#I wonder if it's a self-selecting thing where people were smart enough to say ''my dog does/does not have the temperament for this game''

[rimouskis]

also I have to say: all the dogs at the game last night were so nice and polite and good and it was really fun, honestly. you'd think given my crabbiness about dogs-in-places-they-shouldn't-be I'd have been cranky at it, but I was actually right next to the dog section and it was just all super cute. 10/10 would go again

[flclarchives]

Amusing Himself to Death, an Akadot.com interview with Kazuya Tsurumaki (director of FLCL and assistant director of Evangelion) from around December 2001. In the article, Tsurumaki explains a few things about Evangelion, his mentality behind FLCL as a whole, and the meaning of the name ‘FLCL’.

Full article text is under the cut, or read the article in its original form [here].

Kazuya Tsurumaki was a relatively little-known animator when Hideki Anno selected him to work as the assistant director on Neon Genesis Evangelion. For the TV series, which became a smash hit in Japan and one of the touchstones of the current surge of interest in anime in the US, Tsuramaki served as the main storyboard artist as well as assistant director, and when Studio Gainax began production on a trio of Evangelion films Tsurumaki got his first directorial assignment.

As he tells the story, Anno came to him after Eva and announced that he was out of ideas and that it was up to Tsurumaki to dream up the next project because, "you are next." Tsurumaki let his imagination run wild, but by the time he had written a script, Anno - despite his declaration that he had no stories left to tell - was already several steps ahead of Tsurumaki and in pre-production for his next series, Kareshi Kanojo no Jijo, leaving Tsurumaki a chance to have complete and unsupervised creative control of his own series FLCL.

FLCL, referred to as "Fooly Cooly" (or "Furikuri" by its American fans), is unlike any anime series to come before it. Wild, maniacally fast-paced physical comedy; exaggerated, exuberant animation alternately pushing towards surrealist- as when mecha exuviate from a bump on young Naota's head - and deconstructionist - as when the animation literally stops and the story is told by a camera bouncing across a page of black and white manga art panels; and obsessively, often irrelevantly, referential to obscure Tokyo-pop bands and anime insider trivia; FLCL was hyperkinetic and disorienting, yet mesmerizing, almost transgressive, and undeniably original. It inspired enthusiastic admiration for Tsurumaki as a creator, even amongst the perhaps 90% of the series' fans who were absolutely baffled by much of it. One is tempted to refer to it as announcing the arrival of full blown post-modernism in animation, or perhaps as the Exploding Plastic Inevitable of the anime industry.

When Tsurumaki visited Baltimore to speak to American fans at the recent Otokon Convention, predictably, many of the questions were along the lines of, "Hi, I really loved FLCL [or Evangelion], but could you please explain this part of it to me?"

Tsurumaki answered all questions genially with a self-deprecating and often mischievous sense of humor. For example:

Why does Haruko hit Naota over the head with her guitar?

Kazuya Tsurumaki: Naota is trying to be a normal adult and she belts him to make him rethink his decision.

Why does Evangelion end violently, and somewhat unhappily?

KT: People are accustomed to sweet, contrived, happy endings. We wanted to broaden the genre, and show people an ugly, unhappy ending.

Why is the character of Shinji portrayed as he is?

KT: Shinji was modeled on director Hideki Anno. Shinji was summoned by his father to ride a robot, Anno was summoned by Gainax to direct an animation. Working on Nadia [Nadia: Secret of the Blue Water, one of Anno and Tsurumaki's earlier projects] he wondered if he still wanted to work like this. He thought that working on Eva could help him to change.

Is there any particular reason why so many Gainax series feature very anxious, unhappy young male protagonists with no parents?

KT: Yes, the directors at Gainax are all basically weak, insecure, bitter, young men. So are many anime fans. Many Japanese families, including my own, have workaholic fathers whose kids never get to see them. That may influence the shows I create.

Could you explain the mecha bursting from Naota's head in FLCL?

KT: I use a giant robot being created from the brain to represent FLCL coming from my brain. The robot ravages the town around him, and the more intensely I worked on FLCL the more I destroyed the peaceful atmosphere of Gainax.

Why doesn't FLCL follow one story?

KT: In the third episode Ninamori was almost a main character, a kid who, like Naota, has to act like an adult.  After episode three her problem was solved so we wrote her out.  She has many fans in Japan and we got plenty of letters about that decision.  For FLCL I wanted to portray the entire history of Gainax, and each episode has symbols of what happened behind the scenes on each of Gainax's shows.   Episode one has many elements of Karekano; episode two, a lot of Evangelion references, etc.

Where does the title FLCL come from?

KT: I got the idea from a CD in a music magazine with the title Fooly-Cooly.  I like the idea of titles that are shortened long English words. Pokémon for "Pocket-Monsters" for instance, and an old J-pop band called Brilliant Green that was known as "Brilly-Grilly."

Is there any reason why the extra scenes added to Eva for the video release were cut in the first place?  Did you think the story would mean something different with them intact?

KT: The scenes that were added to Eva for its video release aren't that important.  We added them as an apology for taking so long to get the video out.  Maybe they'll help people understand things, because the episodes were done under tough deadlines the first time around.

Can you explain the symbolism of the cross in Evangelion?

KT: There are a lot of giant robot shows in Japan, and we did want our story to have a religious theme to help distinguish us.   Because Christianity is an uncommon religion in Japan we thought it would be mysterious.  None of the staff who worked on Eva are Christians.  There is no actual Christian meaning to the show, we just thought the visual symbols of Christianity look cool.  If we had known the show would get distributed in the US and Europe we might have rethought that choice.

After the panel, Mr. Tsurumaki sat down to speak with Akadot.

Do you enjoy confusing people?

KT: I have a twisted sense of humor.  I'm an Omanu Jacku, a contrarian.  [Writer's note- Omanu Jacku is a folk character a bit like Puck, a mischief maker]

What do you see differently now that you're working as a director rather than only as a visual artist?

KT: As an animator I have only the art; as a director story is really big.  I still feel as an animator and I often have trouble putting the needs of the story first.

Did you intend from the start for FLCL to be as bizarre as it wound up?

KT: From the very start I wanted a different flavor.  To achieve this I had to re-train the animators to be as stylized as I wanted them to be because I wasn't drawing it.  I knew that not everyone would get it.  I deliberately selected very obscure J-pop culture and anime sub-culture jokes and references.  Because Eva was so somber I always intended to make FLCL outrageous and wacky.

Why the choice to break out of conventional animation and use manga pages? Was it at all a response to how many anime are using computers to achieve smoother and more realistic visuals?  Were you trying to go the opposite direction?

KT: I like manga, not only to read, but the visuals.  The pen drawings, the frame breakdowns and layouts . . . This is the first time I have used digital animation, and those bouncing manga shots wouldn't have been possible with cel animation.   Personally I'm not interested at all in using computers for realistic animation.  I'm impressed by it sometimes, but I'm interested in using computers to do what was once impossible, not to do smoother versions of what has already been done.  I want to be less realistic.

Has using digital animation techniques changed the way you work, or the way you feel about your work when you see it?  Does it still feel like it's yours if a computer did much of it?

KT: Before I got into digital animation I saw other shows that were using it and I felt that there was no feeling, it was empty.   As an animator, there's a sense of release when you draw a cel.  There's something there.  Working on FLCL, though, I learned that computers can do more, and, most of all, that they allow room for trial and error and revising, more freedom to experiment.  That is why I now feel that cel art cannot win against computers.  For actual animation everything is still drawn on paper.  That work hasn't changed.  It's the other stuff, the touchups, and coloring.  If we didn't use paper, maybe the feeling would change.

Earlier today you said that you were trying to broaden the genre by giving Eva a sad ending.  Does the sameness of much of today's anime bore you?

KT: First of all we didn't use a sad ending to annoy fans.  When they're upset, that really bothers us.  Personally, I think a happy ending is fine, but not if it is achieved too easily.  That's no good.

For all the fans that are confused at all, if you had to define in one sentence what FLCL is about, what would you say?

KT: FLCL is the story of boy meets girl.  For me it is also about how it's ok to feel stupid.  With Evangelion there was this feeling that you had better be smart to understand it, or even just to work on it. With FLCL I want to say that it's okay to feel stupid.

Even though it may be strange to us, do you have in your head a logic behind it?  Are you trying to portray a story that follows the logic of dreams, or is it supposed to make sense symbolically?

KT: I'd like you to think of FLCL as imagination being made physical and tangible, just as it is for me when I take whatever is in my head and draw it.

So what are you working on next?

KT: Right now Gainax has told me that they'll support anything I choose to create, but I'm having trouble coming up with any ideas.

Why is that?

KT: Releasing titles for market, I know I have to make something to please fans, but I'm not a mature enough person to accept that fact.  If I'm not amusing myself I can't do it.  I feel bad that fans have to put up with such behavior from me.  I apologize. 

[haliyam]

No matter what

eren x historia; yeager bro moments (or zeke wishes lol)

Summary: The time has come for Marley to choose its new Warriors, and Eren has a decision to make. (Also, "some things never change.") Warriors AU for erehisu day.

AO3 link if you prefer to read there

--

Happy erehisu day! I saw this amazing erehisu art by beforelightsout on twitter where Eren and Historia are Warrior candidates + Eren became a shifter. Since it's erehisu day and everyone has come out with such wonderful stuff, I wanted to contribute somehow and write something for that AU. I've been dying of work and a covid scare so I was running on the fumes of my love for this ship and everyone else's stuff and also VIBES while writing this in the last hour, so, it's barely edited, if it even makes sense. Sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy though! 

Also, for this AU (or really for the fic to work lol), my headcanon is that the war keeping the previous Warriors dragged on, so Reiner's generation don't get selected until they're this age (Historia and Eren are 17). As for Zeke... idk. Maybe Mr. Ksaver had more time too. Anyway who cares about Zeke here!!! (me I still do)

No matter what

“You know this counts as cheating.”

Eren shoots Zeke a look. They’re standing at the courtyard in HQ, watching the younger candidates wheeze through their training while Magath and his assistant instructors bark orders in the background. Days before selection, and with Zeke already holding the Beast Titan and Colt preparing to inherit, their generation doesn’t need to be put through their paces as often anymore—or maybe Commander Bruning is just letting them off the hook for the week.

They both doubt that. 

Up ahead, Falco trips over an unseen pebble, and Zeke sighs. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know?” he says, out of misplaced brotherly affection. Eren appreciates it, but that’s not what he needs right now. “You already have the armband.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“I know,” Zeke raises his hands in surrender, but the playful gesture doesn’t take away the scrutiny in his gaze. For all his levity, he doesn’t once glance away. Eren knows he’s seeing their father in him, trying to decide whether that’s a positive or a negative. 

“So?”

Zeke scratches the back of his ear. “You already know you’re in the running for the Attack Titan and the Armored Titan. Porco and Reiner are on your heels for the Armor. As for the Attack Titan…”

Zeke tilts his head in a shrug. Eren exhales, and then nods. “Thanks.”

His brother peers at him, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks what?”

Eren is grateful, reassured, but not that grateful. “What am I, ten? I’m not calling you big bro.”

Zeke lets out a long-suffering sigh this time, the kind he uses to guilt trip the others into helping him with paperwork at his age. “You used to be such a cute kid.” He’s quick enough to reach over and ruffle Eren’s hair, and then withdraw before he can smack his hand away. “Now you’re all grown up.”

Eren rolls his eyes, but claps a hand to his brother’s arm in earnest. “Thanks, Zeke.”

The man gives him a thumbs up, and Eren belatedly catches a sliver of gold pass one of the windows behind the courtyard ahead of the other girls. His feet take him forward before he can bid his brother goodbye.

“Go on,” Zeke says, right as Eren catches himself almost sheepishly. He goes to her without another thought.

--

There’s no big to-do when it comes to the selection process. Apart from their generation of candidates, there’s only Zeke, standing to the side with the other instructors who assist the captain, while Magath and Commander Bruning themselves stand together, as imposing as the day they first met.

Maybe a little less now that they’ve earned their stripes, training for a decade with the extension of the war in the South, but Eren can feel the pressure of this moment bearing down on him. 

The others have been chosen. They stand at the other side of the room, putting on their most dignified expressions and trying to contain their shock at their commander’s question. 

“There remain two Titans, Eren Yeager,” said Commander Bruning seconds, maybe a minute ago. Eren’s mind is still reeling. “Which of them, in your estimation, best suits you?”

“Me, sir?” he had asked dumbly in response. Bruning had only nodded.

It isn’t supposed to happen like this. From the group ready to receive their red armbands, he feels Marcel’s eyes burning into his side. Marcel, who was pulled aside by Magath and Bruning earlier today. Eren expected the same treatment—not this. Is this a test? 

Porco and Reiner stand to his left, behind him because he’s stepped forward, and he feels hazel daggers ready to strike at his back. He doesn’t care about them right now. It’s the blue to his right that envelops his all. The air is replete with Historia’s expectation, drowning out all the others in the room. He feels weightless in it, a drop in the ocean that is her existence to him. 

Eren knows he could be more. If he gives the right answer, she might just see him as more.

But Historia isn’t the ocean to these people. She’s a tool, or she could be, and he cannot let that happen. Eren remembers the ground under his feet and peers into the commander’s eyes.

“If I may, sir, I believe Braun has always had the most endurance among the candidates,” he says clearly, just like he’s rehearsed with Marcel. He tries not to imagine the way Historia’s stomach drops. “Nowadays he takes Leonhart’s hits like they’re almost nothing. And for myself—I’ve come to specialize in close quarters combat. The Attack Titan would suit me best.”

Reiner sighs in relief not far from him. Porco and Historia are utterly silent. He can’t even hear them breathing.

Bruning and Magath seem not to notice. They only exchange glances, and if they think anything of Eren answering more than what was asked of him, they say nothing. 

After a few nods, Bruning turns toward them with pride. “It’s as we thought. I see no reason why we should delay for pointless suspense or further deliberation.” With a small motion of the commander’s hand, Reiner steps forward. “Congratulations, Yeager. Braun. You have earned the honor of becoming the new sword and shield of our great motherland Marley.”

--

The room erupts with excitement as soon as the Marleyans are surely gone from the hallway. Eren is already headed for the door when Porco tries to grab him by the shoulder.

“Eren, what the hell? You know this asshole isn’t better than me!”

Reiner sneers at him from behind before Eren can even shrug him off. “Apparently the brass knew different, Pock. Don’t take it out on Eren—he only affirmed what they were already thinking.”

Porco growls, turning on Reiner instead, which means it’s going to be one of those afternoons. Eren is happy to turn back for the door—he feels bright blue trained on him now, and it’s all he can do not to scamper for the exit.

Clutching the cigarette pack in his uniform pocket, he manages to get as far as two floors down before Historia catches up. She’s been calling out to him since she gave chase.

“Hey!” she yells. He was stupid to head for their usual spot. There’s a corridor in this building that’s gone unused for a while that they found, once, when it was their turn for cleaning duty. It’s been theirs since then, and one of the windows has the best view of the city right outside the internment zone’s walls—and the zone entrance itself. So they don’t forget what they’re supposed to do. 

“Eren!”

She’s starting to lose her breath, unable to match his longer strides. His footsteps start to slow, right as they reach that window. He turns around when hers stop too.

Hands still in his pockets, he stares down at her. “What is it?”

Historia glares at him, dignified even as she tries to catch her breath. “What the hell are you doing?”

Eren fishes out the cigarette pack from his pocket and shows her. It’s really Zeke’s, but he figured he’d need it after today. He isn’t wrong. 

She scoffs. “Since when do you smoke?”

“I’m going to be a shifter,” he shrugs. “It doesn’t matter much now, right?”

Historia shakes her head, smart enough to ignore the diversion. “Eren, what the hell was that? I thought… I thought we understood each other.” Always to the point. “I thought you and I would become Warriors together. Change things from the inside and convince the others to do the same.”

The truth of her confusion, her frustration and growing anger pulls at him. She’s everything she didn’t used to be, back when she was still playing the perfect little Warrior who unnerved him so much. It’s exactly why he needs to keep a straight face. 

“Ah… yeah. Sorry about that,” he murmurs, his tone completely level, fingers pinching at the cigarette pack in his fist. “I just gave it some thought, and… I think Reiner would be better as the Armor, not me. So—that left me as the Attack Titan.”

The pain in her eyes is almost too much for him. If only they were cold, just like she’d been the moment he saw her true self for the first time. That way he could crystallize himself in them and shatter instead of having to face her like this. But she hasn’t been cold for a long while, and the warmth in her gaze even after his betrayal does him in. 

“You’re lying,” she realizes the moment his gaze flickers away from hers. Eren curses himself for it. “You once said you could always tell when I was being fake. You think, after everything we’ve been through, that I wouldn’t know it with you either?”

Eren bites his tongue and forces himself to meet those eyes again. He reminds himself why he did it. It’s all that keeps his hands steady as he carelessly flicks the cigarette pack open and reaches for a stick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Historia swipes her hand at his, knocking the pack from his grasp. It hits the ground with a pathetic smack. “Don’t lie to me, Eren!” she says, pleads even when she’s angry, because they’re friends, aren’t they? If only that were all she is. “You know I deserve more than that. Why are you doing this!? We were going to become Warriors together. We were supposed to have thirteen years together!”

She’s free to vent her frustrations in the hallway like they always have with each other, voice shaky and shakier still as the grief escapes her. By the time she mentions that number, Historia is on the verge of tears, but she blinks them away with the fury that remains. How unlike him, who wants to fold more than anything, feeling like the slightest breeze, the slightest word from her can knock him over. He can only stare at the ground as he swallows down the emotion rising in his throat, and that’s when he realizes it. She’s right, like she always is. He can’t stand lying to her. 

The prospect of having to utter his next words terrifies him more than the idea of paradise. But he manages it, because she deserves to know the truth.

“You know why,” he says, trembling only at the last word. Shamefully, face red with self-disgust, he lifts his eyes to hers, fearing the worst. 

She catches his meaning. Of course she does—she knows him best. He expects her to leap at him, punch him, anything that will make the guilt of his selfishness ebb even just a little, but she only stands there. Shocked, and then her cheeks flush in only the most beautiful way. He already knows he’ll never forget how the light from the windows illuminates her face like this.

But then her brows furrow, shoulders raising angrily, and she stomps her foot on the ground. “Am I supposed to be grateful for that?” she snaps. “Should I say thank you for making this decision without me? What about what I wanted?”

“No!” Eren stammers, hands up in submission as if that will placate her. “Of course not! I didn’t do this for your gratitude!” 

“Then why did you do it?” Her voice is still raised, but her tone is resigned. Historia knows that even if she gets the answer, Marley’s decision is set in stone.

That’s the thought Eren takes comfort in. The tears that dampen his eyes are tears of relief, no matter his shame, no matter his remorse. And here he thought he’d grown out of this when he turned sixteen. 

Pressing his lips into his teeth in an attempt to maintain his composure, Eren lets his gaze drop again. “I want you to live,” he admits, so quietly she almost misses it. “I want you to grow up and have a family like you wished you could, if you weren’t pushed into this when we were children. Get married, have children you’re free to love the way…”

He trails off. The last thing he wants to do is mention her mother. He knows she understands when she doesn’t press him to finish.

“I want you to grow old,” he continues. “Live past thirty. Get to fifty, seventy… Then you can be as grumpy as you want to be without anyone saying it doesn’t suit you. I want you to be happy.”

A slight hiccup leaves his throat, one Historia misses only because she does the same. Eren swallows it down, but his nose is already stuffy. When he looks at her again, he’s the most serious he has ever been, and it’s no performance. He reaches for her hands. 

“I’m not prepared to sacrifice your life for our cause,” he confesses. Eren imagines he could bear never to look out that window and see the walls torn down, the way they’ve dreamt together for the past few years, if it means she will live to see it herself long after he’s gone. He’s not articulate enough to say it, his ears and his throat so full with everything he wants to tell her in this moment that he’s speechless. How can he be otherwise, when she’s looking at him like that? All he can blurt out is, “I’m sorry.”

A silence brews between them. Eren wonders if it’s time to step away, to leave her to her thoughts. Maybe he can still beg for forgiveness later.

He loosens his grip on her hands, meaning to wipe his eyes, and that’s when she seizes his. “You stupid crybaby,” she murmurs quietly, fondly, “do you really think I’d be happy knowing you sacrificed yourself for me? Why do you think I promised you that we’d complete our mission within the next thirteen years?”

Eren can only look dumbfounded. 

“I wanted to spend them with you, you idiot,” she gives him, even as her voice quivers with the same desperate longing he’s felt ache in his chest for as long as he can remember now. “I would have been happier spending thirteen years with you, fighting together, than sitting out the fight and living the rest of my life without you. Isn’t that what we agreed on? To work toward what we promised? Together? What did you think I meant by that?”

Eren opens his mouth, body drained of the cool facade he’s found solace in the last few weeks since he came to terms with his greed.

“Historia,” he breathes. Remembers to. “You—?”

She’s had enough of him, he can tell by the look on her face—but he’s wrong again, because Historia grabs him by the collar and pulls him down to her, meeting his mouth with hers in a bid to help him see the truth. His fingers find her face on instinct, lips parting as they kiss so he can partake of her further. 

A moment, a hum from her and something stirring deep inside him, and Historia pulls away as if in punishment. She’s flush again, glaring until those blue eyes soften at his stupid expression. 

“Get it yet?” she asks.

His thumbs slide across her cheek, a small grin pulling at his mouth. She really is the ocean, Eren thinks, and dives in again, drinking of those soft lips, drowning in the scent of her hair, the feeling of her hands sliding down his chest. She’s everything.

What feels like both a moment and an eon passes as they stand there, him bent down as he kisses her, her tiptoed to grant it to him, until they eventually part. Only a little, because they can’t bear the distance just yet. Just so their foreheads are pressed together.

“I’m sorry,” Eren murmurs, before he’s lost in her again. “I didn’t know.”

Historia’s lashes flutter as she blinks away her own tears. This doesn’t change the consequences of the decision he’s made on his own, but she knows she can’t give him up, either. When she opens her eyes, she’s more resolute than he’s ever felt in his life. “There has to be a way,” she tells him. “Go to Paradis. Retake the Founding Titan… and come back. Then we’ll do as we promised.”

“Change the curse,” he replies, like they’ve planned, looking out at the stars from his roof in the zone. “Free our people.”

Historia nods. “No matter what.”

“No matter what,” he agrees. 

She smiles, and he can’t help that the way her lips purse when she tries to stifle it moves him. Eren draws closer—

“There you are!”

—and nearly stumbles as he and Historia untangle their limbs from one another, practically standing at attention when they hear his brother’s voice and Marcel’s surprised ah.

Unfortunately, not even the most perfect posture can erase the affection still blooming in their cheeks, or the slight swell of their lips resulting from that affection. Or the smiles they just can’t help for one another.

Zeke squints. Also unfortunately, nothing gets past this asshole. “Oh, so it finally happened?”

Marcel glances between the two of them, coming closer. “Seriously?”

Zeke snorts, palm open to the new Jaw. “Pay up, Galliard.”

Marcel scoffs. “Come on. Is it really fair if you had inside information?”

“Are you kidding? My baby brother tells me squat.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean I guess I understand that…”

Historia lets out a very audible sigh. “Can we help you?”

Marcel meets Eren’s gaze, gratitude and apology in his smile, while Zeke tries on his new Warchief role for size. He clears his throat.

“Now that Porco and Reiner have settled down, Bruning and Magath want to see us again. Discuss our steps going forward, run tests on the new Warriors… The works. Time to go.”

Marcel sighs. “Talk about eager.”

“All right,” Eren says, finally, because he prefers serious Zeke to his annoying brother right now. He feels vulnerable enough, and he doesn’t care to be that way in front of these two. Or anyone else but her, really. “Lead the way.”

Zeke and Marcel turn to leave, starting to argue the terms of their wager as they disappear around the corner.

Historia and Eren look to each other. A shy smile finds its way to his face as he offers her his hand. 

“By the way, Eren,” Zeke pokes his head into the corridor again, finger waving at the mess of sticks on the floor, “you owe me a new pack of cigarettes. And clean that up.”

Eren groans. “Shut up!”

“But that was my favorite brand! The things I do for love,” his brother whines, to Marcel’s quiet chuckling, and finally they leave for good. 

