting fossil fuels? Can they and we reverse this seemingly irreversible course we are on? Corporations and the 1% need to show more leadership. Money isn’t a factor at the pearly gates, so use it to do good now while it still matters.

#Ecoflight #western US wildfires

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years ago

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A hopeful future

I've been talking to Polygon's Tasha Robinson about my books for nearly two decades. She was one of the reviewers to dig into Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom, my debut novel, all the way back in 2003 when she was at The Onion's AV Club. https://aux.avclub.com/cory-doctorow-down-and-out-in-the-magic-kingdom-1798198255 She's always had smart things to say about my books (and is never shy about criticizing them) so I was delighted to talk with her about my latest, ATTACK SURFACE, for an interview: "Cory Doctorow on his drive to inspire positive futures." https://www.polygon.com/2020/11/2/21546161/cory-doctorow-attack-surface-utopia-interview As the title suggests, the interview digs into the relationship between our narratives about the future and the future itself when it arrives - the delights and perils of dystopianism, a philosophy that I find seductive even as I reject it. Many conversations and books disabused me of dystopianism, but the turning points came from a pair of woman historians. First: Rebecca Solnit's "A Paradise Built In Hell" - a gorgeous, brilliantly researched book about the true histories of disasters. https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/301070/a-paradise-built-in-hell-by-rebecca-solnit/ And second was Ada Palmer's legendary end-of-year event with her undergrad Renaissance history students at the University of Chicago: https://history.uchicago.edu/news/papal-election-here-campus Palmer is a brilliant sf writer, librettist, singer and all-round genius, but she's also a brilliant historian AND teacher. Every year, she has her students re-enact the election of the Medicis' Pope in a multi-week LARP. Students take on the role of real historic personages, then spend weeks forming alliances, stabbing each other in the back, and engaging in all forms of skullduggery to advance their agendas. And when the final four papal candidates are gathered for investiture, two of them are always the same. History's great forces are bearing down on that moment, and those two are its focal point, and they are always going to end up in the final four. But the other two? NEVER the same. The great forces of history define the parameters of the possible, but they don't define the INEVITABLE. The two wildcards are the result of human agency. They are determined by what the players do, not what happened before the game started. And of course, the "great forces of history" are what we call the results of earlier human agency, the events set in motion through the choices and action of the people who acted before the curtain raised on this play. "Great forces" are just "human choices," plus time. This, to me, is the most hopeful theory of history. Rather than turning on "optimism" (things will get better no matter what we do) or "pessimism" (don't bother, things will just get worse), Ada's experiments demonstrate the value of human struggle, of human agency. In this moment of fantastic peril, turmoil and uncertainty, it feels like the great forces of history are bearing down on us, because they are. Climate inaction and policies encouraging oligarchic inequality are the facts on the ground, the parameters for our action. But we have agency. We can see actions that will materially improve our circumstances, that will allow us to climb a gradient towards a better world. The new perch we thus attain may reveal still more moves available to us, further up that slope towards a better future. That's hope - the belief that we, acting together, can find actions that our future selves and those who come after us will leverage to take further steps toward a better future. I'm currently working on a utopian post-GND novel called "The Lost Cause." The thing that distinguishes it from a dystopian climate novel isn't the setting, it's how the characters respond. They are beset by climate emergencies: wildfires, droughts, floods, plagues, refugee crises - and they CONFRONT them. They reorient their economy, labor and civilizational program to long projects, like a centuries-long effort to relocate every coastal city inland. Facing the same perils as the characters of any eco-dystopia, they ascend the gradient towards a better tomorrow, rather than lying down and letter the seas take them. That's the difference between hope and optimism: the belief that you can make a positive change versus the belief that you are irrelevant to whether that change arrives. I first met Ada at an sf con room party; she and her partner Lauren performed their song "Somebody Will." There wasn't a dry eye in the room. I defy you to listen to it now without feeling a great upswelling of hope. http://www.sassafrassmusic.com/songs/sci-fi-fantasy-fandom/somebody-will/

Somebody Will Lyrics

Our new world is so close. Mars has treasures we’re only just starting to find. Frozen mountains and crimson dust waiting for footprints that will not be mine. A hundred years to run the first tests another to raise the first dome. The moon, then Mars, then Titan next, a life time to touch each new home.

And I want it so much. Close my eyes, I can taste the Mars dust in the air. In the darkness the space stations shimmer in orbits that I will not share.