“Sorry about that,” Eren mutters. Not that Historia hasn’t seen him like this before.

She only laughs as she accepts his hand. When she shakes her head, smiling as she pulls him forward, he feels like they might actually do it. That they might be able to find a way past those thirteen years.

And even if they don’t, he can’t feel regret. As long as they’ve managed to accomplish their mission… No, as long as he can ensure that Historia lives on, he’ll pay any price.

No matter what.

//

I'll take any opportunity to give Marcel more screentime. Well, I actually debated with myself whether it would be Marcel or Bertholdt in the last scene, but Marcel made more sense so that Zeke could whine about being an older brother to someone who could relate. (And yes, Marcel and Eren made a deal to have Reiner become the Armor. I’M SORRY REINER)

Writing Eren's parts made me realize how much I'm in love with Historia??? Like I've always loved her but I guess I realized I'm IN love with her XD Also my hc is Eren here likes to think he's the strong one protecting them both or he at least likes to project that image to the others, but really he takes his cues from Historia who is much stronger emotionally and mentally imo. Idk, I just think she's the boss in this relationship (though of course they are able to be vulnerable with one another which is the biggest thing for me).

Anyway. Thank you for reading! Happy erehisu day!

P.S. I forgot to mention that 'Commander Bruning' in my hc is the guy who tells Magath that it's a good idea to use child soldiers as their Warriors. I imagine he was in charge of a certain number of Eldian soldiers, including the Warrior program, while Magath was the 'captain' who directly managed the kids until his and Bruning's eventual promotions when they were able to conquer nations with such success.

[eleanorbloom]

Sienna convinces Aurora to go on a date with a dreamy pediatrician. Aurora is not sure about it but she can't think of a good reason not to go. She asks MC to help her pick an outfit. One thing leads to another and MC realizes that she has feelings for Aurora. I'm not sure if you are okay with that idea

Until I Met You

Disclaimer: The characters of this story, except Rosalía, belong to Pixelberry.

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Aurora Emery x f! MC (Rosalía Muñoz)

Warnings: Slight angst and some cussing words Rated: T

Word Count: 5.1k

Prompts: @choicesficwriterscreations​ Silly Love Stories Day 1: Friends to Lovers.

Author’s Note: Hello! I'd been wanting to write an Aurora fic for months, but I never really made the time for it, until now. Thank you anon for this amazing idea!! I enjoyed so much writing it and I must confess I squealed more times than I thought I would. Now I love Aurora even more!

I have another fic in the making, but it'll probably see the light in a few weeks, however I'll definitely keep writing about this precious softie 🥺❤️

If you have any more ideas to write about Aurora please let me know!

I hope you enjoy this and happy February for those who love this month 😊

Taglist: @romereadingshop @mercury84choices @starrystarrytrouble @curiousconch @penda-bear @queenelianar @openheartfanfics

__________________

No one could stop talking about him since day one. He was dreamy: kind, smart, attractive, incredibly sweet, and as if none of the above were enough, he was doing his residency in pediatrics. Almost every person that felt attracted to him would swoon every time they had to interact with him.

The gang used to tease Bryce that James Woods was his most strong contender in Edenbrook Hospital. The surgical resident would snort right away and say it was impossible that the personification of Prince Charming could compare to him when he was the whole damn Disney package with a triple dose of hotness.

Rosalía didn’t give a damn about him, honestly. It wasn’t her type, and that was surprising considering she had had a little crush (and a fling) on Rafael in the past. She was one of the few that wouldn’t sigh every time she had a glimpse of him. Aurora was among that selected group.

That's why it was extremely strange when Rosalía found her talking to James at the cafeteria one morning. It didn't look like it was a work-related thing, a consultation or anything, it was more personal, as Aurora couldn't stop smiling at whatever James was saying.

Something itched inside her, but she couldn't quite tell what it was. Maybe it was her protective instinct because she didn't want to see her get hurt? Or it was just jealousy because she was making new friends? Both options were completely irrational and overreacting, so she tried to shake the feeling off by buying the damn coffee and keeping with her morning as usual.

Later that week, Rosalia approached the boot at Donahue's where her friends had gathered after work and found Sienna and Aurora in an apparent little discussion.

“But why not?” Sienna asked in her usual cheery convincing tone.

“I don’t know, Si, it’s just I’m not sure if something good can come out of this.”

“What if it does? You'll never know if you don't try!"

“It’s just… I haven’t gone on a date for… years," Aurora confessed, looking down at her jar of beer. "After most of the people only wanted to date me for my Aunt, and people outside Med School simply didn’t click with me, I just stopped.”

“This is your chance! You don’t think he’s inviting you for you Aunt, right?”

“No, I don’t think so, he had never mentioned her.”

“What are you girls up to?” Rosalia asked, after witnessing the exchange in silence, knowing perfectly well what was that about.

“Rosie! Please, I need some back up here.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Woods from Pediatrics invited Aurora out,” Sienna said, leaning towards Rosie in an almost confidential tone. More like a gossipy one.

“Woods… James Woods?”

“Yeah, she invited her to try this new Chinese restaurant in Bay Village.”

That strange and uncomfortable itch resurged again. But why? It was just a date. A friend going on a date.

"How did this happen? I didn't know you were close to him,” she lied, feigning she hadn't seen Aurora a few days ago in the cafeteria with him.

“We are. I mean, not close close,” she rectified, with an almost unnoticeable shake in her voice. “We just chat sometimes, usually at the cafeteria, and every time we bump into each other at the hospital he just… talks to me, so today when he saw me he made this invitation.”

"Aurora, he totally likes you! Come on, say yes!" Sienna squealed, hitting the table repeatedly with her hand in excitement.  

“When is it?”

“This Friday. "

“You should totally go, Aurora, " Rosalía said finally, but the words tasted like metal, "he seems fine, I mean, everyone is always talking wonders about him, you should feel pretty lucky he has his eyes on you. ”

“Well, I guess so,” she mumbled timidly, her cheeks profusely blushing at the implication.

"Come on, text him before you have second thoughts!" Sienna ordered, sliding Aurora's phone in front of her.

The resident in front of her simply chuckled and took her phone to type her response.

The following days were inexplicably difficult for Rosalía, between remembering the date and hearing Sienna talking about it, asking if James had done more advancement. And Rosalia couldn’t understand why it bothered her so much.

That Friday evening, Rosalía was having some rest after a strenuous shift, when a knock on the door startled.

“Rosie? Are you awake?”

"Yeah," she responded as she got up from the bed to open the door, and found Aurora on the other side with a blue dress on and a fuchsia blouse in her hand.

“I can’t decide what to wear, would you… help me, please?”

She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

“Sure.”

Rosalía followed her to her bedroom down the hall, and once there, Aurora modeled the blue dress she had on, "I like this, but it's not too comfy, and I feel like it's too formal for a date."

"I agree, it's cute but totally not for Chinese dinner," Rosalía conceded, sitting on the bed, where there were a couple more clothes scattered over the mattress.

Then Aurora approached the bed and took the dress off without worrying she was sitting a few inches from her. It was actually no big deal, they probably had seen each other in underwear at least a hundred times since they started their residency, but her eyes couldn't help but glance at her, at the beautiful white laced underwear she had on, at the curves on her hips and her toned thighs. It was for a brief second, but it was enough. Just that single second made her mouth dry. She wasn't seeing her friend in that white lace underwear, she was seeing…

“How’s this?”

Rosalía looked up at her and observed her new outfit, a pair of white pants and an elegant but chic fuchsia blouse.

She was left speechless for five fine seconds.

“I think it’s too flashy, don’t you think?” she asked, with a bit of self-consciousness in her posture and gestures.

“You look beautiful, Aurora, ” she breathed, completely intoxicated with the view. She didn’t even realize what she said. The words simply went out of her mouth.

“You think so?” Aurora questioned, looking at the mirror and then giving a twirl to see how she looked from behind.

A part of her wanted to say that actually no, she didn’t look that good, because that part of her didn’t want that James Wood could see her this beautiful. But the other part wanted to tell the truth and not be selfish. She deserved to know how astonishing she looked.

Not completely aware of what she was doing, Rosalía got up from the bed and sauntered towards her and stood mere inches behind her, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She was so stunning, she had to fight with all her might to not rest her chin over Aurora's shoulder and wrap her arms around her waist. The only thing she had on her mind was the desire to feel the silkiness of her hair in her cheek, smell the floral notes of her perfume mixed with the warmth of her body, and just feel her body against hers, as simple as it sounded.

Curious about her sudden silence, Aurora turned to her to reiterate her question, but a pair of amber eyes stopped her in her tracks, as they instantly started diving deeply into her chocolate ones, without receding.

For a brief second, Aurora's gaze wandered down, right where it was her mouth, and where her lips parted as a reflex. Rosalía gulped, unable to move, to make a single move. Something inside her was pushing her towards the taller woman, but the confusion for not knowing what was happening was stronger. She stood still in place.

“This is it," Rosalía whispered, her eyes roaming her lips for a millisecond. She had to say something before she could do something she'd regret later. "It’s not flashy, it’s… perfect. It matches amazingly with your skin and your eyes look shinier."

“Thank you," Aurora murmured, not parting her eyes from Rosalia’s, until finally the latter stepped back, feeling her legs wobbling at the feeling of Aurora standing so close to her.

“What time do you meet?” Rosalía asked after clearing her throat.

“He’ll come in twenty, I’ll do my makeup now. ”

“Great.”

“Thanks again, Rosie.”

“Anytime. Good luck tonight.”

Aurora smiled at her before she came back to her room, her chest pounding fast, her mind numb, her hands shaking. What was that? What was she feeling? She couldn't understand it because she’d never felt this for… for a girl before. But how? How could this happen?

She tried to have a logical explanation to what was feeling, that maybe she was experimenting with an aspect of friendship that she had never lived before, ��or maybe she was just confusing this with another feeling that was not love.

But the more she tried to pull from the truth, the clearer it became.

This wasn't new, it's just now that she was able to put a name on it. Since the beginning, she'd felt some kind of attraction for her. When Aurora was harsh and ignored her, something pushed her towards her to try to get to know her, to be liked by her. She thought it was just a trait of her personality because she hated that someone didn't like her, at least not without motives, but now Rosalía was realizing it was more than that.

She was always trying to impress her, however she could, because she was brilliant. Every time she had the chance, she wanted to spend time with her, no matter what that could involve, whether it was walking four blocks to have a coffee or lunch, or just getting up earlier than usual so she could go to work in Aurora's car. The excuse she always gave to herself was that it was always good to start the day early, but actually, she just wanted to have alone time with her, just see her first thing in the morning without people around, without the busy routine.

Then that’s what it was? Love? Or was it just infatuation? Maybe nothing of the sort. Maybe she was just confused.

Rosalía couldn't sleep that night. The idea of Aurora having dinner with James, laughing, smiling, and seeing something interesting in him that made her accept a second date, and then maybe have something with him, was too much, even if she was in kind of denial with the whole situation. She didn't want to accept she had feelings for her friend, but at the same time, she hated the idea of her having dinner with James.

She tried to relax by reading a book, but the words before her were like Russian, she didn’t understand a bit.

Hours later,  another knock interrupted her internal fight.

“Rosie, can I come in?”

It was Aurora.

“Yes, come in.”

Aurora opened the door and entered with her purse and jacket in one hand, and a white paper bag in the other.

“Hey,”

“Hey,  how was your date?”

“It was… Good. He’s cute,” she replied as she walked toward her bed and handed her the paper bag,  “I brought you this.”

Rosialía took the bag in her hands, surprised. As she opened it, she found half a dozen spring rolls with soja sauce on a small plastic recipient inside.

“I know you like them.”

Her mind numbed again. Her core felt that buzzing and warm sensation that was pushing her to kiss her, but she was fighting it again.

Why she was being so damn cute?

Yeah, she really liked her. There wasn’t another explanation for this.

“You didn’t need to…”

“It’s a thank you gift for your help today.”

Rosalia smiled sadly at her. The nice gesture had quickly turned into a bittersweet one. It was a thank you for helping her with something she didn't want her to do.

What was she supposed to do? She probably didn’t feel the same. She had a date with someone. Hell, maybe she didn’t even like girls. Well, she herself didn’t know she liked girls until it happened, but there’s no way Aurora would be in the same situation. She’ll just have to learn to live with it. Probably with time she’d stop feeling things for her.

"Wanna join me for a bit while I try this?" Rosalía proposed as Aurora kept standing in front of her.

“Sure, why not?“ Aurora beamed at the invitation and sat in the space Rosalía made in her bed beside her, before taking a bite of a spring roll.

“Yuummm, this is amazing, Aurora! One of the best I’ve had.”

“Yeah, the food is pretty great, actually.”

“And the company? I want details!”

If Rosalía wanted to move on, the first thing she had to do was acting normal, like a friend, as if nothing was happening inside her heart. Also, probably she’d have to get used to the idea of Aurora dating James.

“It was great, we talked about a lot of things. James is a dog lover, likes to go hiking, and tries to go to concerts as much as he can, he's really interesting.”

“Oh, dog lover, that’s all we needed! Her fans will faint when they find out!”

Aurora chuckled, “Yeah, I think they might.”

“And he likes hiking, eh? Just like you.”

"Yeah, actually we agreed to go hiking sometime."

“Oooooh, you already planned a second date!” Rosalía hated herself, as she felt her excitement was excessive and maybe overacted.

Aurora blushed, “No! I mean, we didn’t set a date to do it, but...”

“Well, if the night went that well, he definitely is going to ask you out again," she assured, as she felt a pang on her stomach at the last words. She didn’t know how she managed to tease and smile at Aurora while she was dying of jealousy and pain inside.

*

Rosalía was confident that she could deal with the situation just like that night. That she could pretend everything was fine, show interest in her date, and tease her about it, but she was wrong. Completely wrong.

Ever since she found out she liked Aurora, the days turned into nightmares. Seeing Aurora under a different light, a light of love, complicated everything. She would feel nervous around her, to the point of making her blush sometimes, and frequently she would avoid group chattings to not risk the possibility of having to hear the gang teasing Aurora with James. All those feelings forced her to start spending less and less time with her friend, and the rest of the group as well.

Aurora noticed the change, of course. They were extremely close and above all, she was smart. She noticed Rosalía wasn't joining her early in the morning to go to work together, to which she would respond that she overslept or that she was too tired and preferred sleeping half an hour more. At the question of why she wasn't joining her at lunch, she would argue she had a lot of paperwork to do with the Diagnostics Team. She had a handful of excuses for her sudden change of behavior.

One afternoon she was leaving for her night shift when she found a couple in sportswear outside the building, kissing. When the man leaned his forehead against the woman's, Rosalía realized, to her misfortune, that the couple was no other than Aurora and James.

“This was great, we definitely should do it some other time," he muttered, gently pulling away from her, "maybe Lola can join us if you like. ”

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Aurora replied, smiling shyly.

Rosalía stood motionless at the portal. She was ready for anything except that. Well, no, she wasn't ready for anything that involved Aurora and James actually.

“Rosie!” Aurora exclaimed, embarrassment on her features, as she realized she was looking at them.

“H-Hey! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense. Come on!” she reprimanded, gesturing her to approach them with her hand, “let me introduce you to James. I can’t believe I haven’t had the chance in all these weeks! James, she’s Rosie, Rosalía Muñoz.”

Rosalía sauntered down the stairs, her legs feeling like two heavy pillars of concrete crashing against the staircase, “Hi James, nice to meet you,” she said, her throat constricted.

“Rosie, nice to meet you too! Em has said amazing things about you!”

Em? He already had a nickname for her? A pet name?

“She has?”

“Oh yeah, every time she does it she leaves me with the feeling I want to be your friend too, so I hope this is just the first step to that.”

Fuck. She couldn’t even hate him, he was too nice.

"I've heard plenty of good things about you too, James," she responded, forcing a smile and fighting the tears that were forming in her eyes. "Well, I'm not gonna keep interrupting you, besides I'm on my way to work, so, see you later!" she said, waving her hand as she started walking toward the T-station.

She hadn’t had a train ride that shitty in months. Maybe when she found out Teresa Martinez had died, or maybe when she was suspended from her duties after the Preliminary Hearing about Teresa's death. Either way, it was horrific between trying to fight the tears back and forcing herself to think about anything else but that stupid kiss and the way she was smiling at him. But in the end, the tears were stronger.

The image in her head was too much. Things were getting better than she thought. If they were kissing, it meant that Aurora really liked him; she really was interested in pursuing a relationship with him, and that meant there was absolutely no chance for her. Well, who she was trying to kid, she never had a chance, but it's inevitable to build ideas and prospects in the head. Daydream about it. Clearly, she couldn't do it anymore.

The following days just got worse. She kept finding them everywhere, and one day James even joined them at Donahue's. She considered asking a round of tequila to shut her mind down with alcohol, but then she rejected the idea as she feared she would make a scene drunk. Rosalía didn't want her to know by any means, so instead, she waited fifteen minutes, and then she made up an excuse and went home, alone.

Even if she tried to be subtle, soon her friends started to notice she was distant. Sienna asked her if she was okay, if something had happened with Aurora because she had shown her some concerns about it. She alleged again it was just work. No one kept insisting on the topic.

It was the morning of her free day. All of her friends were at work so she sauntered relaxed toward the kitchen to have breakfast, happy with the palpable solitude.

A  few minutes after she sat up to eat her pancakes, Aurora appeared in the hall to make her own breakfast, “Hey Rosie.”

Her name in her mouth made her shiver. She raised her head, startled, her cheeks flushing instantly, "Good morning," she said and kept eating her breakfast in silence as if she wasn't completely crushed that she was there at that moment.

Aurora served a mug of coffee and made a bowl of fruits, oatmeal, and yogurt and then sat across Rosalía, who had her nose practically buried in her pancakes, unable to look at her. "How much time are you gonna be ignoring me?" she asked after staring at her for a few seconds.

Rosalía’s eyes widened but didn’t look up at her, “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Rosie. You’re better than that. Are you gonna tell me what has you so… frustrated or distant with me?”

“You’re imagining things.”

The woman sighed with a stern expression on her face, "Rosalía, you've spent the last month ignoring me. We're friends, I know something is bothering you."

A month. Just a month. It felt like an eternity. How much time will it take her to extract Aurora out of her mind? Of her heart?

“Nothing to worry about, it will pass soon,” she said, still looking at her plate.

“Is this for the Benitez case?”

Completely confused with the question, Rosalía raised her head and a pair of worried chocolate eyes met hers, “Benitez case? What Benitez case?”

“The Lyme syndrome case Dr. Banerji made us compete to assist a conference in New York.”

Rosalía tried to remember that case until she found the image of Naveen talking to a group of second-year residents about this competition. Between what was happening with Aurora and the work on the Diagnostic Team, she didn't have the time to fight for it, which was unusual. In better times, Aurora and Jackie would've spent the entire day running to find a solution and throwing dirty looks at each other every time they were in their sights.

“Oh, that. No, no, you deserved it, it’s completely fine.”

“Then what is your problem? Are you really not gonna tell me?”

Rosalía sighed.

Aurora wasn't this pushy. Maybe she was truly concerned, and she couldn't blame her. She had been extremely strange the past months, to the point of making Aurora ask her other friends to find out what was happening, but Rosalía kept telling her everything was fine.

Her heart started racing fast, her cheeks flushed. She couldn't do it. She could not tell her. She prohibited herself to do it.

“I can’t tell you,” she whispered before standing up from her chair and sprint towards her room, but she couldn’t go very far, as Aurora stopped her just a few feet from the table.

“Rosie, please tell me what’s happening,” she said in a soft voice. Rosalia melted. Her eyes fluttered shut at the mention of her name in her mouth, once again. “I’m worried about you.”

"I…" she closed her eyes.  She shouldn't, but all her body was begging for her to tell Aurora the truth. She tried to look for another excuse but stopped instantly and resolutely. She didn't deserve to be lied to that way.

Maybe she will understand, she thought. She’s an adult, maybe it will be awkward at first, but they would eventually move on, and maybe that was the best,  to tell her than keep ignoring her and hiding this from her.

Rosalía opened her eyes again, and Aurora was staring at her, waiting.

“Aurora I….” she sighed, her breath was shaking. “I like you. More than a friend.”

Aurora’s eyes widened in shock for a brief second until she forced herself to school her features, probably to not break her heart more than already was, “But Rosie you…”

“Yes, I’ve always liked guys, until I liked you,” she confessed.

Aurora remained silent for a moment, “I’m sorry I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You wanted to know why I was like this with you, there you have. But don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I just hope things don’t get weird between us,” she said before running away, successfully this time, from the kitchen. Once she reached her cove, she slammed the door shut and locked herself for the day.

Rosalía didn't see Aurora again until the next day at the hospital. They said hi awkwardly to one another and then kept with their routines more or less normally. By the end of the day, nervousness invaded her as she realized she'd have to see her for dinner, but lucky for her, Aurora wasn't at home when dinner was ready, so everyone assumed she had a last-minute date with James. Despite feeling internally relieved that she wouldn't face her again that night, the idea of Aurora with James kept itching just as the day of their first date.

She had finally managed to fall asleep when a knock on her door woke her up. Sleepy, she walked to open the door, only to find Aurora in the dark hall.

“Can we talk?” she said, a hand curling around her middle finger.

She looked so nervous and kind of worried, that didn’t give Rosalía a chance to get nervous too for being in front of her after what had happened, “Sure, come in.”

As she turned the lights of her bedroom on, she realized Aurora was blushing and her posture was noticeably stiff, “Aurora, are you okay? Something happened?” she asked, gently stroking her arms, inspecting her carefully.

Aurora’s body trembled at her touch so she parted her hands instantaneously, “I’m sorry…” she muttered, taking a step away.

“No,” she mumbled, grabbing her by the wrist, and gently pulling her to her body.

Now it was Rosalía’s turn to shudder, the coldness of her skin against hers causing tingles in every inch of her body.  

She looked up at her, seeking for any clue that could indicate what was she doing there, if was something was happening to her, but there was nothing more than a pair of chocolate eyes staring at her in a way she'd never seen before, and even if she couldn't tell what it was, it made her stomach flutter.

It was soft but at times it was interrupted by furrowings that denoted fear and maybe some desperation, as if for moments something inside her was pushing her to do something she wasn't ready to do, and then would find the strength, to finally waver again.

Hoping she wasn't reading all the situation wrong, Rosalía tempted fate by getting closer to Aurora until their bodies were now mere inches away from the other, the coolness of one body mixing with the warmth of the other.

At the advancement, Aurora looked at her as if something snapped inside her, all fears and doubts gone, just determination. Determination and… tenderness.

Rosalía felt her breath get caught in her throat as Aurora released her wrist to cup both hands on her cheeks, stroking her so gently, as though she was scared of breaking her. It was dazzling the way Aurora was looking at her, with unrestrained sweetness and warmth. All seemed too good to be true. Most of all, because it was in a way she had been wanting for weeks, and maybe, unknowingly, for months.

It didn’t take her long to mirror her, eyes sparkling at the sight of that precious creature of the universe so close to her, her chocolate eyes exposed to discover the hues and stripes drawn in her irises, her hot breath caressing her lips.

Then, as if something was pulling them, both rested their eyes on their lips and started to shorten the distance.

And for the first time, Rosalía didn’t resist. She let herself go and obeyed the most honest desire of her heart.

Kissing Aurora for the first time felt like floating.

No, it was it was even more mighty than flying. It was freeing and lulling, healing and exciting, and more than that, awakening.

The simple act of kissing her had awakened feelings and desires that she didn't know her heart could harbor. Pure and intense, sincere and encouraging.

Driven by all these sentiments, Rosalía wrapped her arms around her neck as both parted their lips to explore more of one another, and that was the beginning of an addiction that would've lasted hours if it wasn't because they had to catch some breath.

They stared at each other in silence until it was inevitably to giggle as if both were incredulous of what had just happened.

“Rosie I…” she shook her head, blinded by the beautiful smile Rosalía was giving her, “Damn, I like you too. So much. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Rosalía opened her eyes wide, completely off-guarded by her confession, “You what? Are you serious?”

Aurora closed her eyes as she took a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, she looked at her amusingly, "I've liked you for, I don't know, several months now, since we started speaking in civil terms to one another. At that time I told you I was mean to you because I didn't want to trust anybody, and you were a threat to my career, but after a while, I realized part of why I tried to hate you so much was because I liked you."

Rosalía chuckled, blown away by how alike their stories were.

"It was hard for me to acknowledge that because I had never… I had never felt that for a girl. But I tried to ignore it, thinking you probably would never feel the same. Then I met James and I thought it was a sign, that maybe he would help me be over you… and I really liked him, you know? He's nice, he's treated me like anyone did before... but then you told me you liked me and… I couldn't believe it, that's why I reacted that way yesterday. I couldn't believe you felt that for me too. I swear I could've never imagined you were.... jealous. Not for a single moment, I linked your behavior to James and me."

Both shared a sad smile until Rosalía broke the silence, "First, I also thought I hadn't had a chance with you because you had only liked men, and second… If it wasn't for James, I don't know when I'd realized I liked you, but the idea of you dating somebody just… ignited something inside me, and the night of your date I finally could tell what it was."

“Oh my god, Rosie,” she laughed, also blown away by her story.

“What about James?”

“I spoke with him. I told him it wouldn’t work out between us because there was someone else.”

“Oh. So that means I have you all by myself now?”

Aurora gave her a mischievous smile as she tucked a strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear, “Well, if that’s what you want."

Before that moment, Rosalía thought it would be hard for her to respond to that question, as it was something she had never experienced. Being with a girl. But now that she was in the situation, the answer became so easy because what was happening wasn’t anything unknown or terrifying. It was love, and love was simple. Simple and encouraging, so there was nothing to be afraid of.

Rosalía leaned to kiss her deeply before sweetly whispering:

“It is.”

[nice-kill-tanaka]

May I have a my hero and ohshc matchup plz

I'm a short girl around 5'2 with long brown hair and eyes and a leo. I like anime,dragons,reptiles,drawing but I'm not good,tarantulas,sweets,video games, memes,dark humor. I am very kind but I care more about others than I do myself. I have bad anxiety. I tend to overthink about everything. I love to sing especially country music but I am tone deaf. I have trouble standing up for myself because I was bullied alot. I can be very blunt. I also love to swear. I can be very loud. I love a good mystery and cop shows. I love dad jokes and puns.I am terrified of bees and heights. I am very lazy but I can be good at doing stuff if motivated. I have a very kind heart and sad stories or ones with very happy endings make my heart happy or hurt like crazy. But even though I'm kind that doesn't mean i am nice all the time. I am extremely grumpy and have a short temper especially on no sleep or if I just woke up. I also do have adhd and some anxiety I dont like being touched randomly unless I know it will happen or if I touch someone. As for dreams I'm not sure I wanna be a voice actor but not too sure if its right for me as I don't know how to edit or even have the equipment. I want someone who can just listen to me as I ramble on about things I love. I want someone to understand that I think differently then normal people. I also want someone to be able to understand im not the most affectionate person but I can be if given time but I will help someone if they are touch starved like I am.

[🌄 @cutelittleriot requested one (1) regular My Hero Academia matchup. I have just the ingredients for that! Sit tight while I get to work.🌌]

YAYYY!! First bnha matchup!! I gotchu bud 👍 I’m thinking about trying something new for the bnha fandom in particular. So, I’ll try it out and see what you think! Also, I got a little carried away with this one, so if it doesn’t seem characteristically accurate to you, please tell me!! 😖

And, the lucky person is:

⛰Eijiro Kirishima⛰

Quirk: Dragon

Dragon is a mutation quirk. It manifests slowly over time, until the user becomes about 60% dragon-esque at around 15/16 years old.

Scales and tough skin appear on the arms, legs, and face. Sharp teeth and claws grow in. Horns protrude from the forehead. A tail grows from the spine. Finally, wings grow from the back.

Flesh becomes twice as tough in places where scales are.

Depending on the user’s body type, wing usage is limited. (Since you’re generally shorter than average, “flying” and gliding comes easier to you.)

When the user consumes pressurized carbon dioxide, their stomach converts it into flammable gasses. Which allows the user to breathe- er...burp...fire.

Fire must be carefully used however. The smoke produced can accidentally be breathed in, causing lung damage.

🌱Humble Beginnings🌱

I’ll start by saying this: Being bullied is never fun. Being bullied over something you can’t easily control or change? Rub salt in it, why don’tcha?

You weren’t sure what the select few kids in your grade thought was so hilarious about your quirk. But, they managed to find enough wrong with it to do their damage for most of your time in school

First, the patches of scales that showed up on your skin were “too weak”. Then, your awkward transition stage with growing horns, wings, and tail was suddenly “ugly”

By the time your quirk fully manifested, the jeers finally devolved to “freak-ish”

Like a river carving out the Grand Canyon, the work was slow and wore you down over time. But, the impact was a lot bigger than even you’d initially thought

While you managed to somewhat heal and learned to guard your emotions against such hurtful things, that’s all you learned to do: Guard yourself. You were a shield with no spear, since you never fought back

With the help of supportive parents and teachers, your self-esteem wasn’t so low, but you did often downplay or underestimate your abilities

Like, Bitch??? You can burp fire??? Know your power???

The people you were on good terms with seemed to see a potential that you either disregarded, or didn't know about all together

They saw the way you treated others with consideration and forethought. How, despite (or because of) your anxiety, you remained hyper-aware of the problems of others and how to accommodate. And while your anger did have its vices, people knew how hot your righteous rage could burn

It actually took a lot of convincing for you to even apply to U.A. 

Outside of your other aspirations for the future, you didn’t particularly feel worthy for the job. Of anything you could be, you weren’t a fearless, upstanding, unshakable individual, not even giving a second thought to throwing yourself into danger for the good of others. You weren’t your alleged definition of a hero, and that was enough to deter you

But, whenever you recited your polite (well-rehearsed) decline, most gave you the same weirdly optimistic retort:

“Just try, maybe you’ll do better than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

So, here you were at an entrance exam full of people you hardly knew, wondering how you even rationalized to yourself that this would go just fine

The written exam went okay. As well as you could for literally guessing what to study to pass

All you had to do was do your best on the physical exam, and you’d be done for the day

But, your issue was in the people around you, not the exam itself

You were aware of the high amount of attention the moment you walked onto campus. The way other kids measured you up from a distance, studying everything about your not-so-human body. Watching your every move, especially the way your movements were strained from soreness (A short period of intense training tends to do that to you). You assumed they also wanted to see if your disposition was as powerful as your quirk suggested

((You specifically noticed a coltish, green-haired kid muttering to himself, questioning if your wings could actually support your body weight))

Even now, as the prospective heroes-in-training warmed up, you felt the stares burning into you

Half of you wanted to lift your eyes and rhetorically ask what the hell they were looking at, only feeling more annoyed as you snorted and returned to what you were doing. The other half wanted to fold into yourself until you disappeared (If only it were that easy)

But, you had enough (Roughly, one billion) worries on your mind to put confrontation on the list. Shaking off your anxious shivers as you lowered your head and continued with your “stretches” seemed so much easier

(A.k.a. Staring off into space as you held your limbs in awkward positions)

The time to begin the physical test was drawing near, and your self-doubt hadn’t eased up. Maybe this was a mistake. You didn’t belong here. Not when so many other students could fill the space you’re wasting so much better. Maybe if you slipped through the back now, you’d save yourself the disappointment of not living up to your own standards

“Hey, brown-haired girl! With the horns!”

You heard a gruff whisper from not to far behind you, from the left. You tensed for a moment, wondering what the voice could possibly want from you. But, the sight you saw was rather unexpected

The voice definitely matched the body, bulky and slightly rough looking, a little taller than you. Matched with a sweet face, sharp teeth, and bright, spiky, red hair. The smile he showed you instantly calmed your thoughts

“…Hm?”

You gave a short response, not wanting to jump to conclusions yet

“I saw you looking kinda psyched out over here, so I thought talking to you would make you less nervous!”

You felt a warm and fuzzy sensation in the pit of your stomach. As much encouragement as you got to achieve things, you didn’t see much of it to consider how you felt. How you could feel better. You liked it, which was surprising, considering the encouragement came from a perfect stranger

“Oh, uhh…thanks then. But, I’m fine, I promise! I’m no more nervous than you are.”

“Well, that’s also why I came to talk…I’m kinda freaking out too…”

This boy’s transparency was almost scary, but on the other hand, very comforting. You didn’t catch him trying to stare at your mutated parts once as you talked. Your eyes were the thing he seemed the most focused on, and while it made you embarrassed, it was the good kind (if that makes sense)

But, soon enough, the announcement for the beginning of the exam came over the loudspeaker, and you and your acquaintance had to look out for yourselves. But, before you parted ways, the redhead turned to you

“I’m Eijiro Kirishima, by the way! See you when I see you, Shortie!”

🌳Flourishing Love🌳

The beginning of Kirishima seeing you as a romantic option happened not too long after parting ways at the physical exam

He was almost completely cornered by one of the machines students could disarm for points. And just as that was happening, you had just turned the corner after shaking off another one

You saw Kirishima, but he definitely didn’t see you, trying hard to look tough, but struggling to stand his ground

It quickly dawned on you that Kirishima didn’t have a quirk that could easily deal with the hostile device. And if he did, he was too scared to use it

You vetoed the idea of charging in head on first. You didn’t feel like getting yourself or Kirishima hurt. Especially without a plan. You needed to be smart about getting your only acquaintance out of this situation

Your heart raced and your execution was all but clean, but you ended up using your fire breath to weld the robot’s wheels to the concrete

Before you let your inhibitions get the better of you, you climbed the machine and punched out the camera on the front. From atop the beast, you hung your tail over the edge low enough for Kirishima to grab. You didn’t dare look down at the ground

“Dammit Eijiro, grab on!!”

Once you felt a weight on your tail, you used your wings to propel you both forward. Obviously, away from the robot

You were too high on adrenaline and fear to notice, but Kirishima stared at you like you were the embodiment of Heaven on Earth. The stars in his eyes almost seemed inappropriate for the situation 😅

You looked just as—if not more—afraid than he was. But, you seemed so okay with the fact that you weren’t fearless, and acted like a true hero anyway. He admired, dare I say loved that about you

And he didn’t even know your name

As soon as you found out that you and Kirishima were in the same class, you felt instant relief. At least you were familiar with someone at U.A.

You guys’ friendship developed rather fast, like and extrovert adopting an introvert

Kirishima quickly noticed how fast you opened up once you got comfortable around him, and loved you all the more for how bright and vibrant the unfiltered you was

He found himself picking up on your sense of humor, telling dad jokes you whisper under your breath to the Bakusquad (Much to Bakugou’s dismay 😅)

Don’t worry, he always gives you the credit 😉

As time went on, Kirishima learned to appreciate how blunt you were. He realized that he needed someone to tell it like it is (“It isn’t manly to sugarcoat things! 😤” he says)

And while Kirishima prefers physical activities over video games, he loves to hype you up while you play before classes

It was only natural a mutual crush would form :D

Kirishima finally worked up the guts to ask you out after the U.S.J. Incident

You and him had gotten separated (You had gotten trapped with the cold son of Endeavor. And you both took out the villains with an awe-inspiring display of fire and ice)

Kirishima was faced with the reality that either of you could lose each other at any moment. And while both of you came out alright, he realized he couldn’t be wishy-washy about his feelings for you

He told you on your way to school the next morning:

“Look. What happened yesterday really scared me. Normally, I wouldn’t say that, but I think you deserve to know. Because…you mean a lot to me!! More than I can put into words. I love when we have fun together, and I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I never got to tell you how I felt…”

“Basically…I like you!! Like…in the romantic way…”

Your early morning grumpiness dissipated almost instantly, replaced by momentary confusion and disbelief, then embarrassment and joy. Was this really happening…? The boy that took a chance on you since the beginning, confessed that he had feelings for you…? Even though you didn’t question your relationship, you always assumed the nice things Kirishima said, the way he looked at you, was all part of the pleasantries. You questioned if you were even worth all of that

‘But you are.’ The little voice Kirishima helped you develop said. ‘And he would say more if he didn’t look so embarrassed.’

And so, you accepted Kirishima’s confession. And he saw the sweetest smile you had ever given him since the first time he complimented your puns 😊❤️

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

[🌌 There you go bud! That’s one matchup for the road. Hopefully it lasts for a while, but if it doesn’t, feel free to come back! I’d be thrilled to see you again.🌄] —Reagan

[unbury-the-gays]

(hello, zkretchy but on my main blog here to throw out a little, kinda even, package of those ask meme asks into here and simultaneously stopping myself from just asking all of them)So I politely ask for Numbers 2 (and 3 actually add that in), 13, 17 and uh 25 or 27 idk how far you all are with any possible future dealings - also congrats on 45kwords! Thats a lot of them holy shit and well done!

Hi, zkretchy, thanks for the ask! We had lots of fun brainstorming these.

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

So I know you said one sentence, but we'll do you one better: one word.

Kiyan about Adrien: Bastard. Adrien about Kiyan: Mine!

That about sums them up at the moment, really.

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Kiyan would make a sour face and insist he saw nothing worth complimenting in the bastard, but if you made him be honest he'd admit he's attractive and smart and fun to argue with. But he would struggle to say it to Adrien directly, for a couple reasons. The first is that Adrien would be absolutely insufferable about it. He'd just be so incredibly happy about the slightest compliment from Kiyan and that much extrovert energy is just Too Much for Kiyan. Also, he has difficulty forming compliments because they're not really something he's familiar with, either giving or receiving.

Adrien is a bit cautious about giving Kiyan compliments directly at the moment, because he correctly identified that Kiyan does not know what to do with them. But he's getting bolder about it. He tells Kiyan he's beautiful when he finds him in the waterfall. And he's absolutely talking Titus's ear off about how awesome Kiyan is 😂.

Ultimately they both suffer from self-esteem issues that make compliments complicated, but they respond very differently.

Adrien needs to hear compliments. Knowing Kiyan finds him attractive, interesting, and smart would absolutely thrill him. Adrien wants to please him, wants to be wonderful to him, wants to be admired and take anything and everything, even the smallest praise.

On the other hand, accepting a compliment would make Kiyan uneasy, at least initially. That would be something he would have to learn. It's not that he finds receiving compliments unpleasant. It would just be strange and new to him and would require him to deal with his low self-esteem.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

This one was interesting! Considering that they both have a selective morality and don't hesitate to either kill or die (Adrien is almost looking for an opportunity to get himself into a dangerous situation, and Kiyan may not want to die, but he shielded Adrien with his body without hesitation, so), the usual limits don't really apply. They would burn the world for each other, and the people living there, because neither the world nor the people have offered them anything that they would consider valuable so far. So they would kill and die and do other bad things for each other. And it would be disturbingly easy for them. But what they wouldn't do for the other is change who they are.

Kiyan's instance of this is practically canon: Adrien offers him a position as his kept man and Kiyan runs away. That offer is what breaks the hold that his fascination and attraction to Adrien have, the bond they are forming. He wouldn't give up on going on the Path, he wouldn't give up being a witcher, because it's an integral part of who he is. Neither his pride nor his temperament would allow him.

Adrien is more complicated. Despite being overbearing and possessive, he is willing to make concessions for Kiyan. He is willing to change so that this relationship can work. Despite the fact that he doesn't understand many things and does many things wrong (and from wrong reasons), he is willing to cooperate as long as he sees that he can gain something from it. But submission is not in his nature. The more Kiyan tries to take control, the more he will fight for it. He understands relationships entirely as a play of dominance and control because those are the only relationships he's ever known. Adrien is afraid of being controlled, but the only way he knows is to control back. He can't really conceptualize a relationship that is equal and doesn't rely on control. So he understands that Kiyan doesn't want to be controlled, but he pushes because he doesn't know any other option and he needs to be in control more than he wants to be what Kiyan wants. The thing is, Kiyan doesn't actually want to dominate the relationship. He just wants Adrien to stop treating him as a possession and be his equal. But Adrien doesn't know how, and so he rebels against what he perceives as a threat to the one thing he won't change.

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

For Kiyan it's definitely scent. Adrien wears a rich scent with a combination of Ofieri spices that reminds him of his mother, and Kiyan has definitely noticed. Also because witcher senses mean the scent is very strong and he's used to keeping track of scents like that. Adrien also smells of horse a lot, which is comforting.

Adrien likes to keep Kiyan's drawings, when he eventually is allowed to see them. And seeing drawings by other people always makes him think of Kiyan. Also he's a collector and has a gift-giving love language even once he gets over the whole possessiveness issue somewhat, so he does a lot of "oh, Kiyan would like that" type thinking, building a little Kiyan catalogue in his head and then gifting the things (slowly so Kiyan doesn't run off, he learned his lesson with the strawberries and courtesans offer 😂).

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

I know you said 25 or 27 but we answered both 😅. They were fun to think about because we hadn't thought about sex a lot with them since they have such a long way to go before they're in a place where they can do things like explore kink 😂.

In general, something that works on Adrien is when someone needs him. Not just sexually, but with everything. This applies not only to Kiyan, but also in a way with his relationship with Gisbert and also in a way with his guards - these people need him; without him they would have nowhere to go. So even if Adrien weren't in the mood for something (not just sex, though Adrien not in the mood for sex is hard to imagine) if Kiyan admitted he needed it, it would chang the mood. Kiyan doesn't know this yet, but it's not that hard to figure out. What Kiyan knows at the moment is that it is really enough for him to be alone in the same room with Adrien. But that's more of an action of unresolved sexual tension than of an actual thing that would work. Playing hard to get or making something into a challenge also seems to work. Right now it's because of the UST, but once they resolve it they could probably have some fun with playing with that deliberately.

With Kiyan, it annoys him how arrogant, possessive and pushy Adrien can be. So the more Adrien shows these traits, the more Kiyan will say no. But when Adrien shows more humility, as he sheds his arrogant asshole mask and shows his more vulnerable face, Kiyan doesn't quite know how to fight it. Kiyan has a hard time saying no to an actual vulnerable honest request because he genuinely does care for and desire Adrien. If Adrien can be vulnerable enough to say "please," Kiyan can't resist him. (Adrien noticed this but, being someone who sees everything as a power struggle, thought it was about humiliating him. It's an exhausting way to live. He needs so many whacks with the "be a better person" hammer.)

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

Ok so overall, they defintiely get kinky but don't go in much for the D/s side of things. They both need control of their own mental state too much to ever really give that over to each other. But Kiyan's witcher senses make sensation play very fun, and Adrien is totally down for being tied up. Adrien's active imagination also makes for some fun roleplay, which Kiyan indulges.

Also for Maximum Angst, Kiyan used to enjoy bondage and pain stuff, but after Ireneus he can't stand them 😭. Only soft gentle things for our witcher, which Adrien is more than happy to provide.

And then we got side tracked by a scenario and had two very different responses to it.

The scenario:

Kiyan tying Adrien to bed, gagging him, Adrien all horny, and instead of going into action, Kiyan takes this opportunity to finally go to meditate in peace.

Gav's thoughts (aka what Adrien is thinking):

Adrien tied and gagged and impossibly turned on and all he can do is lay there and watch Kiyan meditate, completely serene. Reminds them of all the times Kiyan kissed him and ran away at the beginning. Only now Kiyan is still there, Adrien can see him, and he can't touch or talk or do anything. It's not about Kiyan being in control of Adrien, it's about Adrien accepting that he has no control over Kiyan. He just has to wait and hope Kiyan will choose him

Advena's thoughts (aka what Kiyan is thinking):

Kiyan comes back from the Path tired, but Adrien missed him a lot and doesn't give him peace. So they have sex once, twice, three times, Adrien is generally insatiable and Kiyan is finally like: Hey you wanna try something different? And Adrien, all excited, of course he wants to. So Kiyan ties him up, gags him, and finally has a moment of peace.

So that was amusing. Basically, extrovert boyfriends are exhausting and like to read symbolism into your attempts to get some peace and quiet 😂.

Thanks again for the ask! These were fun to answer!

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives An Uber) Ch. 5

(Prince Steve flees his wedding, and asks his Uber driver to take him bowling...and on a date.  WIP)  Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Billy stumbled into his room, wishing he'd drunk a little less, and flopped onto his bed—then slapped around beside him for where he could hear Steve’s muffled laughter, and found his phone.  “Steve,” he mumbled.

“You sound sleepy,” Steve told him, and Billy growled.  

“My dick isn’t,” he muttered, and Steve laughed again.  “It’s not,” Billy snarled, yanking his jeans open.  “Heard your voice.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said.  “...that happens to me, too.”

“Your dick likes me?” Billy asked, feeling kind of fuzzily like it was a weird question to ask, but Steve sounded like he was smiling when he said “Yeah, Billy, it does.”  

“What about your hands,” Billy asked, sliding his shirt up to his chest.  “They like touching me?”

Steve muttered something that sounded like vlakoss, or vlakas, maybe, and Billy mouthed it to himself, so he’d remember.  “All of me likes you,” Steve said softly, and Billy rolled sideways into his blankets, laughing into his pillow as he flushed.  

“...lemme put you on video,” he whispered, feeling kind of like they were hiding, together in his bed. 

His face warmed further as Steve whispered back, “Show me.”

Billy’s fingers were clumsy, but finally he could see his prince, leaning back on a shiny green overstuffed chair kind of thing, in a soft yellowy robe, his skin lit with warm morning light.  He was smiling, his hair bed-ruffled.  

“...oh,” Billy said, biting his lips together, and hoping Steve couldn’t really see the taco stains on his shirt, or the Thomas the Tank Engine twin-size sheets Max had picked up as a joke at Value Village.  

“Want to turn another light on?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

“You can see more than enough,” he said, grimacing, and Steve frowned.  

“I can barely—”

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Billy sighed, suddenly exhausted.  “Look, I’m—I’m going to bed, actually.  I’ll—I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Steve blinked back at him, wide-eyed, and Billy hung up, yanking the pillow over his head with a groan.  

His text alert—it was the treasure chest noise from one of Max’s Zelda games—made its ting ting ting noise, and he lifted the pillow to look.  Sleep well, Steve had sent.  I miss you.  

Billy nearly called him back, staring at the words, and then sat up and yanked his stained t-shirt off.  He flung it into the corner with the other dirty laundry, and then sighed, and stumbled out of bed to gather it all up and stomp downstairs to the laundry room.  When he got there, he had no quarters, and he sat heavily against a washer, wiping his eyes, until the door creaked open, and it was Max, carrying the box of detergent.

“What gives,” she said suspiciously, and he shrugged.

“...just thought I’d do some laundry, y’know,” he said, laughing.  “I’m such a fucking slob.”

“Did he say something,” she bit out, shooting him a glare as she fed quarters into the machine.  

“...he didn’t,” Billy sighed, rolling his shoulders, and frowning around the laundry room.  “Stinks in here.”

“It’s apartment 312,” Max growled.  “She washes and lets it rot.  All the time.”

“Once I have my degree I’ll get us somewhere better,” Billy promised, wincing.  “Once I get a real job.”

“It’s not so bad,” Max told him, grabbing his wrist and hauling him back out.  “Come on, you don’t need to watch, that washer knows what it’s doing.”

“...didn’t look all that smart to me,” Billy told her as she drug him back upstairs, not because he desperately wanted to stick around smelling the sour, heavy funk of rotting laundry, but because Max was handling him again, like she was the adult.  “I bet I’m smarter than that washer.”

“I sure hope so,” Max told him, shoving him inside their apartment.  “You, uh…” she said, glancing up at him, and then frowning, and Billy tried to stop being an asshole.

“I’m fine, Max, play your game,” he told her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  He opened his mouth to try and argue with her cutting look—proving he was actually not smarter than a washing machine, really—and his texts chimed again.  It was just a red heart emoticon, but Billy’s whole body warmed again at the thought of Steve sitting there for so long, typing and then deleting.  He started to send back a kissy face, and then realized it’d be obvious he wasn’t asleep, and Steve would call, and Billy groaned, mashing his face against his phone.  

“...is he being a dipshit?” Max asked, reaching up to grab his phone, and Billy stuck it in his pocket.  

“Get one out we can both play,” he told her, waving at the Xbox and dropping on the couch.  She grinned, delighted and a little evil, before rummaging around and returning with a selection of five.  They looked like little kid games, he thought, all bright colors, but it wasn’t like he needed to murder zombies, so he decided to let Max cheer him up.  He hummed thoughtfully, and let her lean in and advise—ruffling her hair to make her yell—before sitting elbow-to-elbow with her until nearly midnight, yelling insults at each other and at the screen.  