But I’ll teach the student Who’ll manage the fact’ry That tempers the steel that makes colonies strong. And I’ll write the program that runs the computer That charts out the stars where our rockets belong. It will never get easy to wake from my dream When the future I dream of is so far away. But I am willing to sacrifice something I don’t have For something I won’t have but somebody will someday.

And it feels like a waste. All this working and waiting and battling time, And all for a kingdom that all of my efforts will never make mine, But brick by brick the Pyramids rose, With most hidden under the sand, So life by life the project grows In ways I might not understand.

I am voyaging too, We will need the foundation as much as the dome for those worlds to come true,

And I’ll clerk the office that handles the funding That raises the tower that watches the sky. And I’ll staff the bookstore that carries the journal That sparks the idea that makes solar sails fly. It takes so many sailors to conquer an ocean And so many more when it’s light-years away, But I am willing to sacrifice Something I don’t have for something I won’t have But somebody will someday.

It’s so easy to run. Hide away in my books, games and fantasy plans, Let them call me a coward who can’t face reality’s grownup demands, But if I love my fantasy worlds It’s not fantasy love that I feel. And so much more I feel for this The world that created them, World we create with them, One chance to make them all real.

And I know we won’t stop. We’ve planned too many wonders for one little star. Though often the present may seem too complacent to take us that far.

But I’ll tell the story and I’ll draw the picture And I’ll sing the anthem that banishes doubt, And host the convention that summons the family That carries the fire that never burns out There are so many chances to give up the journey, Especially when it’s so easy to stay, But I am willing to sacrifice Something I don’t have for something I won’t have And not only me, But we are willing to sacrifice Something we don’t have for something we won’t have So somebody will, So somebody will someday.

#pluralistic

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ingek73 · 5 years ago

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The Royal KAREN Has Come Out To Play

By Irene May 28, 2020

Samir Hussein/Getty Images

The Royal KAREN Has Come Out To Play.

It’s silly season for Karens the world over. For some reason, they are everywhere. Not a day passes without some account of an entitled white woman exhibiting peak privilege, by making their own choices and then playing victim and acting a complete fool, when it doesn’t go to plan. When in full Karen mode, they are an outright danger to whoever is in their path.

They will cough or spit in your face with the hopes that you catch a virus that they may knowingly or unknowingly be carrying because, they say it’s their right to not wear a mask and you questioned it. They will call the police and put on a dramatic act to feign danger or a threat because, they expect that when the police show up, your life can literally be taken from you. They will make a huge song and dance about why your success is not worthy or deserved because, their own lives suck and they wish they were in your position.

As if we didn’t already have enough to deal with, a royal Karen said hold my coatdress. She called her royal media police, to do a number on a lady who is minding her own business, probably enjoying some avocado toast by the pool on a sunny California day. She did that because, she expects the “police” to take her side. I for one am tired of this constant scapegoating and am having no parts of this latest royal propaganda lynch mob.

Kate Middleton feels exhausted

Kate Middleton blames Meghan

Catherine The Great cover

Karen is KEEN to be ‘KWEEEN’

She wants the moon. Once upon a time, a young lady grew up in an upper- middle class family. She was fortunate to be enrolled in private school, where it is reported that, in her teen years she had a poster of a certain young prince on her wall. Harmless teenage fantasy right? What young lady doesn’t have a poster of a guy she admired? After her A-levels, this lady reportedly got admission into her dream university(Edinburgh). Around that time, it was announced that the prince she likely admired was to attend St. Andrews University, after he has taken a gap year . For reasons that still remain unclear, the young lady made an about turn, and rejected her already confirmed place at her dream university. She decided to take a gap year and apply to St. Andrews University.

Kate turned down dream college to chase William

Kate attends same college as William

It was described as a gamble, as St. Andrews had become very competitive once it was known that the young prince would be attending there. Also, the young lady wanted to be an art history major and Edinburgh’s art history program was said to be among the best in Britain.

Kate's decistion to decline admission

Kate chases William

Whether by a stroke of luck or fate, the young lady got into St. Andrews University, where she went on to become friends with said prince. The subsequently embarked on an almost decade long courtship, including a short period of separation. She was bestowed a nickname on account of the perception that, she had waited for a long while and had yet to be rewarded with the much coveted royal engagement. Wasn’t that cold, considering that after Uni, she literally put her career on hold to be available to the prince at a moment’s notice? But all is well that end well. The waiting paid off. She and the prince became affianced and subsequently married. This put her squarely in the path to be future queen consort.