 Over the next few weeks, his most royal prince-ness kept texting, sending pictures of everything from a frog he found in a downspout licking its own eyeball to pictures of plasticine-covered dead people in a museum exhibit.  There were rows and rows of people posed like they were playing tennis, or crouching, their skin peeled back to show musculature.  

I’m in Germany…said the text, with a picture of Steve posing with a horse whose skin and muscles rippled out like its mane.  “#notaserialkiller” he sent, immediately after.  

tell that to the horse judge, Billy sent back, grinning.

“Who is this guy,” Max asked, leaning her sharp little chin on his shoulder as Billy flipped his phone so she couldn’t see the screen.  He tried to tuck it into his Trig textbook, and it slid out.  “Your Uber fare?”

“He’s, uh, he’s not the kind of guy I usually date,” Billy said, swallowing, and thinking about his last ‘date’ before Steve, who he’d never seen in daylight.  Billy’d awoken—hungover, late to class, on the floor, with his head pillowed on the remains of a half-eaten six-foot Subway sandwich, and a used condom stuck to his thigh—to Max’s unimpressed glower.  He tried to imagine Steve’s clothes on his apartment floor.  A crown on his bedside table.  “He, uh.  He’s a good tipper.”

“That’s a good sign,” Max told him, blowing into his hair as she sighed, her weight against his back, watching the microwave rattle its way through heating her Hot Pocket.  She leaned to flip the phone over—My Prince, it proclaimed.  Three missed calls.

“He’s a nice guy,” Billy told her, trying to grab his phone back.  “He’s too nice, probably.  Calls me his bad idea.”

“If he calls you a bad idea,” she enunciated carefully, through gritted teeth, “—he’s not nice.”

“No, he’s—it’s not—” Billy groaned, then scrambled to try and snatch the phone back from his sister as she hit redial.  “Give it back,” he growled, and she raised her eyebrows, knowing he wouldn’t so much as step towards her angry, since—since they’d written everything down, how much he’d drink, and when, and how often he’d see his therapist, and came up with rules about when he was angry.  “Max,” he hissed, through his teeth, and she smiled her widest fake smile and turned away to talk on the phone.

“Yeah, hey, it’s Billy’s sister,” she said.  “Oh, gee, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no,” Billy muttered, trying to block her in around the table, so he could grab the phone, but she paced away, keeping the table between them.

“Your bad idea has a sister, didja know?  Oh?  Huh.  Yeah, shut the hell up now.  How come you’re giving my brother shit when he calls you his prince, huh?”

It sounded like Steve just said “Uhhhh,” and Max growled just like her brother.  

“You got money?” she asked sweetly, and Billy slid across the table and grabbed for the phone.  She grabbed his little finger and bent it, making him spin in place to face the wall, cursing the self-defense he’d taught her.  “Yeah?  Okay, how come you’re snogging my brother in bowling alley bathrooms?  How come he’s secret, huh?  You in the closet?”

“Max, stop,” Billy hissed, but she’d frozen in place, and dropped Billy’s hand to grab the phone with both of hers.  

“...I don’t know!” she sort of whisper-yelled, and he started laughing.

“What,” she whispered, and Billy started to snicker.  “What are you—what?!”

“Give him back!”  Billy whispered.  “He’s a prince, right?!”

“I don’t know where he wants to go!” she hissed into the phone, waving Billy off.  “But you should ask him!”

“Give him back,” Billy begged.  “Max!”

“Fine!” she yelled, slapping the phone into Billy’s hand.  

He could hear Steve laughing.  Billy took a relieved breath, and held it to his ear.  “Glad you’re still there.”

“Your sister loves you so much,” Steve told him, and Billy glared after her.

“Loves making fun of me, maybe—”

“She’s right, no, she’s right, pick somewhere you’d like to go, okay?  I should take you someplace nice.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Billy told him, with a snort.  “I seriously don’t care.”

“No, no, look, I found this restaurant, it’s like.  There are knights.  They fight each other.  On horses.  We could bring her?”

“...what,” Billy mumbled, blinking.

“It’s, um, it’s a medieval...kind of thing.  Would she like it?”

“Death-match dining?  Fuck yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve took a slow breath.  “Okay.”

“...why you so worried, Prince Harrington?” Billy laughed.  “You want my little sister to like a restaurant, Mister Royal?  My Stevie Wonder?” Billy asked, feeling over-warm again, even next to the air conditioner.

“What?!” Steve laughed.  “She’s important to you,” he said, sounding a litle confused, and Billy started laughing, not even because anything was funny, just his stupid feelings leaking out everywhere.  

“Okay,” he whispered.  “Okay, yeah.”

“I, uh,” Steve said, and cleared his throat.  “Um.  So.  Nancy and Barb are having their honeymoon later, next—next year, they wanted to know if, uh.  Uh, um.”

“Want me to suggest words?” Billy laughed.  “I can just say words, tell me when I hit the right one.  ‘Chickadee’ is a word, is that any help?”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve said, but it sounded like he was smiling.  “Darn you.  They wanted to know if we want to...drive and meet them.  Road trip.  Thought I’d be your Uber fare again.”

“...you...what?” Billy mumbled.  “You want me to…”

“We can fix it so you don’t miss too much class,” Steve wheedled.  “They just need to know your schedule.  Max could come.”  There was a pause, and then he talked really fast, all in one breath.  “Lot of Uber fare, there.  I mean, if you’re—if you’re afraid of missing work.  You don’t have to come though, it’s okay—”

“No, I—” Billy swallowed, dry-mouthed, imagining—how long?!  At least a week?!  Of sharing hotel rooms with his prince.  “I—yes.  Yeah.  I wanna go, yeah—”

“Hey,” Steve said, and stopped, and Billy shut his eyes.

“—if you want me to,” he said quickly, wiping his suddenly-sweaty hand on his jeans.  “—if you’re not just—you don’t have to—” he tried to take a silent deep breath.  “Don’t have to see me if you don’t want to—”

“Babe, babe, no,” Steve told him.  “Come on, take a breath, okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, and did, holding his phone with both hands so it wouldn’t shake.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve said, “—you know you’re not a bad idea, right?”

“I’m your bad idea,” Billy told him, laughing, and wiping his nose.  

“No, no, no—no, I didn’t—I never meant—you’re a good idea.  Billy.  You’re such a good idea.”

“Bullshit,” Billy whispered, laughing.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, and the phone went kind of staticky, like he took it away from his ear.  Billy could hear his voice speaking...some language.  He’d have to see whether they offered Greek or Danish classes at the college, he thought, listening.  When Steve’s voice came back, he was still mumbling in definitely-not-English.

“Need to call me back?” Billy asked.

“What?!  No!  I need to—I just didn’t—augh,” Steve groaned.  “Look.  Puttemus.  You are a good idea.  Leaving my wedding to go bowling without calling anyone was a bad idea.  Taking a stranger to my hotel for sex was a bad idea.  I—ag—argh, Billy.  I did—I did that because I was upset, and—”

“Are you...swearing at me?” Billy asked, fascinated.  

Steve’s end of the call went staticy again, and Billy heard him roar—kind of pathetically, like a baby predator at the zoo.  “No!  You aren’t listening!”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Billy told him.  

“I’m so glad I met you,” Steve said hurriedly.  “Not someone, you.  I’m so—thank you for being there.  You made me feel better, I—” he started mumbling again, incomprehensibly, and Billy listened, smiling.  

“Need to learn more languages, don’t I?”

“...how will I mutter about how stupid I am if you can hear me,” Steve huffed.  “I’ll have to make up words.”

“...speak English,” Billy told him.  “I can’t tell you if you’re being a dumbass right now if I don’t understand.”

Steve took a deep breath.  “I—I think about you all the time.  Not just—not just you naked, I—I want to take you on a boat.  I want to watch you out on the water, let you relax.  In—in the sun.  I want—” he stopped, taking a shaky breath.  “—I want you with me.  I want you here, I know that isn’t—possible always, but I want that—”

Billy was doing his breathing exercises, holding it in for a few seconds, letting it out, not because he felt bad, but he was feeling a lot.

“I’m yours,” he laughed.  “I-I mean, as much as you want me.  I need to be here for Max, but…”

Steve groaned.  “I want to see you.  Damn it.”

Billy trotted to his room, and hit video call as he dropped to lie back across his bed.  “Hey,” he whispered as Steve answered, frowning intently at his phone in a flurry of feedback noises.  

The tall white arches around him blurred as he walked quickly down a hall, then sat against the wall under some huge portrait with a gold frame.  He sighed.  “No, this is worse, look at you.”

“I can’t see my own face, my eyeballs don’t work like that,” Billy said, licking his lips—he could try to be sexy, he thought, running his fingers slowly down his face to try and look seductive while checking for mustard—and Steve leaned out of frame, muttering in a language Billy didn’t understand.

“I want to see you, not just...see you,” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Well, I can’t fly to Europe,” Billy told him, “—so this is what you get.”

“I can’t kiss you like this,” Steve huffed, and Billy laughed, punching the pillow up behind his head.

“I could put on a show,” he offered.  “Probably nothing that great—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, then bit his lips, and frowned away.  “Uh.  Do—do you want to?”

“I got a couple hours,” Billy told him, trying not to squirm as his dick woke up in his jeans, and started feeling squished.  “You wanna watch me get off?”

“So much,” Steve groaned.  “Um, just a second, okay, I—I gotta make something up, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Steve—” Billy shouted, but the line was dead, and Billy had the sinking suspicion he always got with Steve Harrington, that Billy’s overeager dick was causing a war someplace.

The phone rang again, and Billy answered with “Don’t bail on your job just because I’m horny, christ—”

Steve laughed, his face lit mostly by the phone.  “Lynn’s covering for me,” he said, as Billy squinted.

“Are...are you in a storage closet, or something?”

“No, I am not in the closet, I told public relations about you, and they’re figuring out what to say,” Steve said cheerfully, as Billy stared at him.

“...what...what did you tell them,” he whispered.

“I told them I had a boyfriend, and they should be prepared for somebody taking pictures, or something,” Steve said.  “Why?  

The idea of being the boyfriend was new to Billy, and he stared back.  “...you tell people about me?” he asked softly, and Steve bit back a weird little spluttered laugh, grinning at him.  

“I tell everyone about you,” he whispered.  “I pick up my phone and everyone laughs and rolls their eyes, because I’m checking how long until I can call you, and if you’ve sent a text, everything stops until I send you hearts back.”

Billy, who’d been feeling a little dismissed when he’d ask a question, get a string of hearts, and no answer for five hours, groaned, smacking his hand over his face.  “Kinda thought you were telling me to fuck off,” he mumbled into his hand.

“Wha—no, I—why?!” Steve yelped, waving his hands, one of which contained his phone, so everything whirled.  

“You didn’t actually answer, I dunno, I just—”

“I can answer faster!  I’ll answer faster,” Steve told him, grimacing.  “I’m sorry—”

“No!”  Billy laughed.  “No, now I know what the hearts mean, I mean—you’re just busy.”

“I’m busy and I l-like you,” Steve told him, a little clumsy over his words, for somebody who probably had a speech coach.  “And I wish I wasn’t busy.  But I’m checking my phone, because if you need me I’m not busy, not for you, I just don’t know whether—”

“Relax, your highness,” Billy told him, grinning.  “It’s cute.”

“I’m never ignoring you, you’re too distracting,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy laughed.

“You still wanna see me strip down?” he asked, cocking his head against the pillow, and Steve laughed.  

“More than almost anything, I just wish I could touch—” 

“Mmmm,” Billy said, taking the zipper of his hoodie between two fingers, and dragging it slowly down his body, his hand flat.  “Maybe you better hurry back and do that, then.”

“God, I wish I could,” Steve whispered, as Billy reached back up to slowly pull one side of his open sweatshirt off his chest, revealing his grotty t-shirt, washed until it was the greyish color all t-shirts eventually ended up.  “...you look so soft,” Steve whispered.  “Is that t-shirt as soft as it looks?”

“...what,” Billy said, having frozen at the word soft, because he’d been drinking less beer, and he’d thought he’d prevented his developing beer gut, but then Steve looked at his stomach—“My...t-shirt?”

“Your t-shirt,” Steve breathed, “—and your hoodie.  You look so soft, I want to squeeze you.”

“Soft,” Billy repeated, unimpressed.  “Soft?!”

“Oh, he thinks he’s hard,” Steve laughed.  “Only your dick, babe.”

“The man who was that disappointed he couldn’t get a buffalo wings plushie does not get to lecture me about being soft—” Billy told him, growling, but Steve laughed.

“I just wanted a souvenir.  I kept a coaster.”

“...you what,” Billy muttered, disbelieving.

“I kept a coaster,” Steve said cheerfully.  “From our first date.  At the bowling alley.”

“You what...took it back home with you?” Billy asked, sneering a little, but he could feel how wide his eyes were.  

“If I can’t drink my Billy, I’ll at least—” Steve began, slyly, but Billy started laughing so hard he stopped.  

“If you’re so thirsty, how come you’re telling me I’m soft instead of seeing the evidence otherwise,” Billy asked, still snickering.  He held the phone out to show the lump of his dick in his jeans.

Steve shut up quite respectfully after that, and Billy got to finally tease him with the slow zipper reveal.  “Put your hands everywhere,” Steve whispered.  “Pretend they’re mine.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Billy told him, waggling his fingers.  “Where d’you want to touch me...your highness?”

“...everywhere,” Steve said again, his brain taking a second to catch up, and then, “Oh, ah, touch—push your jeans down, I can’t see.”

Billy snorted softly, thinking maybe he needed to try and get...something sexier, to have on already, when this kind of thing happened.  He couldn’t always be wearing stained, stretched-out cotton.  He sat the phone aside—Steve yelped—and shimmied out of his old saggy jeans, and then grimaced down at the holes along the elastic waistband of his briefs, and yanked those off too.  The threadbare t-shirt went next, he pulled it off over his head, and then ran his fingers through his hair, wishing cologne worked through the phone, or that he’d shaved.  “Prince tames wild jungle beast,” he muttered, glaring into the mirror over his dresser in the dim light.  “—suspected to be time traveling caveman.”

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, laughing, and Billy groaned, scooping it up, and dropping back to lie on the bed.  

“Should I get like a...g-string, or something,” Billy blurted out, angling the phone so Steve could see his hard dick, which was looking stellar, he thought, surrounded by the red marks from his jeans, on a body that hadn’t gone tanning in recorded history.  

Steve bit back a laugh.  “A  what?” he asked.

“You know, those stripper wedgies,” Billy said, frowning.  “Instead of my stretched-out gray cotton undies…”

“Are they comfortable?” Steve kind of wheezed, and Billy rolled his eyes.  

“I feel like I need to up my game, what with all your...everything,” he said, waving at his prince’s gleaming medals.  “Look, my dick’s sprung a leak,” he growled, pointing at it smearing pre-come over his belly, and feeling his face flush as Steve made a weird swallowed moaning noise.  

“I’m honored,” Steve said, in a strangled voice, and Billy couldn’t help it, he started cackling.  “Billy,” Steve said, softly, and Billy’s dick bounced.  Billy smacked his hand down over it, blushing hotter.  “...you don’t need a G-strip,” Steve said, and Billy laughed harder.  “Billy,” Steve whispered again, and Billy’s cock jerked again, and Billy curled onto his side he was laughing so hard.  “Billy,” Steve groaned, but he was laughing too.  “I love your clothes,” he said, and Billy tried to shut up and listen, shaking with snickers, and wiping his eyes.  “You feel good.  My clothes are scratchy—”

“Your clothes are fucking silk,” Billy told him, grinning.  “Don’t try and tell me you’re always in that stupid uniform, highness.”

“Every time I see you in your soft shirts I want to hold you,” Steve breathed, and Billy swallowed back a soft grunt at the thought of the crown prince of anywhere wanting to put hands on him.  “I want to slide my hands up underneath.”

“Now you’re talking,” Billy said, grinning, rubbing his thumb over the wetness at the tip of his dick.  

“I can’t touch you from here,” Steve said, softly, and Billy sighed, then, reluctantly, took his hand off his cock, and scraped his fingernails down his chest, and up his abs.  Steve sounded like he choked.  

His big brown eyes looked deeper in the shadowy light of the storage closet, and Billy watched him stare, licking his lips.  Billy rolled back onto his back, smoothing the flat of his hand up his thigh, and over his belly to grip himself on the ribs in a one-armed hug, and Steve made a soft noise in his throat.  “Cristos,” he muttered.  

“You’re so easy,” Billy laughed.  

“Only for you, malaka,” Steve laughed, and he sounded so fond Billy flushed hot, staring at his face, and repeating the word in his head, wondering what he’d just been called.  “...with only the light from your mobile, it looks like candlelight.”

Billy laughed, feeling a little gooey, like one of those chocolate cakes that were melted inside.  He tried not to squirm, panting as Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “Yeah, sure, blue candlelight—”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Steve said softly.  “Lean over you, slide my hand down to thumb over your cock.”

“Jesus,” Billy panted, gripping himself as instructed, his dick hard as a rock in his hands.  

“If I was actually there I’d put my mouth over it,” Steve huffed, and Billy groaned, licking his hand so he could jack himself.  His feet started to cramp, he was clenching them so hard, trying not to just jizz all over himself at the sound of his prince’s voice, and he shifted, trying to take deep breaths.  “Suck you down,” Steve whispered.

Billy came over his fingers, panting, and Steve sighed.  

“...I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.  “Sorry I had to leave, I mean, I’d...I’d just met you, and—thanks for waiting for me, Billy.”

“...there’s not really a long line of people beating down my door,” Billy mumbled, curling up, and pulling the blanket over himself as the breeze from the fan over his sweat made him shiver.

“Thank you for waiting,” Steve said again, softly.  “I want to kiss you as soon as I can.”

 Two months later, Billy was paying bills, while Max hovered around saying things like “I don’t really have to go on school trips, they can’t make me,” and “These sneakers are fine.”  When he was done, there was just enough money to pay rent, the water bill, and send Max on the trip with some food money, and Billy folded forward on the table, dropping his face with a thud among the envelopes.  His heart was pounding.  “...maybe some new shoes next time,” he mumbled, and Max kicked his chair.  

“These are fine,” she said stoutly, and he eyed the frayed, greying converses where they sat next to the duct tape.  She’d started just wrapping the whole shoe every couple of weeks, and they smelled horrible in the summer heat.  “It’s so hot the tape kinda sticks to the sidewalks,” she said, like that wasn’t depressing, and then, “—and I know they’ve got no traction now, so I’m more careful on the stairs,” which was worse.

“...yeah,” he sighed.  

“...this prince of yours,” she said, and he smiled automatically.

“Yeah?”

“...you trust him, right?”

Billy opened his eyes, frowning at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips.  “...yeah, I trust him,” he said, feeling his stomach twist a little—he trusted Steve to act like Steve, but Billy couldn’t help wondering at what point his life would wear Steve to the end of his patience.  “What d’you mean, Max?”

She stared back for a long moment, then bit her lips.  “...nothing.”

“Why are you asking?” Billy asked, trying to think of what she could have seen, passing through while he and Steve played League of Legends.  

“Nothing, moron, shut up, he’s so into you, stop freaking out.”

“O-okay,” he said, burying his face in his arms to hide his grin.  

“God, stop,” she sighed, but she was gentle as she punched his shoulder on the way by. 

My other Harringrove stuff

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 13th, 1999

Emile sat in his bedroom, staring at the lighter in his trembling hands. All he needed to do was flick it on, and decide where on his arm he’d leave the first mark. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was wrong. But everything else was going wrong, why couldn’t he show that through his own pain?

People said that it was selfish to commit suicide. Emile disagreed. His friends who had killed themselves, they weren’t selfish, they were desperate. They couldn’t see any way out so they made their own way. And it hurt Emile more than words could ever say. But maybe...maybe the lighter could say it for him. He flicked the flame on, and shakily put his arm over the fire, closer...closer...

Not close enough. In an instant, the lighter was snatched from his hands and he jumped as he realized his mom was there, staring at him. “Emile, what do you think you’re doing?!” she asked. “Don’t you know you can get seriously hurt doing that?”

He looked up in shock. He spoke without thinking. “That was kind of the idea.”

His mother shook her head. “Downstairs,” she said. “Now. We’re finding you a therapist.”

  August 8th, 2001

Emile fell back into the car with a sigh. It was done. He had just donated to the sperm bank, and he never had to think about how embarrassed he felt making his donation ever again.

Well, he’d never have to think about it after Remy’s obligatory teasing. There was always the obligatory teasing to consider, at least when it came to things near and dear to Emile’s heart. Usually it wasn’t done with malice, and if Remy crossed a line nowadays he’d apologize. Emile still wondered, though, why exactly Remy always teased Emile about the things Emile really cared about.

He drove to Starbucks, where Remy was working for another hour or so. He had some time, and a little extra change in his pocket, so he figured he may as well go for a coffee. When he walked in, though, Remy must have been in the back, because there was a woman Emile didn’t recognize at the register. She flashed him a smile as he walked up, but Emile felt slightly unnerved by it for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Hi there! How may I help you?” she asked.

“Hi. Uh...tall Earl Grey tea would be lovely, thanks,” Emile said.

“Sure thing, cutie!” the woman said. “Can I get a name for the order?”

“Emile.”

“Oh! Are you Remy’s friend?” the woman asked. “He talks about an Emile he shares an apartment with all the time.”

“That’s me,” Emile said with a smile. “I have some free time so I figured I’d relax here before I pick him up, you know?”

The woman nodded. “Yeah, he said the two of you only have your car to get around. Say, you free Friday night?”

A beat. That was a sudden change in conversation. “Uh...sorry, I’ve got plans,” Emile managed. “My boyfriend and I are hanging out.”

The woman tsked. “Shame, you’re too cute to be gay,” she said. Emile wisely didn’t correct her about being bisexual. “I’ll get you your order, cutie.”

Emile nodded and took up a table by the window, watching the people outside walk by. So many people with different lives, different stories. He was just one college kid in an entire world full of people with unique perspectives on this planet. He was just a background character in most people’s stories, and it hurt his head to think about sometimes. That he might have unwittingly appeared in someone else’s dream and he would never know because that person could have just passed him on the street one day and never saw him again.

There was a call of “Order for Emile!” from the counter and Emile smiled, walking over to Remy to grab his order. He may have been a side character in most people’s stories, but he was glad he was a main character in Remy’s.

“Still get off in an hour?” Emile asked Remy.

“Yep,” Remy confirmed. “Planning on hanging out here until then?”

“Pretty much,” Emile agreed. “You know where to find me when your shift’s over.”

Remy nodded and Emile went back to his seat, sipping his tea. He didn’t have much to do for an hour, so he just sat and continued his people watching until, with a world-weary sigh, Remy collapsed in the chair opposite him. “Shift’s over,” Remy breathed. “And Jane was very disappointed about your mystery boyfriend.”

Emile laughed. “Ouch, yeah. I hate when people try and hit on me, especially when I can’t say you’re my boyfriend without risking you getting fired.”

Remy sighed and nodded. “Jane’s a bit much at all times. She’ll flirt with just about any guy over the age of eighteen. She’ll flirt with me, sometimes, even though I’ve made it clear to her that I won’t date a coworker. She doesn’t have to know it’s because I’m already taken.”

Emile laughed and finished his tea. “I don’t suppose she’s the most accepting person on the planet.”

“Definitely not,” Remy agreed.

They both stood and walked out of the shop, Emile yawning. “Man, I’m tired, and I didn’t even have a shift today.”

“Yeah, but you did have a date with the sperm bank,” Remy teased, nudging Emile’s shoulder with his own. “How did that go?”

“Without a hitch, believe it or not,” Emile said. “No people accidentally walking in or knocking on my door, no awkward conversations with any of the women in the waiting room, nothing. It was an in-and-out thing.”

“That’s good,” Remy said. “Of course, this is you we’re talking about. I doubt anything in your life could go badly.”

Emile coughed out an awkward laugh. How was he supposed to respond to that? “I’ve had things go wrong on me before, believe it or not,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, but you’ve got it pretty easy,” Remy said.

They got in Emile’s car and Emile chewed on his words. “I wouldn’t say I have it easy, per se,” he said. In his mind’s eye, he was thinking about his high school years. All the tears, the pain, the anger, the therapy appointments and the shock on his parents’ face when he...no. That was enough of that. He didn’t have to go down that road. Just focus on driving. “My life’s gotten better over the past few years, but it wasn’t easy to get this far.”