Waity Katy

Tatler shades Middleton family

Riding on their wave of pre and post nuptial publicity, the lady and the prince settled into a quiet life in the countryside. The now duchess did not assume full time royal duties because, her prince was holding a ‘regular’ job and not a full-time working royal himself. Their stint in the countryside was dotted with a handful of royal engagements here and a few tours there. She even got a new nickname, Duchess Doolittle. She and her prince were described as ‘work shy’ and were under pressure to step up to the plate.

workshy William

workshy Kate Middleton

workshy William and Kate

This was all BEFORE her brother-in-law, Prince Harry met and fell in love with his then girlfriend Meghan Markle. Karen was enjoying her cushy life, with all eyes on her. Then in rolls this strong, gorgeous, and accomplished woman on her brother-in-law’s arm. Their engagement and ensuing marriage captivates the attention of the world. Together, they are dynamite. The world and its media can’t get enough of them.

Karen is ANGRY

She wants the moon, with no stars in the sky. The newest Duchess was magnetic. She seemed to just naturally ease into her duties. She exuded warmth and had an easy and natural way with people , that endeared her to them. She took on her first foreign visit to Ireland like a duck to water. Wait, who is this girl and where is her learning curve? Its four months after she became a working royal and she already has a project ready to launch? Oh no, no, no! Karen is on a mission to save Britain’s kids at a yet to be decided date but, can we just tell everyone now? I’m working too you know.

Kate's broken Britain

Meghan launches cookbook

It’s now the autumn of 2018 and the world is watching a dynamic royal couple take Oceania by storm on a packed two and a half week tour. Thick crowds, meaningful engagements, funny, heartfelt and memorable moments, captivating speeches, showstopping fashion. It’s all a bit much for Karen, and this time Kevin, and they have taken notice. Something must be done. “Kenablers” in the Kingdom concur. Before the couple could wrap their tour, the palace all of a sudden developed a curious plumbing issue. Drip, drip, drip… “ Meghan made Kate Cry”, “Meghan was rude to Kate’s staff”, “Meghan was rude to Windsor castle staff”, “ Meghan wanted air fresheners in the church”, “ Meghan is demanding”. Thus begun an orchestrated campaign to dim the stars. It came thick and fast.

Meghan makes Kawte cry headline

smear article Meghan makes Kate cry

Kate attacks Meghan

Karen’s mother even tried throw some shade at Meghan in an interview saying, “royalty is not just about giving speeches”. Curiously though, Karen all of a sudden was delivering speeches at every turn. That is, provided she could flip the notecards quickly enough, to get to the next line. She even “designed” a garden and became a pro at climbing into tree houses and oscillating on rope swings. Every outfit change and accompanying smile became an engagement. There was even a groundbreaking log design. Whew! I tell you it’s the stuff of CEOs. Top notch executive stuff. Catapulting the British monarchy into modernity, one log at a time.

Kate's garden flower show

Harry and Meghan flower Chelsea flower show

The palace even prevented CAMFED from using pictures they took with Prince Harry the previous year. Why? It would be a tragedy if the future queen’s garden is overshadowed by Meghan. Note that, Harry and Meghan had no involvement with the CAMFED garden, and Meghan does not appear in the images in question. But that was the PR line. Meghan, who was home nursing her baby and editing British Vogue, was somehow threatening to overshadow Kate’s garden.

Through all of this, Kate’s pregnant and now post-partum sister-in-law was being raked over the coals. Mostly for things she supposedly did to Kate, or for being the source of a feud, for doing everything wrong that Kate did right and for supposedly causing war and drought among other things. Kate, despite being a self-proclaimed champion of new mothers bit her tongue and never once offered a word of support to her sister-in-law. The Kingdom was silent too.

As the year drew to a close and the Sussexes took a break from the royal Christmas to spend time in Canada, it was time for the K-team to reclaim the spotlight. At least that’s what the propaganda machine told us. It turns out that the spotlight is not just bright and shiny, it reveals things and “pigeons” like to keep things under wraps.

As it turned out, The Sussexes had decided that their family’s well-being was paramount and said, here is where we draw the line. We are out. What? What do you mean? Are we going to have to do more work? I don’t know Karen, you have the stage. For the time being, the ‘Kenablers’ told us that Karen was relieved now that Meghan had left. She now feels more relaxed that she doesn’t have to be compared to Meghan. Sure.

Kate's time to shine

Kate happy Meghan left

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