“Emile, no offence, but I sincerely doubt that you could ever have a serious problem. Your friends, maybe. I know you said you lost a couple of them, and almost lost a few more, but...if that’s the worst that happened, then I would argue it wasn’t that bad. It affected you personally, but it didn’t traumatize you,” Remy said.

“You don’t know that for certain,” Emile muttered under his breath.

“What?” Remy asked.

Emile sighed. “Nothing,” he said. “Just saying that you’re jumping to conclusions a bit early.”

“Well, come on, you’re still here without a scratch on you, I’d hardly say that it was that bad if you’re here without a scratch on you,” Remy said.

“Not all scratches and scars are easily viewable,” Emile said. “My life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, Rem. Never has been, never will be, and it certainly isn’t right now.”

“How bad can it be, though, really?” Remy asked.

Emile forced himself to relax as he parked the car in their parking lot and walked inside. “It can be pretty bad, Rem. My friends...my friends had problems. Problems that I had to help with. And it hurt me to help them, sometimes, and it hurts to look back on them now.”

Remy scoffed, and Emile felt himself twitch. He had gotten used to Remy being a little softer around most subjects, and had forgotten how stubborn he could be when it came to anything surrounding trauma. “Rem, I’m serious. It hurt. It was bad.”

“How can anything in your life be bad?!” Remy asked incredulously. “You’re practically perfect in every sense of the word! You never even look sad! How could anything that happened to you leave such bad scars that you can’t even stand to look at them now? Huh? What was so unspeakably bad that you can’t bear to think about it? Friends come and go, Emile, that’s just a fact of life! People get hurt sometimes, and it’s not the end of the world, it’s not even bad most of the time! It’s the emotional equivalent of a scraped knee!”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through!” Emile exclaimed, voice cracking. “You don’t get to decide what was and wasn’t bad for me!”

“Oh, right, because you could ever have it bad! Ever!” Remy snapped. “Your life is so miserable because you had some people you cared about and they’re not around anymore! It happens! My family tried to kill me, Emile! I don’t think you can top that!”

“I’m not trying to top it!” Emile exclaimed. “But I’ve had friends die on me, friends try to kill themselves and cut off all contact with me! I’ve had to hear my grandfather go on about how he hates people like me, without him ever knowing that it’s me he’s talking about! I’ve been dismissed, I’ve been belittled, I’ve been picked on for being smart and picked on for being dumb! I never felt like I fit in anywhere except with a select few friends, and even then I was the odd one out in most cases! And maybe my parents didn’t try to fucking kill me, but the rest of the world certainly did!

“You think I magically made it through my high school years unscathed, with friends killing themselves and self-harming and unloading on me because I was the only one they trusted? Do you know how many times I stared at razors, and lighters, wondering what it would feel like if I could just feel pain for a brief second, and let it show? I wanted that pain so bad, Remy, I wanted the scars because then people would know I wasn’t okay, and things weren’t perfect the way you claim they were! I was lucky; the first time I was going to try my mother found me and stopped me! And my parents helped me get therapy because I’m not fucking perfect, and I can’t handle everything on my own! And at least I have the stones to admit it! I don’t keep everything to myself until I physically can’t anymore and break down into a useless heap!”

Remy turned red. “So, what, by not admitting to everyone that I feel bad sometimes I’m automatically useless? I’m automatically unhealthy and in need of help because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Emile snapped.

“Well that’s what I’m hearing!” Remy exclaimed. “You can’t possibly tell me anything that would be worse than what I’ve been through!”

“I’m not playing the misery Olympics, I just wanted acknowledgement that sometimes life sucks!” Emile exclaimed. “I wanted to lean on you for a minute, because I thought that we understood we’d both do that for each other!”

“Whatever!” Remy crossed his arms and turned away. “You’re making this out to be way worse a situation than it is, Emile! You’re exaggerating! This isn’t a situation any competent adult would need help with!”

Emile reeled back like he had been slapped. He may as well have been, with what Remy just said. “You genuinely think...you actually think that I’m incompetent?” Emile asked softly. “You think that I can’t handle myself? That I’m just an idiot who’s going to get hurt the second you leave me alone?”

“You don’t?” Remy asked.

Emile’s hands balled into fists. “Fuck you, Remy.” Emile’s voice was filled with pent-up fury, but he couldn’t reign it in even if he wanted to. “If you think I’m that stupid, why even stay with me? Am I just your emotional punching bag? The person you go to when you can’t vent to anyone else? I’m just supposed to stand here and take the hit without expecting anything in return?!” Emile’s breath was ragged, and he laughed, a choked sound that resembled someone being strangled. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it? Here I thought you actually cared about me, when in fact you were just using me. Great. Thanks for clearing that up.” Emile smacked his fists against his skull. “What I wouldn’t do for a little pain right now.” Smack. “After all, maybe then you’d understand I’m hurting, right?!” Smack. Smack. “Maybe then you’d understand that you don’t need to be traumatized to struggle with your mental health!” Smack. Smack. Smack.

Remy was staring at him, a silent, startled gaze looking Emile over.

“Forget it,” Emile said, a few tears finally starting to fall.

“Emile...” Remy reached a hand out, but Emile backed away.

“Just forget it,” Emile said. “I’ll help with my half of the rent, but I won’t bother you anymore. We don’t have to be boyfriends, since I’m clearly just a pity case.”

And before either of them could say anything more, Emile hid in his room for the rest of the day.

[junejalow]

“You have a daughter!?” Kali/Smoke

Bringing this over from my Archiveofourown prompt requests! Hope you enjoy! This prompt/dabble is for thelordchanka with the prompt "You have a daughter?"

The base was buzzing with work, recruit's heading out for last minute flights since they weren't needed for the upcoming cross training session and missions Harry had lined up. Most of them would require select operators, one's who wouldn't be able to leave for the holidays. Upon a collective request among the select few, three hours of negotiating (mainly whining and complaining) Harry finally relented on his restriction of having civilians on base. Although he was still reluctant about the entire choice all together, he had very strict rules. 1) No pranks. 2) Armory stays locked. 3) Kids/teenagers must stay with parent(s) at all time. 4) Common room and training/simulation room may be used as forms of entertainment. The last rule strictly applied as long as the kids remember that everything they see must stay a secret, he could trust the operators to reinforce this. After all, Rainbow didn't technically exist. A ghost in the shadow of every military unit on earth. They handled situations and missions no one will ever know about and the few that were public? Covered as special ops or joint missions. Everyone in Rainbow were all highly trained soldiers hand picked from even the best operators. They never disappointed Harry while on the job, but more humane moments like now? Well, it was just a simple reminder that they were still human behind their harden military mind sets. 

Kali was still trying to process the information she just heard from the table behind her, Smoke had a daughter? The crazed chemist actually had family, much less a child. How in the world did someone like him maintain a lasting relationship enough to reproduce. Ignoring Ace's conversation with Wamai, she focused back on the SAS group behind them. 

"She didn't like the idea of taking Christmas break but I'm pretty sur she'll love being here, I'm always telling her about everyone here. Despite her studies, Charlie does love hearing them. Surprise right?" Smoke mused as he fiddled with a picture he kept in his wallet, staring at it fondly. He had rarely spoke to anyone outside the SAS about his adoptive daughter, she was in her last year of high school and scoring straight A's and would graduate with honors. Charlie was the embodiment of everything Smoke couldn't be when he was growing up and so much more. He loved seeing her view of the world and everything she was learning, she had taught him a lot about life that he would never have thought of looking at in a thousand years. She was his connection to being human, a safe haven away from his crazy job. 

 "You're acting like we haven't mess the lass before." Sledge replied after swallowing a spoon full of mash potato's. They had met her once before when Smoke had to go check on his apartment a few miles away following a series of break in's. She acted nothing like the chemist aside from sharing his twisted sense of humor. Charlie basically kept him out of trouble when he had leave time from work. 

"Yeah but she hasn't met the rest of this lot, wonder what she'll think." 

"You worry too much." Mute mumbled beside him, a neutral frown on his face over the fact that Thatcher had taken his phone minutes earlier so the young operator would eat instead of burying his face in the device. More than once he had complained later in the day of being hungry because he missed dinner or breakfast for that same reason. Thatcher of course scolded him every time but taking his phone was a last ditch effort to get the man to eat properly. He didn't need the defender light headed during training from lack of food. 

"I'm not worrying too much! I just don't trust most of these barmy bastards not to try something stupid when everyone shows up. Bandit hundred percent I don't trust, he'll twist her beautiful little mind into something terrible."

"Yet you're just as bad, ever think about that or has Doc's scolding taught you nothing?" Thatcher piped in from his spot across the table. 

"All he's bloody taught me is how much I can get away with before I have to hide." Smoke chuckled, putting the picture of his daughter back in his wallet. 

Kali made a mental note to ask him later about the entire conversation, she was on good enough grounds with the defender that they could have a decent and friendly conversation when they crossed paths. Soon enough the cafeteria slowly became devoid of noise. Most of the operator's were calling home to invite whoever could make it or simply wishing their family and friends happy holidays. Kali on the other hand decided to hit the training room for awhile, not surprised to see a few operators spread out doing their own training. She listened in on different conversations as she bedded down to work on her sniper aim. Nothing caught her interest though, most of the banter was work related or Christmas gift ideas. She had learned from Mira that most of the operators exchanged gifts as a way of team building, an idea Harry had implemented soon after his employment as the new director. 

She had to give the man some credit, he surely knew how to bring a team together. Most of his tactic's were questionable at best but even she could the good intent behind each choice, he was even able to pull Doc and Lion to even ground and now the two seemed like friends all over again despite the random bickering they still did with Montague or Castle playing peace keeper as usual. Some small part of her felt bad for them, they were all adults but some parts of them still shined like children fighting over a toy. It was a vast difference from the attention to detail they all showed in the field though, she had heard Jackal mention it was like flipping switches off and on in their minds. Essentially they were all two sides of the same coin, one side a passive civilian living day to day while the other side was a ruthless soldier who wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger on someone wishing to cause harm. 

Personally she never really understood where she placed in that category but as long as the job was done who cared? She has taken out countless dangerious men and women alike. She seriously wouldn't have her life any other way. She sighed after spending the rubber bullets she acquired from the training gun rack and headed back to the main building, she noticed Smoke hanging around the common room and remembered the conversations from earlier, deciding now was a good time as any.

"Porter, mind a chat?" She asked as she approached the man relaxing against the bar across, tending to a half drank beer, the room from the tv that was currently playing some nature documentary. Dark chocolate brown eyes met her hazel eyes, a question playing across them before he motioned to the seat next to him. 

"I can fancy a talk, what's on your mind Kali?"

"You have a daughter?"

Smoke nearly choked on his beer at the straight forward question, he shouldn't expect less from her but at the same time he didn't think anyone had been listening in. Each table/group always stuck to their own conversations and rarely asked or interrupted anyone on theirs. 

"I didn't think you were bloody listening in! I could barely hear my own thoughts over Ace's loud mouth." A small smile tugged at her lips, Ace could very well be loud and self centered at times but he was a man that truly cared about other's safety above his own, rushing headlong into the worst of a situation just to make sure no one needed having. A natural thrill and need to protect and serve. 

She still owed him greatly for saving her that one time. "I happened to catch a small snippet. So I grew carious. Never heard you talk so fondly over something other than those canisters of yours." 

Smoke rubbed at the scar at the base of his hair line, no one at base had ever dared to ask him about it. Hell they all had their fair share of scar's, physically, mentally and emotionally. He simply waved the question off all the time and gave the same short handed reply. It was work related. Of course a lot of the operators around base never bought into it but out of respect for privacy no one ever pushed the subject. 

"She's not... blood. I adopted her years ago before I got invited to Rainbow. Never saw myself being with anyone but I've always wanted a kid, someone that could show me the world in a different view right? Charlie's done just that. She's excelling in school, straight A's and honor's. Nothing like her old man." He chuckled softly before taking a swing of his beer, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Charlie she... see's everything so bloody different than I do. I've forgotten what a civilian's view on life is, I don't see everything the same as when I was a kid. I was too busy exploring, a free spirit I was. That kid on the other hand, smart head on her shoulders. Been teaching me a lot over the last few years I didn't even know were things. Like all these new math and science categories she's studying, blew my mind at first. Seems like they expect them to know college level stuff before they even graduate. But what about you Kali? Got any family? Husband? Wife? Siblings? Kids?"

Kali slowly took in every ounce of information the man offered, she never really considered Smoke an open guy but at the same time there were rare moments each person just needed an outlet. She figured this was one of those moments. He was going to expose someone he held close to his dangerious line of work, granted she wasn't going to be in harms way by any means and neither would the other kids. A bigger smile graced her features, her hazel eyes settling on the tv across the room. 

"No, nothing of the sort. I'm married to my work as most people say. I don't have time for any relationships, to me it's a burden I don't need." 

Smoke scoffed and sat up a bit straighter in his seat, "You're missing out then Shah, Charlie's the best thing that ever happened to me." He told her with a warm grin, "Give it some thought, might change your mind after you meet her." 

The next few days flowed by quick, families arriving as they could. Most of them were settled in spare rooms while most operators didn't mind sharing dorms with their families. Currently the cafeteria was buzzing with chatter and stories being tossed around while a few decorated the base for Christmas, of course the chaos worsened over a snide comment Bandit made to Smoke. Before the man could retort it, Charlie already had him by the ear and was basically dragging the full grown man away from the fight all the while scolding him. 

"You promised me you wouldn't fight with uncle Dom while I was here and you almost did it anyway! I seriously can't leave you alone for one second!" Charlie argued. 

"I'm sorry! I promise for real this time! I won't bloody do it again I swear!" Porter tried to protest.

"Fat chance dad!" 

Kali chuckled quietly to herself because Wamai who had his hands clasped behind his back, "Rethinking what Porter said about family?"

"As far as I'm concerned Wamai? this is my family."  

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Hey there, your analyses are amazing!!!! I'm still trying to figure out my classpect, so if you're taking requests, I was wondering if you could do Rogue of Breath?

Hello there!

I do take requests, though only with a small twist; mostly in that I tend to give a semi-brief (because, let's be honest, I have never been nor ever will be brief with these summaries dnjnsj) summary of the requested Classpect. Hopefully this will be sufficient enough until the much fuller Rogue of Breath analysis falls onto my work desk! /gen

Now, the Rogue of Breath is one that, at first, never really seemed all that interesting - on a personal note. But that was far before I had truly started to look more into the behavior of Rogues, as well as Breath-bound individuals. In a way, this presumption of the Rogue of Breath "not being interesting" is something that comes quite close in how they invite theft of their Aspect.

Breath-bound are those who simultaneously draw everyone towards them - often becoming the center of the story and whatever group they find themself in - while also seeming like some rather plain people. The Rogue of Breath is most certainly no exception to this - well, at least not fully. For, you see, the Rogue of Breath is no different from any other Rogue in that, although they brag about how much of their Aspect they have, the reality is that this is one large lie - or rather a facade, a show, an act.

The Rogue of Breath is one who would most likely talk highly about themself and all of the leadership roles they've been given, perhaps even how capable of a leader they are. Or maybe they would talk about how much influence they have, how many followers they hold, and just all of the freedom that is within their possession. They would show themself to be the most independent, free-spirited individual ever; not allowing any problem to bother or faze them for even a moment. A person so cool, they could walk through Hell itself without even breaking a sweat.

In reality, the Rogue of Breath lives a life that is almost a complete 180 of all that they speak of. They aren't someone who has a lot of leadership skills - or even knowledge. They aren't an influence on others, they don't particularly have a lot of followers to their name, and their freedom is often fleeting and almost always an uphill fight for them to achieve. The Rogue of Breath puts on this facade, though, because they've learned that their facade is who people like. It's what draws people in; it's what gets them the numbers they so deeply desire, and it gets them friends they otherwise doubt they would ever have.

Many Breath-bound tend to not stand out in a crowd, but the Rogue of Breath is quite different. It may even be argued that in the way they present themself, they are someone who invites others to notice them. Flashy clothes, wacky accessories, perhaps even wildly colored and dyed hair - these are often trademark traits of a Rogue of Breath. Whether they do this on purpose or not - or rather with the intent of drawing attention to themselves or not - is often on a case-by-case basis.

Now, one of the biggest struggles any Rogue faces in the beginning of their journey is that they allow/invite theft of their Aspect. Already they greatly lack their Aspect, but the Rogue is one who often fumbles to ever work up the courage it takes in order to truly steal their Aspect. For the Rogue of Breath, this comes in the form of them allowing/inviting theft of their leadership role, their ability to be influential, their very own freedom, or, in some cases, their own literal breath.

The reason why the Rogue allows for this to happen is because of two reasons.

The first one, as mentioned before, is because they lack the confidence and courage it takes to steal their Aspect for any reason. It is something they do not fully understand, and so it is something that intimidates them - perhaps even frightens them. The unknown responsibilities attached to it is sometimes enough to keep them away from it.

The second reason is that the Rogue - no matter their Aspect - often has far too big of a bleeding heart. Tying in with their lack of confidence and courage, they are someone who often has a hard time of maintaining their own boundaries with others. Rogues value the relationships around them just as much as they value the feelings of the people in these relationships. A Rogue is someone who helps others, not break hearts, destroy promises, or harm those they care for. Because of this, the Rogue not only allows/invites for their Aspect to be stolen, but it is often done from the very people in their group.

Perhaps the Rogue of Breath is one who has or had been depended on in the past by those around them, but someone came in and became the leader because the Rogue got cold feet. Maybe their freedom has or had been stolen away from them because of a clingy partner, and the Rogue simply never had the courage or heart to break things off with them. Maybe they got stuck with a really crappy job and have never exactly thought of an after-plan if they were to ever quit said job. For the fun of it, the Rogue of Breath could be someone who tends to fall in love for many people quite easily - having their emotional Breath taken away by someone they adore so very deeply. There are many ways in which a Rogue of Breath can have their Aspect stolen from, even for just one individual. Breath is a flexible Aspect that can take many forms - much like the people it is attached to.

Now, before I get even more carried away here, I'll say this about the journey of the Rogue and them achieving their powers: new experiences terrify many people - but it is the uncertainty that often scares the Rogue of Breath the most. Change is scary, but if the Rogue ever wishes to truly be helpful to their friends and allies, they are someone who must not be afraid of taking that leap of faith. They must feel the Breath moving around them, but also inside of them, if they are to ever truly take flight and take hold of their Aspect. Every bird is scared during their first flight, but they cannot stay in their nest forever.

Ultimately, the Rogue of Breath is one who is meant to steal their Aspect, yes. However, because of their kind-hearted way, they are someone who would steal Breath and apply it to where it is seemingly lacking. If the Rogue believes that someone holds too much authority over the group, then they will do whatever they can to help relocate some of that Breath to those who may be lacking in it. The same can go for influence, freedom, flexibility, carefree, and the literal oxygen in which Breath manifests itself! If the Rogue thinks or believes their Aspect is imbalanced in the group, then they will try to restore that balance.

Of course, if the Rogue is inclined to maintain their boundaries and keep some of their Aspect for themself, then they eventually accumulate enough of it to the point of being able to steal through it. A Rogue of Breath is one who could be quite the sneaky thief - though anything they steal would most certainly be for the sake of someone in need. They steal through the breeze around them, or the smart mouth and trust they've acquired through leadership.

No matter what, though, is that the Rogue of Breath is a person who has a lot going on. What really matters to them is gaining and maintaining bonds with others, but also learning when one is just far too draining for them to maintain. They have to realize their own self worth if they ever want to really shine, and that can often be daunting for Rogues. What if the real them isn't one people like? What if they real them is someone who only causes misery and suffering, rather than fun and joyful times?

The Rogue of Breath is a tentative leader, but it is because of this tentative attitude that allows for them to be so respected in their group. As a leader, they know when enough is enough, and when a problem is better suited for another person - they don't beat around the bush, and it's an attribute many people appreciate about them. Everyone has a chance to play the group captain when the Rogue of Breath is around, but don't exactly think the Rogue will always allow for their Breath to be stolen. They may not be the strongest player, but they are one of the far more kinder leaders out of the group. And, for what it is worth, the real them is someone people much prefer to be around.

WHEW, that definitely went on longer than I expected jnsjns once again, I do hope this will be enough to help you get a clearer idea of your own Classpect - at least until the full Rogue of Breath analysis is selected to be written! And thank you for the kind words, as well! It always means a lot uvu /gen

[that-house]

Hey so I hit 100 followers today!

Buckle up, this is gonna be a LOOOONG post.

I quite honestly expected it (while my ego is a little smaller than my jokes make it out to be it is definitely present), I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.

It’s not an insane milestone, plenty of people have 100 followers. A hefty portion of my followers are bigger than me. But it’s still important to me. Knowing that there’s 100 people out there who enjoy my shit makes me happy.

First and foremost the credit quite honestly has to go to ahegao George Washington. No, I’m not joking. Until I posted on r/tumblr about my desire to draw that, I had 0 followers. I jumped to like 10 overnight, which was awesome. And then those new followers helped me spread my posts and get more attention.

Secondly I’d like to shoutout @imaverysadgirl and @themeaninglessjumble. You two were my first real tumblr frens. You were the first of my followers to really interact with me. Ember, I’m super happy you’re alive to see me hit 100 followers. Jumble (I don’t know your name unless I forgot it), your art and creations are great and you deserve way more attention.

To all the rest of you, you guys are great, too. Every new follower makes me happy. I’d say I don’t deserve you all, but my colossal ego says I do. Regardless, being nemesi and getting called out for being horny on main and sending and receiving asks has made this last month or so great.

Finally, for all the shit it gets, and for all the shit it pulls, [tumblr] really is pretty dope. I got to meet you all, and it’s actively making me a better person by exposing me to groups of people I’d rarely interact with in real life.

Why does it feel like I’m saying goodbye? I’m not, don’t worry. I plan to stay, and neither death nor pain shall drive me from this hellsite. I’m just saying thanks.

Now with the thanks out of the way, I want to talk about myself a little. Just the stuff that I’ve always wanted to say and never quite gathered my thoughts and found the time to talk about.

You’re gonna get to know me so well! This is like a mini autobiography!

First off, my mental health. This is something I don’t talk about much on this blog, mostly because it doesn’t need much talking about. I’m doing pretty well, to be honest. I have a smattering of anxiety and I’m maybe a little too introverted for my own good, but I’m not suffering from depression and the only time I ever even remotely considered suicide was when I just really really didn’t want to go to French class. COVID has been great for me, since I don’t have to see people. I suppose I’m not a great person to talk to if you’re struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, seeing as I can’t personally relate, but I’m still always here for you guys if you need me. Just because I haven’t lived through your experiences doesn’t mean I can’t try to help.

Next up I want to talk about my sexuality. This one’s a bit of a mystery. For the past 16 years of my life I’ve considered myself 100% straight. But lately (let’s be honest, following the release of Spirit Blossom Thresh) I’ve been wondering if I might be bi. How many times can I joke about wanting to smash sexy boys before it’s not really a joke anymore? And if I am, a lot of things would suddenly make a lot of sense. But every time I think I have it figured out it suddenly feels like I have no clue what’s going on. Regardless, my sexuality has honestly never been a massive part of my identity (though I’m definitely not asexual, my friends can attest I’m far too horny for that). I have no clue if I’m bi and for now it’s kind of a fun little adventure!

I guess I’ll talk about school and stuff now. Believe it or not, I’m kinda smart. I’m taking a shitton of AP courses this year. But I simultaneously feel like it’s too much and not enough. I’m smart, but I’m not a great student. Compared to my dad, who graduated college with a 3.98 GPA (and his only B being in History of Canada as an American) and now has a super well-paying government STEM job that he loves, I feel like even if I work my ass off I’ll never quite measure up. And my parents have had super high expectations of me, and it’s only recently that they’ve started to accept that I might get some B’s here and there. I’m worried about all the homework this year. I’m a year ahead in Math but I don’t feel good enough at math to be taking AP calculus junior year. I’m worried I’m going to get like a C. But for the most part school is alright, too. That’s sort of the trend in my life. Everything’s alright.

Time to talk about my love life! I have no love life! I’ve been single for 17 years and probably stand no chance of changing that until at least college! Haha I’m so alone! But I can live with it. Growing up an only child with a few friends means that I’m pretty good at functioning without a ton of social interaction, and, while I’d like a partner someday, I’m not desperate. I can wait until I find someone. Pretty much my goal is not to die alone.

Onto sports maybe? I played soccer for most of my life, and was always the worst player on the select team. I was too good for the normal team and not good enough for the select team (kinda like math). Soccer was really toxic, especially when you’re the worst player on a team of high school jock drug addict boys. So I quit, and started playing frisbee! It’s a lot better. The people are nicer! But my first season never happened because of COVID and now I’m in my Junior year and haven’t played much frisbee! So I kinda suck! But I’m physically fit and that’s good enough for me! On my own time I bike and run to stay in shape.

Are you still with me? Now I’m gonna talk about my hobbies and things!

I’ve been playing video games for a long time. I kinda suck at them to be totally honest. I probably have below-average reaction time, and my parents only let me play 15 minutes a day for most of my childhood, so I have a lot less practice than most of my friends. I’m pretty slick with Swain in LoL tho.

This next part is borderline shameless self-promotion, but since the Kickstarter isn’t live yet I guess it doesn’t count. I’m making a tabletop role playing game! I’ve been working on it for the past few years. My goal is to launch the Kickstarter prior to my college applications, because that’ll look sexy as fuck to potential colleges. It’s a post-apocalyptic sci-fi game where you play as supersoldiers trying to reconquer the wastelands of Earth for humanity. I’ll do a big post on it when I launch the Kickstarter, and I guess that’ll also be a full name reveal (kinda spooky since my full name is ENTIRELY unique and one-of-a-kind. More ego boost lmao).

And finally I want to talk about my art and writing. I’ll start with my drawing, and finish off with my writing, since that’s what I’d most like to be known for on here (but that’ll never happen because my caveman brain shitposts are too funny).

So I’ve been doodling for a long time. I briefly got formal art training but sacrificing my Saturday mornings to draw what someone else wanted me to make so that I could make better stuff in the future didn’t appeal to my 8-year-old brain. I draw in the margins of worksheets. I draw on random sheets of paper. Recently my parents bought me a drawing tablet, and I’ve been trying to improve at digital art. I’d say I’m getting better, but I don’t practice nearly enough. All in all my art serves its purpose. It makes people laugh and can sometimes creep people out. It’ll never go in a museum, and I’ll never make money off of it but whatever.

And finally, my writing.

How can I talk about writing without talking about reading? I’ve likely read more books than both my parents combined, and if not, it’s close (and my mom is a prolific reader too). I have three bookshelves in my room and books on every surface. You can’t follow me for long without seeing a post ranting about my latest read. I love to read and I read incredibly fast. Reading spurred my love of English class, which in turn helped me write.

And finally, we get to writing in and of itself. I’ve been writing stories since I was a little kid. I’d like to think I’ve improved a fair bit. I’m still no novelist, but I consider myself a fairly adept short story writer.

But I suppose where my writing really stems from is my bed. Every night while I’m lying in bed, I tell myself stories until I fall asleep. I work on a story until it’s done or until I get bored of it. Along the way, in the shower, on my bike, I build the world of the story, crafting the plot. Sometimes the stories are elaborate fanfictions of my latest reads. That’s probably how they started. Often, they’re unique worlds all of their own. My current writing posts are about the City of Mammon, but my current story in my head is about some vampires who hunt other vampires in Victorian England.

And now we get into the process of writing. It’s fun! I sit myself down with an idea in my head, and use all the fancy words I picked up from my books to convey the vibes I want. I honestly wouldn’t be a great writing teacher. It’s just a skill that comes naturally to me as a result of what I’ve been doing with my free time my whole life. And it’s beautiful. And every time someone compliments my writing or reblogs it, I love writing just a little bit more.

Well I guess this is it. The 100 follower special. I wonder how many of you guys will take the time out of your day to read this. Hopefully a lot!

James (or That House) signing off for the night!

<3 thanks guys

[solastia]

I’m Fine | 1

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 3,600

Summary: I'm fine. That's what he's been telling everyone the past two years since he and his soulmate parted ways. 

Genre & Warnings: Soulmate au. Angst. Yoongi is pretty self-destructive at first, so be aware of that. There will be lots of destructive thoughts, drinking, fighting, making drunken mistakes (hint). And I know while you read it you won’t believe me, but this does have a good ending.

A/N: Yes, I have given up trying to make this a one shot. Yoongi wouldn’t cooperate with me, so now this is a series. I’ll try to make it a short series, but it was just too complicated for a one shot. Part of the Love Yourself anniversary collab. Be sure to check out the other authors that participated too! 

For those that are familiar with the picture in the banner and are wondering where his the open knee went, no I did not suddenly become a puritan. Yoongi’s knee got flagged so I had to color it in

@sweet-honey-boy​ is the artistic genius behind the pretty banner

I’m fine. 

Such a common phrase. Meaningless these days, really. Just a couple of words thrown together so you’d have something to respond with when someone else throws out the equally meaningless greeting of “How are you?” 

They don’t really care how you are, they just want to seem like they do. They’ve already zoned out and have their planned response of “Good” ready and waiting.  

“I’m fine.” 

He mumbled the phrase, shaking the proffered hand of the bride’s cousin as they all waited their turn to go into the room and greet her. It was the same phrase he’d repeated at least twenty times today alone as old friends and family of the bride asked him how he was with pity shining in their eyes. 

The same phrase he’d been using for two whole years since his soulmate broke up with him and moved on with her life.��

*

Yoongi could still remember the first time he’d learned about soulmates. It had been in the second week of his kindergarten class when one of the kids next to him started giggling as his arm slowly began to be filled with doodles. Hearts, smiley faces, and stars soon lined the boy's arm from elbow to wrist. The teacher then decided to use all the kid’s collective excitement to explain about soulmates.

Apparently, there were many different types of soulmates. There were the ones that could write on their skin, like their fellow classmate. There were some that could speak to each other in their heads. Some that had timers on their wrist marking down how long until they met their match. And those were only some of the many ways that their world had that all led to the same idea - finding your soulmate. The person meant to be that one perfect person for you.

Yoongi had gone home that very night and tried to figure out what his type was. He wrote “Hello, my name is Min Yoongi” on his arm, along with a little doodle of Kumamon. Nothing happened. He went to the bathroom and tore off his uniform, searching his skin for any sort of marker or timer, maybe even a tattoo or a bruise that he couldn’t remember getting. His skin remained unblemished beyond a couple of moles. 

Over the next few years, he’d secretly researched and experimented with every soulmate type he could find. He never saw any strings, heard any voices or songs, felt anything out of the ordinary. At times he felt a flicker of fear over the stray thought that maybe he didn’t have one. But that couldn’t be right. Everyone had one, right? 

When his father divorced his mom- who was his soulmate - and left them both for another woman, that was his first lesson that maybe soulmates weren’t all they were cracked up to be anyway. 

*

By the time Yoongi hit college, he already felt like he’d lived three lifetimes. He was now broken and bitter by life, having spent most of his youth working to care for himself and his heartbroken mom. She’d never recovered after his father left. Instead, she became a hollow shell of the loving woman she’d once been, content to sit at home and do the bare minimum to stay alive, mourning her piece of shit “soulmate” that never even bothered to check up on his own son. He had to force her to eat and sleep, to go outside and get some air and sun. He often ran home from school terrified he’d find her dead, but she kept going thanks to him. There were many times over those years that Yoongi had fought not to give up and do something stupid himself. 

Sometimes she’d meet someone during her rare times out alone that would bring a flicker of life back to her eyes, but they usually turned out to be assholes that would pick fights with Yoongi and try to control his vulnerable mother. He was quick to run them off. Yoongi took on any job he could to keep them both fed and housed, even if the rooftop apartment that they’d been forced to move to was crumbling. 

Yoongi hadn’t even planned to go to college, as it had seemed such a far off dream for someone like him. He already worked three jobs just to stay alive; where would he get the money to go to college too? Then his father passed away - some drunk driver, according to his latest paramour - and left Yoongi with more money than he’d ever seen before. Apparently, the old prick had been doing quite well for himself while Yoongi and his mom had been forced to live in squalor. 

So, Yoongi being the practical soul he was, decided that instead of spending it all at once and buying some huge lavish home and three cars he would instead invest in going to college and getting a great job so that he’d never have to be poor or dependant on anyone else ever again. He got his mom set up in a nicer apartment with a caregiver and saved everything else, packing up to go live life for himself for a change. 

*

One thing he’d forgotten about college is that there were people everyfuckingwhere. A whole new group of people curious about his soulmate, where was his soulmate, what was his marker. He’d long ago determined that either his soulmate was dead or the fates had decided his life wasn’t shit enough so they’d not give him one just for shits and giggles. 

So, to shut everyone else up, he decided to show them exactly what he thought of the soulmate system and the belief that you should save yourself for them. He slept around with anyone willing. Didn’t give a fuck if they were taken or not. If they had a soulmate or not. What they were, what they were majoring in, even their fucking names - he didn’t care. 

And with the amount of soulmated people he’d had in and under him, it just further proved his point that soulmates were a shit concept. 

So he pushed the thought of his nonexistent soulmate from his mind, instead focusing his days on getting the best grades he could to ensure the highest paying job, and his nights on fucking, fighting and drinking to his heart's content.

*

As usual, Yoongi’s life was about to be flipped upside down. And it was all Jackson Wang and his stupid party’s fault. 

While he wasn’t a fan of frat boys themselves, Yoongi had to admit that the bastards threw the best parties. Jackson Wang was one of the few frat guys he could tolerate because the guy was too nice to hate, so when the party was at his place, Yoongi was a frequent visitor. The place was packed tonight, and while he didn’t like the crowd, he certainly enjoyed having a nice selection to choose from for his evening entertainment.  

Yoongi leaned against the kitchen counter as he sipped his whiskey. It was a shit brand and a shit year, but was still a rare treat at one of these things that usually served the cheapest beer and fruity crap meant to entice girls into drinking more. Yoongi guessed that his roommate had talked to Jackson about grabbing some to keep Yoongi happy. He appreciated the attempt. 

He hadn’t been planning on going to this party since he still had a report to finish, but his roommate Namjoon claimed he needed the backup. He was convinced one of the members of this frat was his soulmate. His soulmate marker was a birthday, but he claimed he felt funny every time he looked at him. Instead of saying anything to the guy, Yoongi deduced that Namjoon’s plan was to stare at him creepily from across the room. 

“Yoongi hyung, he’s so pretty. Like, super pretty. Don’t you think he’s pretty?” Yoongi guessed he was supposed to be included in the conversation since his name was used, but it sounded more like his friend was thinking out loud. 

“Yeah, he’s not bad. You should go tell him you think he’s pretty. He looks like the type that would appreciate it.” 

“I can’t,” Namjoon whispered. 

“You can. I believe in you,” Yoongi rolled his eyes. 

“No, I mean I really can’t. My feet won’t move.” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fine. Stay here.” 

“Wait! Yoongi, don’t...” 

Yoongi set his cup on the counter and ignored Namjoon’s protests as he strode purposefully into the living room. When he was in front of his target - a pretty man nearly as tall as Namjoon with pillow lips and an eternally amused expression - he sighed wearily. 

“Look. You see that guy trying to hide by the kitchen counter? That’s Namjoon, my roommate. He’s super fucking smart, but also kind of stupid. He’s also kinda like a big ass rottweiler that thinks he’s a lap dog. He thinks you’re his soulmate, but he’s the type that would rather pine from afar for the rest of his life rather than face rejection, so can I ask what your marker is? I realize that’s personal and you can tell me to fuck off.” 

The man’s face went from confusion to amusement and finally settled on something that he was sure a few romantic poets would fight to the death to describe.  

“It’s a birthday. The twelfth of September.” 

Yoongi nodded. “Yeah, that’s him. Go get him. Just remember that’s he’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on. And, you know, the best friend speech. You hurt him I’ll...I dunno. Do something.” 

“Thanks. I’m Seokjin, by the way. I guess I’ll talk to you guys later,” he smiled and went towards the kitchen, the little sway in his hips telling him Namjoon had no chance against that one. The poor lug was currently trying to straighten up and look cool like he hadn’t just been cowering in the kitchen. 

Yoongi snorted and turned away to give them their privacy, looking around the room for someplace to lounge. Before he could leave, one of the girls in the group that Seokjin had been talking with tapped his arm. 

“That was really cool of you. Jin’s always talking about meeting his soulmate, so I’m sure he’s over the moon right now.” 

Yoongi faced the speaker and his breath hitched. He’d seen cuter girls, sure, but...there was...something about this one. He didn’t know what this strange feeling in the pit of his stomach was. Maybe the shitty whiskey was finally getting to him. 

She was looking up at him expectantly and he finally remembered that she’d said something. 

“You’re fucking pretty.” 

What the fuck? He’d meant to say thanks and then maybe try to sweet-talk his way into her pants. Where the fuck had that come from? 

Even her blushing face was cute. He wanted to make a run for it, but at the same time he kinda just wanted to keep looking at her. 

“I wish you were my soulmate.” 

Her squeak of alarm, followed by her hand slapping against her mouth as she stared at him with alarmed eyes led him to a mind-fuck of a conclusion. 

“Well, I think you got your wish,” he mumbled. 

Her hand dropped and even her stunning smile wasn’t enough to quell the growing panic Yoongi felt. She was pretty, and looked nice, and was his soulmate. 

He had a fucking soulmate. 

And thus began what would be the first of the many, many times Yoongi would hurt the person he was supposed to protect the most as he turned tail and ran. 

* 

Yoongi had spent a lot of time in his youth wondering what his soulmate quirk could be. He’d always thought that the ones that could hear each other's music could be cool, or even the ones that could speak telepathically. His friend Taehyung and his soulmate Jimin could write to each other on their skin. Even that could have been neat. 

Yoongi’s super amazing totally not problematic quirk was that he couldn’t fucking lie to his soulmate. 

All those years wondering if his soulmate was dead or if he just didn’t have one, when it was just that he needed to meet them for it to work. He wondered if she’d grown up thinking he was dead too. That thought just made the guilt he felt raise even higher. She’d probably been thrilled that he was alive and in front of her for all of two seconds before he dashed her hopes and dreams running off like he had. 

But here’s the thing. There are universally known facts about him:

Min Yoongi loves sleep. Min Yoongi likes music. Min Yoongi hates soulmates. Min Yoongi lies.  

Sometimes his lies were simply to amuse himself at the expense of his friends. Being sarcastic, making up fake rumors, that kind of thing. No big deal. Sometimes it’s to protect those friends. Telling Taehyung his drawing his great when it looks like Yoongi could do a better job with his toes. Telling Jimin that he could barely notice the giant zit the size of the moon on his forehead. Telling Joon that that girl he’d been hung up on probably got busy, not that Yoongi had warned her to stay the fuck away when she tried to sneak into his bed right after she’d hooked up with Namjoon. 

The problem was that most of his lies are about himself. He tells people he’s fine when he wants to jump off the nearest bridge. He tells Joon he remembered to eat and sleep when he’d really been a filthy goblin working on his project for two days straight. He has an hour-long panic attack in the bathroom and tells people he has IBS. He tells his mother she’s not a burden that ruined his childhood. He tells everyone he’s fine being soulmate-less and he didn’t feel lonely. 

He lies. 

And now the universe is laughing in his face because they’ve presented him with someone he literally can’t lie to. Not to protect himself, not to protect her. There was no way any relationship they tried to have wouldn’t end in disaster. 

The very thought of having to bare himself to someone that much was utterly terrifying...and yet he was still more afraid of the look that Kim Seokjin was giving him from Yoongi’s doorway. 

Namjoon and Seokjin had hit it off disgustingly well, enough so that ‘Jin’ had practically been living in their dorm room for nearly three weeks. He’d turned out to be a cool guy, and Yoongi imagined he would get along with him fairly well if only he’d stop sending him death glares over the breakfast table. 

Except for now Jin’s moved on to glaring at him from his own bedroom door. 

“I’ve had enough, Yoongi. Y/N’s my friend and a sweet girl. I’m tired of seeing her sad. Fix it.” 

“Jin, this isn’t like you and Namjoon, okay? I never wanted a soulmate,” Yoongi sighs, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm. He just wanted the guy to get the fuck out and leave him to his miserable existence. 

“I don’t really give a fuck,” Jin yelled. 

Yoongi lowered his arm and glanced at Jin, impressed. He hadn’t known the other had it in him. He looked a little ridiculous and red-faced, but still, Yoongi had never heard him curse before. 

“This isn’t just about you, Yoongi. She’s part of it too, whether you like it or not. She thought she didn’t have a soulmate and then you suddenly appear. Now she has a soulmate, but one that’s apparently rejected her. She’s a mess. Fix it.” 

Jin walks towards Yoongi and throws a slip of paper on the bed, staring down at him as haughtily like a rich Korean mother from a drama. Without another word, he leaves and shuts the door as Yoongi picks it up, seeing the number on it. Hers, he assumes. 

He sighs and ruffles his hair. He’s not a total asshole. He supposes he should at least meet with her and tell her why they couldn’t work. 

He punches in the number and sends a text before he can talk himself out of it. 

*

It took them three days to coordinate their schedules enough to meet (or the both of them had tried to push it forward as much as possible), and now they were finally sitting across from each other in neutral territory. Yoongi had figured meeting for a cup of coffee was probably cliche, but it was a safe choice and was somewhere he felt comfortable. It helped that Taehyung was a barista here and he would probably go along with it if Yoongi needed help escaping. 

Yoongi gripped his cup of black coffee hard, gathering the courage to speak to her. Y/N looked tired, and maybe a little like she’d lost weight in her face, like she hadn’t been eating well. The thought that he’d upset her that much added another layer of guilt to the growing pile in his chest with her name on it. 

“First of all, I wanted to say sorry for running out on you the other night. That was cowardly of me and kind of a shithead thing to do. So...sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the table. 

He looked up again when she sighed. 

“Thank you. That hurt me a lot,” she cringed, like that hadn’t been what she’d intended to say, and he supposed it wasn’t. Their soulmate quirk was a difficult one. 

He ground his teeth as he fought the scratching in his throat, trying his best to word things in a way that wouldn’t scar her for life. 

“Look, I just don’t trust this whole soulmate thing. The idea that your happiness revolves around this single person is bullshit. And...I’m terrified,” he grits out, hating how vulnerable he sounded. 

She nods, “Yeah, it’s pretty scary. But, I don’t really think it’s about your happiness revolves around someone. More like, there’s this person that’s meant to help you become the best version of yourself, and maybe you can find your happiness together.” 

Yoongi scoffs, stopping himself from saying anything sarcastic with a long sip from his cup. She was still so naive. 

She chews her lip and suddenly there’s a look in her eyes that makes his pause and pay attention. 

“It’s just...okay, so I thought you were dead most of my life, like I’m sure you thought I was. I thought that all of my future relationships were just going to be me being used as a placeholder until their soulmate comes along. And then maybe I’d find someone else who didn’t have a soulmate and we’d settle for each other. I thought that my chance at finding actual love was gone, and then you...,” she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “You show up in front of me, being all fucking gorgeous and funny and a great friend - and alive. Sure, we probably have the shittest soulmate quirk and the fact that I’m rambling all this is proof of that, but Yoongi, you’re alive. I’m alive, and we’re soulmates. We have a chance. Can’t you at least give us a chance?” 

Some part of him wanted to warn her about what she was getting into. He knew he would hurt her. He knew he would fuck everything up. But the truth was...he wanted to try. Something told him she was worth it. Was that just part of the whole soulmate brainwashing bullshit? He didn’t know, but the thought of leaving her behind today and never looking back felt wrong. 

Yoongi sighs wearily as he observes her glassy eyes, knowing that this wouldn’t be the first time he’d make her tear up but unable to stop the words from leaving his mouth. 

“Yeah. Let’s take a chance.” 

[imaginesbymk]

PINK + WHITE.

—CHAPTER TWO ; THE GREATEST CITY IN THE WORLD.

summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.

pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby

tags in this chapter: swearing (in a different language), and i *tried* to add some fluff because luca’s charming teresa and just smoothly asking her out on a date *spoiler* but yeeee

[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]

1919.

BEFORE ART DECO became a widespread aesthetic, Teresa instead promoted the wonders of oil landscapes. And yes, Luca Changretta paid a visit to the Penarth gallery that day. It was him and two of his relatives that tagged along to the day's trip, walking behind him. People would assume Luca had business to attend to, meetings were always important as he kept a tight schedule, but he couldn't help but squeeze in an ounce of leisure.

It started with marble floors and art, and Luca silently wishing to himself he could reserve the entire museum for himself. All he needed was to simply request for one.

As for Teresa, she strolls around the floor after finishing up paper work in her office, and enjoyed the privilege to look around as part of her job, when she entered the same section Luca and his men were strolling in, the space of the renaissance.

"This one's my favourite." Teresa faced the tall man, and he perked up when he noticed a woman had caught onto a gaze. He noticed the dress she wore for the job, and her ID pinned on her chest. "It just speaks to me, eh? I'd like that hung in my home, where I can walk pass it every morning. Don't tell me. It's worth almost a million pounds?"

Teresa turned to what he was looking at. Indeed, the piece were a lot of people’s favourites. It just couldn't belong to anyone, unfortunately.

"Oh, I believe this painting isn't for sale," she smiles apologetically.

"I see. I'm more of a theatre man, anyway. But where I'm from, art speaks to our souls, and this painting deserves a spot here, truly."

Teresa studied him from head to toe. His suit looked new and clean, including the two other men accompanying him while they kept their distance a few feet apart looking around. All three of them wore pressed suits with hats to match them, and neither of them looked like they were from Penarth.

"Would you like some tea while I send a tour guide over your way?" Teresa asks politely, hoping to satisfy the handsome man's visit.

"That's kind of you. But I prefer having you show me around instead. You happen to be more passionate to everything here more than the actual tour guides."

It's not like she would get fired for being a tour guide for the day, but that wasn't technically her job by the hour. Teresa holds account for activity coordination, fundraising and selectively hand pick artwork and design from various staff members.

But hey, what the hell. She blushed. "Right! Well, you can ask me anything. I grew up reading art history books and wishing to paint just like every artist credited here." She eyed him again, now clasped onto curiosity over the mysterious man. "What's that accent?"

"I'm American," the man tips his fedora, lowering a smile down at her. "From the greatest city in the world."

"New York." He didn't even need to say it. A lot of people love New York, anyway. Plus his accent kind of gave it away.

The man nodded. "We get a lot of you Welsh people back there quite often."

"When I was in college I visited New York," she pointed out.

The man raised his brow. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was a year after the Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean, before the great war. So count me as lucky."

"I could of met you," he said. "Where were you? Brooklyn? Had to deal with liquor business there." Which that reminded him he had a meeting in a couple hours.

"Had to visit someone in the Bronx," Teresa nodded while noticing the men approaching Luca from behind like they were attached to him. "Well, Mr. New York, welcome to Penarth. And welcome to the Penarth Art Gallery. Your visit is greatly appreciated.”

"Grazie . . . Miss Tour Guide." Thank you. Italian-American, then. Teresa smiled, so intrigued by this man as she kept observing him looking around.

"Well," she smiles humbly at the three men. "Let's start, shall we? You've all seen the renaissance, but how about Pablo Picasso..."

It switched afterwards. The atmosphere, the attitude, the comfort. And she was quick to notice while she spoke the whole time, the men listening to her, often times just letting her words enter through one ear and out the other. But Teresa was smart. He didn't quite keep his distance from the art as it was a rule, and stared down at the labels of all the paintings Teresa introduced, studying it in a way that had nothing to do with admiring, but more likely guessing the pricing.

Teresa gradually realized the man is just using his American identity as his own privilege into getting a personal tour around the gallery instead of gathering with different guests. She jumped one step ahead to know he would later ask for private access to hidden artworks that aren't placed public to the museum for the next few months in hopes of buying them.

"None of the art here is for sale," Teresa grew confident in her tone. "Art should never be in the hands of Americans who have no business being in a gallery to begin with."

The man shot his eyes toward her. "Do you have any idea who you're talkin' to, Miss Tour Guide?" his voice lowered until it no longer sounded friendly as before.

"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. New York," Teresa folded her arms.

"You should be."

"Guests come here to feast their eyes on the subject of emotions, dreams and tragedy, not for buying them."

"Well maybe," the man leaned a bit closer. "You should reconsider handling things around here, because one day someone will take away your paintings, you'll walk in here dying inside every time you walk past an empty space on the wall where your personal favourites used to be hung."

"Basdun." Teresa wasn't afraid to insult the man in Welsh, too.

"Very unprofessional to insult a guest, no?"

"Luca," one of the men moved closer behind him. "Non ne vale la pena."

"Mi sto solo divertendo qui, Matteo," Luca responded while he smirked at Teresa.

The other man chimed in. "Non puoi vincere. Lei è una pistola."

"Okay, basta," the man, Luca, rolled his eyes back a bit when he turned to his attention to the men behind him. He looked at Teresa again while telling them, "Lasciami con lei."

"What does that mean? What did they say to you?" Teresa demanded, confused. "Did they insult me in Italian?"

The men leave, Luca and Teresa remaining inside the empty section of the gallery, with pastel landscapes surrounding them.

"Actually, Miss Tour Guide. I hope you can spare five more minutes of your time."

"Teresa Griffith."

He nodded. That was easy. "Miss Griffith, allow me to explain myself. This art gallery you own, it's a shame nothing here is for sale. Imagine how much money you'd be making selling Van Gogh's Starry Night at an auction, or that disturbing painting of that naked man eating a little boy."

"Saturn Devouring His Son."

"Yeah that. The first painting that I fell in love with was the School of Athens, my mother showed me that one. Then it was the sculpture of Pietà. I even visited the Louvre."

"So have I," Teresa shrugged.

"Anything to do with the tragedies or emotions that you speak of, that comes to my eye. Amore is one hell of a blueprint for painters."

"Your point being?"

"I'm what you call a businessman, and I was actually nice enough to give you constructive criticism." Luca faced a self portrait painting while he spoke.

Teresa shook her head, hoping something—anything, would come up so she would no longer have to deal with this man's nonsense. Whatever he was doing, it was probably stalling. The two men that were with him were probably thieves and that this man was just charming her away so she would be to blame after it's all over.

Or maybe he was just being a nuisance on purpose. "I don't need you to tell me how to run a gallery, and it seemed to me it was more of an attack rather than providing constructive criticism."

"Well, that was part of the plan. I make you use your time on me as my personal tour guide just so I could be with you," Luca says, eyeing down the use of colour of the portrait. "And to ask you if you were free tomorrow night."

There it was, the point. Teresa was more than ready to smack the hell out of a total stranger before she could get ahold of authorities, but she could now barely hold a steady breath. The room suddenly felt still, even the temperature to keep the air tight drew goosebumps on her skin. Were her ears clogged, or was this man that was at first giving her a hard time, asking her out on a date?

"I'm sorry?"

"I’m Luca Changretta, by the way." He took off his fedora hat so he held it against his chest. Dark hair, slicked back. "A whole half hour has gone by, one more and you get paid another forty bucks."

"Well," Teresa bit her lip. "You came off as if you were only here to buy my workplace, and what makes this workplace the way it is. I don't know you, and I don't think you'd want to take me out."

"Why is that? You keep a tight schedule? So do I."

"It's not that. I mean, I do. But I think you'd grow bored of me within the first hour of spending time with me.“

"Like I said, Miss Griffith. I'm a lover of theatre. We met half an hour ago and I’m far more interested in you than what makes your workplace the way it is,” he shamelessly repeated her words. ”And I plan on taking you out to the grand theatre to see the performers put on a show, a moving painting. To me it's New York's grimy perspective, but set here in Penarth.”

Teresa tensed up when she felt her cheeks flush a bright red.

"Whaddaya say?" Luca smiles. "One date."

After all, she booked Monday off tomorrow to get a head start on coordinating future events, but maybe she’ll use that freebie to see a show with a handsome man.

“Sure,” she nodded.

+ pls be mindful that my pinch of knowledge of italian in this chapter/story overall isn’t gonna be fluent, so pls bare w/ me! —mk.

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-04-02

Alright I’ll fix the broken images later right now lets goooooo read the updaaaate I’ve been only spoiled on the chapter title

I don’t even wanna guess.  Jake?  This makes me think of Jake for some reason, even though that doesn’t make much se-- oh right the Vriskas are locked in a school closet with a dead clown.

> CHAPTER 7. Distress Call From the Closet

Yep.

Also, this is how a car design looks when it was invented to have its first appearance be it flying with a human named Tavros looking out from an open side door.

(I’m not ENTIRELY against designing something for its immediate-art-use-purpose first and functional or historical-origination thought later, but usually when you make it that obvious that that’s what your doing it’s best to make that fact funny.  Like the Conveniently Shaped Lamp.)

Also I appreciate this using of Candy as kind of more lighthearted breaks in the action?

> (==>)

I thoguht that protruding fang (?) was drool for a second and wondered what the fuck they were up to in this closet all of a sudden.

Vriska, thriving on it, has not felt so decadently alive in a very long time. Tavros has never in his tragic existence felt so close to death, which is surprising to him.

Vrissy is trying her best not to grapple with any cosmic truths at the moment, since she’s getting a phone call in the middle of hiding for her life.

Vrissy’s implied to be somewhere in-between all that by this joke.  I bet she’ll be comparing herself to Vriska and Tavros alike throughout this mess, wondering where on the spectrum she lands and being ashamed of it AND both of them regardless.  Vriska Original had a ghost version who went on a fair bit of a Page dress-up thing and personality shift, so maybe we could expect Vrissy to struggle with being caught in the middle of the scales... or does that qualify as overthinking it classpectways?

VRISSY: Yeah Harry I would say we are Extremely Aware of the Situ8ion. VRISSY: As it Unfolded the fuck all around us.

Good Christ, Vrissy’s selectively-capitalized Kanaya-isms continue to be cute.

Oh, he’s on speakerphone.

> (==>)

Yep, telling Rose and Kanaya would be the smart thing to do, but it isn’t the Them thing to do.

--ROXY’S PLACE?!??  Hoo boy.  On the other hand, though, we get more Roxy, so it evens out.

Also, I like how Harry Anderson has to spell out Harry Anderson’s entire name for his Harry Anderson chat tag every single time.  Harry Anderson.

> (==>)

Part of the reason, Tavros thinks, that he’s been so game to continue on with the worst plan anyone has ever concocted, is that the more bullshit they endure, the longer they can put off actually doing anything that matters.

If he’s getting sprayed with a sprinkler and getting clown feet in his face, it’s a farce. It can’t hurt him. But if they get to the part where he’s shoving the uncooperative weight of his uncle’s corpse in an incinerator, he will stop floating in protective semi-consciousness above his body and it will all be real.

Ouch.

Can’t one of you assholes just captchalogue him?  Or did you leave all the appropriate-strength moduses at home?  Even you Vriska??

Oh, right.  Everyone knows and you can just leave him here.  Good call.  I mean you don’t really have to worry about forensic evidence with the pictures circulating.

> (==>)

VRISKA: 8ye 8itch.

Oooh!  That feels satisfying!  Yeah, tell off Gamzee’s corpse!

...Wait.

If they just leave Gamzee there, Jane can revive him, can’t she.

Fuck.  Maybe it’s up to Jake to try and stop that.

> (==>)

Karkat and Meenah resistance-time, then, with them presumably hearing about this development on the internet.  Wow, Meenah’s horns are getting long fast.  Plus a hint more of her grown-up self’s height.  I didn’t think she’d keep maturing so fast with her absurd lifespan ahead of her.

Oh shit, I didn’t see at first--

Right, Candy might still be lighthearted compared to the broader plot just due to lowered stakes, but it’s still the Carpet-Bombing-and-War-Filled Shituniverse.

Trolls are made for the battlefield.

From the moment a troll oozes out of the mother grub’s pulsating sphincter, through the trials of the brooding caverns, across the brutal day to day slog of Alternian society, all the way to their Ordeals, to the sucking void of space. They are bred for nothing but endless war.

But Commander Vantas...Commander Vantas is different.

Is... is Meenah narrating right now?  Because fuck.

Or so all the pamphlets say.

The actual Commander Vantas has blisters on his heel and has been taking pot-shots at scouting drones for the last six hours. He could use a bath, honestly.

Or is this one of the trolls on the side narrating who’s kind of internalized the stories of trolls’ prior warlike nature?

> (==>)

MEENAH: yo nubs is that u MEENAH: pretty rank KARKAT: OH MY GOD. KARKAT: I FLATLY REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT YOU CAN SMELL MY NATURAL MUSK OVER THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND BURNING FLESH.

I guess it probably was Meenah narrating, then.  Unless it’s a really biased alt!Callie doing the talking.

MEENAH: didnt i warn u bout thinking tho? KARKAT: GOD DAMMIT MEENAH, DON’T MEME AT ME.

I don’t know what meme this is and I really don’t want to know.

They have had this argument more than once. In fact, both of them could play either side of it. Karkat has done his time in the field, of course, leading small guerilla operations to free prisoners and sabotage Crocker’s supply chains, but Meenah and the rest of the council is right. Which is why he’s here, instead of at the front lines with his rebels, where he belongs.

His true value is his face. His symbology. At the end of the day, he is a fucking ad campaign.

...is KARKAT narrating here???

SWIFER: boss check the news!

Oh shit, right, Swifer is in the resistance in Candy instead of just a breeding assistant in Meat as the bonuses remind us.

KARKAT: OH FUCK. MEENAH: what KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST. MEENAH: nubs i swear 2 god KARKAT: IT’S GAMZEE. KARKAT: HE’S DEAD. MEENAH: oh MEENAH: well shit KARKAT: I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS. MEENAH: u okay KARKAT: NO!

Huh.  Them’s some complicated feelings that could fall in basically all directions at once.

Also, I can’t believe Karkat has hung around humans enough to fully internalize the full-throated exclamation “JESUS CHRIST”, which wouldn’t even really be a thing on Earth C with people who aren’t from Earths B or A.

MEENAH: u outlawed fishpuns i gotta make my own fun

How could you, Karkat.

KARKAT: AND I GUESS IF YOU CALL AN OBSCENELY PUBLIC PALE ACT, PERFORMED IN A FUGUE OF DESPERATE PANIC INTENDED TO PREVENT HIM FROM MURDERING ALL OF MY FRIENDS INSTEAD OF JUST HALF OF THEM “A THING”. KARKAT: THEN YES, I GUESS WE HAD A THING. KARKAT: BUT IF YOU’RE ASKING ME IF I’M SAD THAT HE’S DEAD? KARKAT: ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.

Okay, I’d hoped not, good...

KARKAT: THAT’S NOT WHY I’M SAYING FUCK A BUNCH OF TIMES. MEENAH: u need a reason to say fuck a buncha times KARKAT: SHUT UP. KARKAT: LOOK AT THE PICTURE.

--Right!  That’s a good reason to not be okay.

KARKAT: I DON’T THINK SO? I CAN’T SEE HER EYES IN THIS PICTURE, BUT SHE’S COVERED IN BLOOD, AND SHE’S CARRYING GAMZEE, SO SHE’S CORPOREAL AT LEAST.

I love this form of analysis somehow.

KARKAT: OKAY...HERE. OH. OF COURSE. CROCKER IS CLAIMING HER SON WAS KIDNAPPED AND FORCED TO PARTICIPATE. KARKAT: AND THEY’VE NAMED ME AS THE MASTERMIND. MEENAH: well we woulda taken credit for it anyway so this saves us the time MEENAH: thanks jane owe u one

Meenah isn’t the “concerned” type.  Lemonade out of lemons.

> (==>)

That middle tweet is my favorite.

Oh dear, “#GamzeeAnon”...

KARKAT: SHIT. OF COURSE THIS WOULD HAVE TO DO WITH FUCKING SERKET. KARKAT: LITERAL MONTHS OF PLANNING, HOURS AND HOURS OF LOGISTICS, AND ALL OF IT GOES UP IN SMOKE BECAUSE OF ONE SPIDERY ASSHOLE. KARKAT: SHE *WOULD* FIND SOME WAY TO WRECK MY SHIT FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE.

indisputable

KARKAT: NOW? KARKAT: NOW WE PIVOT FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS.

Um...

What does that mean?

I’m having a lot of trouble not only understanding the basic meaning of what he’s saying, here, but understanding why KARKAT of all people would employ it.

......it’s a meme, isn’t it.  Gotta be.

> (==>)

(Ooh, an eyepatch designed to invoke a Strider-shade.  Nice.)

KARKAT: I NEED TO TALK TO EGBERT.

But....... why??

> (==>)

Oh right, cause his son’s girlfriend is involved.

> (==>)

Oh my goooood what a pair of John and Roxy caaaars! :D

He is too busy with these mental gymnastics to notice his father’s car parked outside.

Ah right.  John’s... not on the best terms with him, I recall that.

> (==>)

Ohhhh myyyy goooood what an image!!!

John, Roxy, and Harry Anderson proceed to have the tail end of a conversation they had before, in another medium.

What the fuck!?  Harry had that conversation WHILE this dead body situation was going on?!  Let me reread that linked bit...

(And she has such a somber smile on her face, but given the conversation content it’s not surprising.)

Harry Anderson looks at the two of them all teary and laughing and hikes his bag higher on his shoulder, shifting his weight. Roxy sees a muscle tighten in his jaw. Her beautiful, smart boy. She wants to run over and hug him, to protect him from the possibility of pain at talking to his father, but she doesn’t. She knows how much he’s wanted this, no matter how much he jokes about it.

She looks back at John, and sees her own awe mirrored in his face. She wills him not to cry, not to fall back on his self-imposed suffering and blame loop. Something about the last hour must have done the trick, though. John stands up, brushes his hands on his jeans, and walks, back straight, toward his son.

JOHN: hey harry anderson. JOHN: it’s really, really good to see you. JOHN: do you wanna go for a drive?

The muscle in Harry Anderson’s jaw clenches a few more times, but when he smiles, it is genuine.

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah, dad. HARRY ANDERSON: that could be cool.

Oh son of a bitch.  Well isn’t that entertaining.  Harry you’re just going to ditch your friends for I’m kidding, this is life fulfillment you’re aiming for, of COURSE you’re going to agree.  (Too bad bringing the current situation in is gonna throw a wrench in things.)

> (==>)

Oh right, that means more of THIS Vriska and THIS John.  They’ve had a good start talking already, I wonder what more they can learn from each other.

HARRY ANDERSON: but no worries, i asked my mom to pick me up some snacks so she’ll leave to go to the store in a sec. HARRY ANDERSON: just sneak in after she leaves and hide in my room, and i’ll be back in a bit.

Harry you enormous shortsighted asshole.  And John’s about to learn all this from Karkat over the phone to blow his cover.

> (==>)

aaaaa roxy art i cannot :D

Wonder if her stealthiness attunement is gonna catch them in the act?

> (==>)

From this jealousy bit, I wonder to what degree Earth C humans are used to Troll quadrants and their various interplay mores.

> (Room: Examine yourself.)

Oh, a proper room introduction for Harry Anderson!  Very fashion-focused, very liking the spotlight--

Oh wait, shit.  This is traditionally where classpect associations are hinted more obviously than anywhere else.  Time to stop holding back on the classpect stuff and take in every fucking word with capital-C Classpect fully in mind.

A bedroom stands empty. There is no boy standing in this bedroom, or indeed anyone else. However, if the boy whose bedroom it was were here, one might remark that his name was HARRY ANDERSON.

And FUCK, one might say, does he like MUSICAL THEATER.

Spotlight, definitely.  But is it for the attention? The possibilities? The acting?

He has been in his fair share of school plays, but he has LOFTY ASPIRATIONS to STAR in bigger and better productions. He especially appreciates modern MUSICAL REMAKES of classic OLD EARTH MOVIES. It's a craze that not everyone is happy about, but in the absent boy they have found a DEVOTED FAN. There is also just enough overlap between his taste and his father’s to allow for SOMEWHAT STILTED CONVERSATIONAL BONDING from time to time.

Hmmmm.  Is it about the majesty of important works of media (I see “Pokémon” and “Alien vs Predator” up there...), or is it about the fact that they’re remakes of past works?  Those are a lot of awards and stage lights now that I zoom in to look... and hats... hats could be important......

The boy who is not yet here has also been known to dabble in ACCESSORIZATION. He could be described as a COBBLER ASPIRANT, a NEOPHYTE MILLINER, or even a BIT OF A WHIZZ WITH A NEEDLE AND THREAD.

Oh, interesting!  Not just putting out different outfits, but making them?  And Milliner is hat-specific creation...

His mother got him his first SEWING MACHINE when he was 10, to keep him from using hers all the time. His looks are HAND-CRAFTED, often IMITATED, but never DUPLICATED.

Space is obviously possible from sewing, but-- A focus on uniqueness!!!  The broader theme is getting VERY specific.  You might feel where I’m leaning already.

His COSTUMES appear in various AMATEUR PRODUCTIONS, the devising of which takes up most of his FREE TIME. His friends are usually LESS APPRECIATIVE of his attempts to dress them up than he would like, though.

Holy fucking shit.  He dresses up and makes unique HATS for his friends and others.  Specifically so they can use them as COSTUMES to act parts!!!!

And the other unique thing mentioned about him here took the time aside to note how he appreciated the intersection in personal interests between him and his father for it.

So you all know what I’m thinking, right?  HATS???  It’s got to be Heart, isn’t it.  Maybe even a Page of Heart, with his long-off aspirations and talent for arming others with it.  Any other additive/giving class might do the trick, too, like Sylph or possibly Maid.  Knight could technically still fit pretty well, but I feel Page is better given what little we know so far, what with so much outward focus bleeding out.

(You can comb through the saga on my infamous hats tag or the summary on the Aspect Duality post, but the gist is that hats (and others’ clothes, but especially the hats. even shoes -- SO many shoes in that picture!) represent the gist of an expressed identity, personal uniqueness whether innate or affected ala a costume.  Nepeta, Dirk, Terezi, and even Stitch have given us examples, some of them deeper than we realized, MOST of them probably overthought bullshit like I thought when I first created the hats tag and started tracking the wonderful importance of hats. ¬_¬)

I’d like to see anyone else’s interpretation. (EDIT: One more potential Nep-allusion in this room.)

> (==>)

Oh nooooooo!!!!  Tavros’s sprite is the saddest looking thing I’ve ever seen!! D:  Like a mix of Jane and Jake that thoroughly regrets his entire existence!  Which he practically does!  D:  Why the Caliborn-like clothes though?

(Some hint at “how different alt!Callie’s Caliborn must have been” like the commentary suggested exploring in fanfiction?  Was the suggestion meant to divert attention from the idea that it’d be addressed in the plot?  Andrew pulled that trick a time or two, why not these authors?)

Also:

Pffff.  Vriska just accessorizing immediately--  Oh, wait.  That might just be a bandana she had at some point coated in Gamzee’s blood. 

Tavros is looking at the news on a borrowed phone -- nice call on disabling the tracking on yours, Tavros.

> (==>)

TAVROS: It’s getting a bit surreal to see my, uh,, frozen mask of horror on every news site,, TAVROS: It’s a good shot of you,,, though, Vrissy, VRISSY: It really is Shockingly well composed.

Heheheh.  It’s fun that Tavros knows exactly what Vrissy/ka would care about.

And yes, Vriska is over there trying out ALL the bandanas.

> (==>)

VRISSY: Oh, is trying on all my 8oyfriend’s accessories not passing the time well enough for you? VRISKA: Desper8 times call for desper8 measures, Vrissy. VRISKA: And this is some dire shit.

They stare each other down. Did she mean the fugitive situation, or Harry Anderson’s fashion choices? Vrissy feels silly wondering this, but despite the situation they’re in, she can’t help but feel more acutely anxious about Vriska’s presence.

She likes her life, and she trusts her own choices. But now, looking at everything from Vriska’s vantage point, it all feels silly. Unimportant. Childish.

She can’t tell if she wants Vriska to rip in to Harry Anderson or if she wants her to stay silent. To put off the moment where she has to defend him or join in.

Real interesting.  Like she’s caught between these worlds after all.

> (==>)

They say it was a long drive, but...?

...WOW.  What a chill, disinterested-looking affect his sprite makes for.  Huh.

He kisses Vrissy’s temple and she leans in to the warmth of him.

HARRY ANDERSON: aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. HARRY ANDERSON: so sorry it took so long. HARRY ANDERSON: can’t rush a heart to heart, you know how it is.

Stop making me deliberate whether you’re trying to drop teasing Heart-aspect hints.  You already know I’m going to be obsessively scrutinizing every word of dialogue around Harry to see if it fits, story. No need to rub it in.

VRISSY: You actually had a Heart to Heart with your dad? How many times did he Cry?

I DIDN’T EVEN READ THE NEXT LINE QUIT SAYING HEART TO HEART YOU EVEN GAVE IT PROPER CAPS THAT TIME

HARRY ANDERSON: but god, it was a mess. i had to keep talking to keep him from looking at his phone or turning on the radio. HARRY ANDERSON: i may have told him more about my deep passions and emotions in the last hour than the whole rest of my life combined, just to keep him from hearing the fucking news.

Holy shit.  You exploited conversation about your deep passions and interests for a separate goal???

Aaargh!  Classpect everywhere!  I’ve relapsed!!!  D:

> (==>)

JOHN IS SO HAPPY

John Egbert has not had a day like this in a very long time. He can barely keep track of this series of epiphanies he’s having. He stretches out on his couch to relax and process the gifts of advice and connection his friends and family and ex-family have just given him.

OH RIGHT TIME TO RUIN IT WITH MAXIMUM SHENANIGANS

JOHN: hey karkat! great timing! JOHN: so much just happened and im kind of reeling about it. KARKAT: YEAH NO SHIT.

Ohhhh.  Much of the time I hate dramatic irony, but those moments before someone is about to be let in on the discrepancy... oh man I love that.

JOHN: is something going on? i just spent the afternoon with my son, and i think he would have told me if something was up with his friends? KARKAT: OH MY LUSCIOUS SHITTING CHRIST JOHN LISTEN TO ME. JOHN: listening!

"Luscious”??  Did they try to type “Lusus” and get autocorrected?

Who’s writing Homestuck on their phone???

> (==>)

J...John?? Are you okay?? XD

This picture.  These two paragraphs.  I fucking love them.

(Wow, being closer to the “canon” story due to ridiculous shenanigans right after his back-to-back self-insights and outlook changes have really been healthy for him huh.  He can probably sense HS^2 reaching him out here.  And you can see the helpless comedian his probably-still-depressed ass became on Earth B in his reaction here. EDIT: Also, how appropriate that even by DYING, the Bard of Rage managed to fulfill his role and shatter the last vestiges of John's narrow-outlooked despair?)

John can’t answer. He can’t speak. His body has given itself over to the long-lost feeling of manic euphoria. It had felt like Harry Anderson was holding something back on the drive earlier, but he had already told John so much. He hadn’t wanted to press for more.

Yeah... after what John’s gone through across his life and session, finding out Harry managed to hide THIS for a whole car-ride is the best sort of punch-line for him.

John can’t breathe. Something is happening. Something is finally fucking happening, and he’s finally awake enough to appreciate it.

--yep.  I was just guessing earlier, but this kind of confirms it’s in part a closer-to-relevance, closer-to-canon feeling bleeding in.  Something is happening that’s important enough to SHOW onscreen and not skip over.  I guess he really does like being anchored in Light after all.

> (==>)

John wheezes himself into relative calm. He has to get Karkat to understand. He clears his throat and breathes.

JOHN: karkat, this can be how we win. JOHN: i know what we need to do.

...holy SHIT.

Karkat, how did you know calling JOHN about this would work out this well??

John actually taking confident action to solve a problem, in a way that isn’t going to end up depressing like his attempt to provide Tavros escape in the Epilogues... this should be interesting.

See you next time.  (I had to image-fix some stupid linked hat posts for this blogpost and I’m out of energy, so I’ll fix the other old post I promised that asker to fix in like, a day or two; I’ll post when I do.)

[jackmichaelstudio]

Juror’s Statement, Lees-McRae College Student Art Show, Spring 2021

Last week, I had the pleasure of serving as juror for the annual Student Art Show at Lees-McRae College in Banner Elk, NC. 

If you’re an art student or young artist and you’ve ever wondered what goes into a juror’s decision-making process for a show - whether it’s for basic inclusion in the show or for awards - please read on.

JUROR’S STATEMENT Lees-McRae Student Art Show, Spring 2021

Jurying a student show is a difficult task. Submitting to a student show is equally arduous, so first and foremost, I want to congratulate everyone for having the courage to submit your work.

By nature, the jury process is neither kind nor an exact science. Evaluating artwork is, in many ways, a subjective exercise mediated by personal taste. But it is also a skill honed by experience, research, and by regularly considering artwork from ancient eras to the present day. As an artist and educator, I’m old enough to have developed a time-tested approach to evaluating craftsmanship, aesthetic quality, and cultural thoughtfulness. However, I’m still young enough to remember the undergrad-era sting of having my work – which I (wrongly) felt had singular vision and emotional importance – overlooked for awards and inclusion in shows. I remember asking myself “Why me?”, not knowing then what I know now: that a juried show is not only about the artwork; it is a relational exercise between artists, artwork, and the juror.

Ideally, a juror’s initial decision – the making of “the first cut” - is based on a combination of objective factors such as craftsmanship, presentation, technical skill, and attention to composition. If these are lacking in an artwork, then the work cannot hope to be a vehicle for greater meaning. At best, artwork with a dearth of craftsmanship and skill is mere decoration; at worst, it is a weak monument to an artist’s inability (or unwillingness) to commit their time and energy to their own ideas and personal potential. Young artists often struggle with this truth, making halfheartedly-crafted work that bounces around between mediums and themes, never pausing long enough to develop the technical expertise necessary to be a truly good artist. In the great quest to know what their work is “about” and how to make it, art students often make the mistake of looking for an idea that is “worth believing in” or seeking a new process – usually a novelty-based one that they feel is unique - before they really believe in and commit to their work. To those young artists, I say this: you think that commitment to your work is an elusive feeling that will finally grace you if you find some idea/process worth believing in…but you have it backwards. Belief does not pave the way for commitment; if you wholly commit to your work in both idea and process, you will create things worth believing in.

Aside from attention to craft and technical skill, it is this commitment to ideas and methods that guided me in making “the second cut” to select the award winners for this show. Ultimately, I was looking for artworks that answered “yes” to the following questions:

Does this artwork successfully convey a mood or message without being trite or didactic?

Aside from basic technical proficiency, does the work evince a developed sensitivity of material handling?

Does the work go beyond mere observation/decorative quality to compel the viewer with a question or deeper attention to an idea? Does it invite me to explore it further?

Does the work successfully avoid cliché?

Has the artist pushed boundaries, broken rules, taken risks, or at least tweaked the conventions of this medium’s typical subject matter?

Does the work resonate with me in some way, either stylistically or ideologically?

Is the work creative, free from derivation, and in possession of a sense of inventiveness and original thinking?

Does the artist un-self-consciously embrace a style that is markedly his/her/their own?

Would I like to see more work by this artist?

Is there a harmonious marriage of form, subject matter, and content?

Does the piece exhibit the potential to grow into a broader, more mature body of work that seeds new, kindred artworks in the future?

Does the work take an unapologetic critical or investigative stance in relation to a specific idea of contemporary relevance, or at least to our culture at large?

And Does the combination of ideological specificity, emotional vulnerability, and attention to craft & content indicate that this young artist might on the verge of truly committing to addressing the ideas in this work for the sustained near future (the next 1-3 years)?

I want to emphasize that every submission I reviewed had positive attributes; there were several of solid merit that did not receive an award. There were also many works that answered “yes” to some of these questions, but fell short of award due to craft, presentation, or technical issues. There were just as many works that displayed adept material handling but fell prey to cliché or to being mere observational decoration. To those of you who did not receive an award: please continue (or start) to believe in your ideas and commit to technical expertise and attention to craft. If you do, good things will happen.

To those of you who did receive an award: I wholeheartedly congratulate you! I, as your humble juror, did not give you an award – you earned it.

Ultimately, the pieces selected for award in this show (some to a greater extent than others) positively addressed the above questions in a way that marked them out from the crowd while also evincing technical proficiency and attention to craft. Even in the case of top awardees, however, the aforementioned questions should be embraced as consistent guidons to propel further improvement. I encourage you to copy these questions out and keep them in a place where they will confront you every day (whether you like it or not). Look at them, strive toward them, and internalize them until your own work resoundingly and consistently answers “yes” to each and every one. There is always, always, always room for improvement. People in other professions may have the luxury of someday “arriving” at penultimate expertise but as artists, the only thing we can get comfortable with is the fact that we will never “arrive” – we will (if we are smart and lucky) always be seeking, evolving, pursuing.

I encourage all of you – awardees and others alike - to continue to submit your work to shows such as this one, and to juried shows and calls for proposals or residencies on a regional and national scale. Exposure to the judgments of a wide variety of arts professionals (in addition to your stellar faculty) is the most valuable and surefire way of challenging and maturing your own ideas and skills. This is true even – and perhaps especially – when things don’t go your way.

Above all, I hope that all participants of this show remember this: thick skin is important. As an artist at any stage in your career, many of your best efforts will result in disappointment, but the number of disappointments is a downward-trending arc over time: the longer you do this wholeheartedly, the more sublime, elating wins you will achieve. Rejections are not a reason to quit; they are reasons to lean in and commit to your ideas, skill development, and professional growth sooner rather than later…or get out of the way of those who are doing that and find the path of expertise and interest that is truly for you. As a student artist, if you are successful at only 10% of your pursuits, you are doing well. So cultivate patience, perseverance, skill, and a thick skin. Happiness isn’t a function of chance – it is the result of ideological commitment and technical expertise exercised over time, resulting in somewhat-consistent success. Start today.

Finally, I want to thank Lees-McRae College and the Art Department for your genuine hospitality and for the invitation to jury this show – it was truly an honor. I see deep promise in a healthy selection of this work. That is no doubt due to the Art faculty doing the energetic, dedicated, and often emotionally-taxing work of molding young people with ideas and feelings into young artists with mature ideas, considered feelings, and – above all – work that expertly carries the resultant messages and investigations. Thank you for your service to the future of art and artists in our region and beyond, and thank you again for having me.

Warmly,

Jack Michael Art Instructor, Blue Ridge Community College

[jaehyun-eclipsed]

Before I Met You | Six

Updates: Sundays, 8 PM EST

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas…) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Warnings: Contains some swearing

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

After several weeks of constant stress and endless studying, high school was finally coming to an end. I was never one to take many photos, but I knew there were people that I’d likely never see again. So on the last day of class, I decided to ask some of them to take a picture. My first and only class with Lucas was biology.

“Hey,” I say to Lucas, Seulgi, and Yang Yang. “Take a picture with me.”

“Okay!” Lucas responds.

“Oh, so you’ll take a picture for Y/N but not for me?” Seulgi snaps.

Oh shit.

Lucas doesn’t say anything, but I decide to put my foot in my mouth. “I’m just special,” I say with a smile.

Seulgi doesn’t respond, her face attempting to smile in order to hide the bitterness she actually felt.

Oh my God, Y/N. You’re such an idiot.

“Let’s take the picture!” Lucas says. “Yang Yang, you take it!”

Graduation came and went. It was weird. It hadn’t really hit me yet that I had graduated from high school. The ceremony was rather uneventful. Doyoung, Taeyeon, Hyojin, Hana, and I were all being honored as part of the top twenty in our class. This meant that we were set to walk the stage first and then after that, we sat in the audience, glancing back at the crowd every so often to see how many more rows of students had to walk. Quite honestly, we were bored.

The ceremonial cap tossing was followed by many hugs, selfies, and promises to hang out during the summer before truly needing to say goodbye to those who would be leaving for college. For a moment, it felt like time stopped. Bright lights shone down on everyone, providing a spotlight as if it was our last moment on stage.

“Y/N! We’re done!” Lucas shouts as he runs towards me, picking me up and spinning me around as confetti falls around us.

“Congratulations, Lucas!”

His eyes are sparkling when he sets me down, his hands still holding onto my arms. We smile at each other for a moment before he realizes he’s still holding me.

“Oh!” he remarks, dropping his hands and nervously rubbing one of them behind his neck. “Good luck at Berkeley, Y/N. Make sure you come back and visit.”

“Thank you, I definitely will.”

“Maybe we can hang out this summer?”

My heart jumps at the suggestion and the naïve thought of a first date and first kiss during my last summer before college. The fantasy was a heartbreaking cliché with the word ‘BAD’ written all over it in capital letters. There was something so appealing about it. The summer fling with the boy from high school; falling in love too fast after a passionate kiss at the beach; an emotional goodbye and shattering heartbreak as one had to leave because real life got in the way. This kind of situation never ends well. It’s indulging in the forbidden fruit only to realize it was poisoned from the very beginning.

“Yeah.” I smile. “I’d like that.”

I was quick to learn of Lucas’s new job at a clothing store at the mall. He was notorious for posting every little thing he did on social media and had a poor habit of posting on Snapchat while he was driving. It made it easy to figure out where he was all the time. Plus, the store he worked at was a place I often shopped at already.

“When did you start working here?”

Lucas folds a shirt, placing it on the shelf before turning around to face me. “Right after school got out. I like the clothes here.”

“Yeah, I do too.”

“If you want anything, just let me know. They give me forty percent off everything except clearance,” he says. “I’ll buy it for you and you can pay me back. Like, I just bought a bunch of jewelry for Sooyoung.”

Well that’s nice of him.

“Thanks!” I hold up a beige scarf. “I think I’m going to buy this, but it’s on clearance.”

He smiles. “It looks nice. Let me know when you’re ready to check out!”

“Oh, I’m ready now. This is all I’m getting today.”

He nods and leads me over to the cash register. I hand him the scarf and he begins to palm through it to look for any security tags.

“Hey, so we should hang out.” He keeps his gaze on the scarf. “Maybe grab lunch or something?”

The temptation to take a bite into the fruit returns. Yes, we were just getting lunch, but it was still something. He wants to hang out one-on-one. Who says this can’t turn into something more after that?

“Yeah! That would be great!” I say with a wide grin.

He taps several keys on the register before telling me to swipe my card. “Okay, you can just text me and we’ll hang out!”

An alarm sounds off in my head. It’s brief, but nevertheless, it’s still there. Why do I have to text you if you want to go? Maybe this is an open-ended thing so that I can ask him if I actually want to go and it’s not a full blown rejection if he asks and I say ‘no’.

I force a smile before my perplexed feeling can be expressed on my face. “Okay… Maybe next week because I’m supposed to go to orientation for school this weekend.”

“Yeah! That sounds good!”

I look up at the clock tower as my orientation group walks by. Wouldn’t it be nice for Lucas to come visit me and we could take walks around campus? The sun is about to set, glowing a blazing gold and orange over the horizon. A new beginning. This is where I’m going to spend the next four years of my life, supposedly making new friends and memories to last a lifetime.

“It’s going to be completely different.”

“You’re going to have so much fun.”

“You’re going to meet so many smart and interesting people!”

“You’re going to meet someone much better than Lucas.”

“You’re going to love it!”

This was the collage of phrases I’d heard over the past few months since I had chosen a school. I had good faith it would be true. I liked the people I had met in my orientation group; we all had the same goal and everyone was relatively nice with the exception of one of my roommates for the night. She was tall and blonde and seemed to be rather arrogant. From the way she looked at me, I took it that she just thought I was a typical nerd. Fortunately, I didn’t have to spend much time with her since she wasn’t in my orientation group. If I wasn’t with my group, I was exploring on my own.

“Hey! Let’s all take a picture on the steps!”

But being here… actually being here… terrified me to no end. Aside from coming here to tour the campus and make some initial contacts, we were supposed to meet with college counselors and select our first semester classes.

I discovered that selecting the classes you needed to take wasn’t even the hard part; it was signing up for the classes that was a challenge. My orientation date was in the middle, so by the time I was able to sign up, the sections I had wanted were already full.

I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing. Prior to arriving, we were instructed to fill out a questionnaire to determine what classes we would need to take for our intended majors. You didn’t have to declare a major until sophomore year, but you at least had to start working towards it so that you could graduate on time. It’s a terrible system. At eighteen, you’re expected to have an idea of what you supposedly want to commit to for the rest of your life. The system even lets you determine that you’re responsible enough to make a decision that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

And now, even while taking a commemorative photo with the sun suggesting a brighter future, all I wanted to do was cry. I’m not ready for college. I’m not ready to leave home. I’m just not ready. And suddenly, I’m left wondering if this whole time, my perceived independence and confidence, was just me pretending…

After returning from orientation, I was trying to find ways to distract myself from my inevitable future that I wasn’t ready for. I had made attempts to find things I enjoyed as I realized this may be the only summer for the next several years that would be completely free of responsibility. No summer homework, no internship – I was free to be self-indulgent. So I spent a lot of my time doing things I didn’t allow myself to have time for while in high school. I’d read, watch movies, and take walks at the mall. I’d even go to parties held by my former high school classmates. But of course, I also spent a lot of that time thinking about Lucas.

Maybe I’ll ask him today. It’s been a week since I’ve seen him… That seems like enough time.

Me to Lucas [4:15 PM] Hey! You busy tomorrow? Wanna get lunch?

I place my phone down, twiddling with my thumbs and waiting for my phone screen to light up.

He’s definitely going to want to go. And then we’ll get to have lunch and maybe we can hang out some more before I have to leave! And maybe… just maybe, he’ll tell me he likes me!

I smile at the thought. It’s a last hurrah before having to leave everything. I’d get my happy, sad summer ending.

But of course, that thought quickly drifts out of reach again as time creeps by. Fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, an hour…

It was my birthday and biology all over again. When Hana invited him to go to my birthday dinner, he took hours to respond, never directly saying he couldn’t come, just that he was preoccupied. He did the same thing with our biology project, never directly saying he hadn’t finished it, just that he was busy with something else that apparently took precedent.

Lucas [5:45 PM] I have work tomorrow

I roll my eyes. He’s lying again. And you just had so much hope that you would get your chance even though you knew. I only had one word for him.

Me [6:00 PM] Okay.

This is a pattern.

This is a trait.

And I was dumb enough to fall for it three times.  

Later that night, while festering in my annoyance, I receive a text from Siwoo.

Siwoo [8:09 PM] I overheard Lucas talking about you

My eyes widen. Lucas was talking about me?

Me [8:15 PM] What? Where?

Siwoo [8:17 PM] At the mall. Sicheng and Yang Yang were waiting for him to get off work and I was in the store looking at something

Me [8:18 PM] What did they say?

Siwoo [8:21 PM] Sicheng asked Lucas if he was still thinking about asking you out and Lucas didn’t say anything. So Sicheng guessed that Lucas already did and Lucas was like “I asked her to get lunch but I have to work tomorrow.” Then Sicheng was like “I thought you said you didn’t have to go to work tomorrow? You should just go with Y/N. Who cares about Seulgi?”

Wow, so he was lying. And he has absolutely no idea that I have people looking out for me to give me confirmation about these things.

It definitely pays to have friends in all circles. I can have eyes everywhere.

Me [8:22 PM] So he was lying! Wtf. What does Seulgi have to do with this?

Me [8:23 PM] What did they say after that?

Siwoo [8:24 PM] Lying? About what?

Me [8:26 PM] I asked him to get lunch tomorrow and he just said he had to work. No rescheduling, no nothing

Siwoo [8:27 PM] Jackass. I guess Seulgi doesn’t want Lucas dating you

Siwoo [8:29 PM] Yang Yang said that Seulgi would get really pissed and then asked if he really wanted to go. Lucas said he did but also was afraid because Seulgi would get mad because she’s jealous of you and he’s been friends with her longer

Seulgi… always getting in the way.

Me [8:32 PM] Jfc. She won’t date him and when he wants to go after someone else, she gets mad. What does she want??

Siwoo [8:34 PM] Idk... that’s all I heard

One of my favorite things to do is have late night chats. There’s something so intoxicating about the night – it brings out honesty despite its purpose of making everything dark… hidden… mysterious. The comfort of the night allows us to reveal our deepest secrets in confidence. It gives a false sense of safety. You trade your ability to hide your body language, thinking that’s what you need to keep secret when voluntarily speaking words you’d thought you’d never say aloud.

The night is an oxymoron.

Yet, it is when I thrive. My best thinking is done at night. My best conversations occur at night.

I had a habit of keeping my dad up at late hours into the night, pitching my ideas, revealing my thoughts, running through an endless list of scenarios. I could’ve chosen any other time of day to do this, but night was always my preferred time. That’s when I was the best at being honest to myself about Lucas. There were fewer distractions and I could kick more sense into myself when the temptation was unusually strong.

“How come he said he wanted to hang out and then when I ask him, he lies and says he has to work?” I ask angrily, pacing in my dad’s room.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared,” my dad responds. “But you know, he appears to have a habit of doing this.”

“So he’s just flakey,” I say, making more of a statement than asking a question.

“Yes.”

“He didn’t even say ‘no’! He just said he had to work and didn’t say anything about rescheduling.” I frown. “Does that mean he doesn’t actually want to go?”

“You mentioned earlier that Siwoo overheard him talking about Seulgi?”

“Yeah?”

“I do think Seulgi is jealous of you.”

I stop pacing and huff, putting my hands on my hips. “That’s ridiculous! She has all of these guys all over her! She gets way more attention than I do! Why would she ever be jealous of me?!”

“People don’t like it when others do better than they do,” he says. “I’m sure she thinks you’re a lot smarter than her. And even if she doesn’t think you’re prettier than she is, she can’t deny that you’re not attractive.”

Gnawing on my bottom lip, I contemplate what he tells me. It is possible, but I can’t imagine anyone feeling that way about me. I’m the quiet one that no one pays attention to except when they want answers on their homework. That’s not entirely true, but I honestly thought that no one really cared about what I did. I just did my schoolwork and minded my own business. The most people would ever really talk to me about was college. Long story short, my conclusion was that everyone thought I was boring. Granted, Siwoo did mention all of those other comments from Ara and Yunji. I guess I had more confirmation of some of these statements than I would have liked to admit or was able to believe.

“So if I go to the mall and see him again, he’s probably going to bring up hanging out again.” My face sours, disgusted at how easily Lucas could say things he doesn’t mean over and over again. “What should I say to him?”

“What you should do, is next time you see him, make him pick the time and date. Just tell him, ‘If you’re so busy, then why don’t you pick the time and the date? Then let me know.’ Flip it back onto him.”

Even though I knew any attempts to hang out with Lucas were probably nonexistent – and definitely nonexistent if I flipped the decision back onto him – I didn’t want to give up like that. But the rational part of me knew this would be the best thing to do. Summer was more than half gone already. What could we possibly do in that time even if we did hang out once or twice? I was onto bigger and better things with completely different people. Who cares about some idiot from high school?

This shirt looks nice. I pull the hanger from the rack, admiring the red, sleeveless blouse. It would be nicely paired with some blue denim shorts.

“Hey!”

When I hear Lucas’s voice, something kicks in… likely my rationality because suddenly, I’m angry.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing him leaning against a wall next to me. “Hey.”

“So school starts soon, huh?”

I continue admiring the blouse, holding it up to my body to estimate the fit. “Yeah, I’m leaving in a few weeks.”

“Oh! We should hang out before then!”

Here we go…

I internally roll my eyes, completely exasperated as I had mentally prepared myself for this moment. I was not going to give in again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, I’m an idiot. Fool me four times? Yeah, not going to happen.

“I think you tried to hit me up, right?” he continues, crossing one foot over the other and pulling his phone out. “But I think I was busy that week.”

Yeah, you were “working”.

“Yeah, well, since you’re so busy,” I say. “How about you decide?” I cross my arms. “Pick the date, pick the time, let me know.”

He keeps his gaze on his phone, scrolling with his thumb, probably pretending to filter through his “completely booked” calendar.

“Okay,” he agrees. “So just text you?”

I can feel the sharpness of my tongue as I respond, “Yep.”

“When are you leaving?”

“On the fifteenth.”

He smiles at me, uncrossing his legs and placing his phone back in his pocket. “All right, well, my shift is over so I’ll hit you up later.”

Right… I’m sure you will.

A couple days later, I opted to go to a coffee shop that my high school classmates would frequent after class. I had brought a book along with me and was going to spend the next hour or so reading while sipping on a lavender latte before going to meet Hana for dinner.

“Y/N?”

I lift my head from my book and turn in the direction of the voice.

“Oh, hey Sicheng!”

Sicheng and I weren’t really friends, but we could always have conversations. We were acquaintances at best, but he was best friends with Lucas and Kibum. And all throughout high school, he was always kind and respectful towards me. Despite him becoming ‘one of the guys’ when he was around his friends, he was one of the nicer ones of the group and he knew how to flip off that switch when he would talk to anyone else outside of his posse.

He smiles at me and walks over to my table. “Just reading?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d get a lavender latte before meeting Hana for dinner.”

“Oh nice.”

I look at his hand that’s gripping onto the backpack slung over his shoulder. “Are you here to work on something?”

“Hm?” He follows my gaze to his backpack. “Oh, yeah, I have some scholarship essays I need to work on. When are you leaving for school?”

“In a couple weeks.”

“Congratulations, Y/N! That’s really exciting!”

“Thanks! I’m excited… though, I’m quite nervous too.”

“Yeah, I bet…” he trails off.

He looks down at my book, continuing to linger at my table. His mouth opens slightly and he smiles, like he’s contemplating on saying something. I raise an eyebrow up at him, silently asking what’s on his mind.

Suddenly, he says something that’s somewhat out of left field. “Hey, do you talk to Lucas?”

My eyes narrow. “I see him at the mall sometimes,” I say. “I buy a lot of my clothes at the store he works at. Why?”

“Oh, uh, I was just wondering if you guys hang out…”

What are you fishing for?

“Did he say something?”

“No… no, not really.” Sicheng presses his lips together. “Did he ask you out?”

Well that was forward.

I swallow and narrow my eyes again, wondering what on earth Sicheng could be getting at. “Like, on a date?”

“Yeah.”

“No, he did ask me to hang out though…” I shake my head, trying to dismiss all of the fluff. Sicheng just needs to get to the point. “Why are you asking?”

He sighs in frustration. “Okay, to tell you the truth, he likes you.”

I raise an eyebrow, questioning both the truth of the statement and his reasons for telling me. “Really…” I say skeptically. “It doesn’t seem like it.”

“He wants to go out with you, Y/N.”

“What?” I ask, incredulity lacing my tone. “I – I don’t understand. Why are you even telling me this?”

He clicks his tongue. “Look, I –” He sighs again, shifting his gaze to a far corner of the room before turning to look back at me. “Lucas is my best friend and I’m just tryin’ to help him out because – as much as I like Seulgi, she’s being a bitch.”

Of all the things for Sicheng to do, I never thought he would do this. He’s always been nice, but why would he ever confess that Lucas likes me? Why would he out his best friend?

My expression is perplexed, confused at his confession. I don’t say anything and let him continue.

“She knows Lucas likes you, but she doesn’t even like, want him to talk to you.” His face turns sour. “So, I’m just – I’m just seeing how you feel because he’s my friend and Seulgi’s just being…” he trails off, waving his hand in dismissal.

I shrug, making a gesture with my hands to express frustration. At this point, telling him the truth doesn’t really seem to make any difference. “Well, I’d go out with him if he asked, but –”

“Yeah, I know…” he interjects, offering me a small smile. “I know you’re leaving soon, but I don’t know… I just thought I’d see what’s up with you and try to help Lucas out before then.”

This was a strange revelation. I never expected Sicheng to do this. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel all giddy inside having confirmation that Lucas did like me. Unfortunately, my opinion of Seulgi had deteriorated even further and gave me confirmation that what she did at Winter Ball was, in fact, on purpose. She couldn’t stand having a different girl having (in her eyes, steal) Lucas’s attention. That was too great of a hit to her ego. On the other hand, all this told me was that Lucas had little to no backbone. He was easily influenced by someone that wasn’t good for him and would never fully return his affections. Yet, he couldn’t stand not having her in his life even if all she would end up doing is crushing him. I guess we both have something else in common – at least for the next few weeks.

I was a fool. The temptation to bite into the forbidden fruit was too great and the truth of the matter was that I didn’t even get to bite into it. It was always within reach, on a branch that was just a smidge too high. But then a gust of wind blew and the fruit fell and hit me in the head.

Lucas never did text me.

And I never heard from him after that.

Perhaps the first dance really was the last.

Prev | Next

Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist