#I would not have my current friends or job or sense of self without them

[throughpatchesofviolet]

Revisited Lobotomy Corporation, and now I'm crying.

[dramaticallytotal]

"I'm Just An Assistant"

Another au where Noah was always an assistant instead of a competitor!

He had sent in his application as a dare from his sister Nisha, but his sister Neelima thought it was a job application and wanted to help him fill it out since the things he put as his skills weren't....work material. She thought Noah was just being nervous about filling out the resume since the last job he got was by total accident because he at six decided it was a good idea to hack a site he thought needed improvement. So Neelima put all the skills he had that she thought would be good for a job.

Turns out it wasn't a resume. It was an application for a reality TV show. Haha...Oops.

Well Noah wasn't mad, he tried and that was a lot more than he usually did so he counted it as a win until he got Chris McLean, former movie star and current reality TV host show up at his house. He had to take the "meeting" in his room because his grandma was, unfortunately, a fan of Chris's movies. Apparently, they were some of the first things she watched when they immigrated, and she was learning English. Once they were settled in his room (which he thankfully cleaned that day since his mom looked ready to smack him with the broom earlier that morning when she came in to tell him something and she almost tripped on one of his piles of books) Noah glared at the man and his...bodyguard?? The man was huge, but he was also wearing an apron and a chef hat, which kind of threw off the bodyguard guess.

"Well? I got the rejection letter, and I doubt you're the type of person to come do it in person as well without having a reason."

"Ooooo, snarky! Hear that Chef? The kids got snark."

"Are you surprised? I hardly hid who I was in the auditioned tape."

"Too true, dude. While we rejected you as a contestant, the resume-like portion of your application caught our attention. Or well, I guess I should say, my attention." Chris said in a tone that Noah guessed was supposed to garner gratefulness from him.

But something stuck out to him.

"Resume-like?"

"Yeah! I always carry copies of things. Here!"

Noah looked down to his application, and sure enough, part of it was filled out like a resume, and he immediately recognized Neelima's handwriting. He tried to explain that to Chris, but the dude was a stubborn ass! It took a lot of arguing, and Chris sweetening the pot for Noah to say yes to becoming Chris's personal assistant. Apparently, he recognized that Noah was way more qualified than an intern, so at least he was getting paid.

In the end, he got to stay in the fancy cabin with Chris and Chef, so he wasn't complaining (he may have complained a bit until he saw where the campers were staying). For the most part, he didn't interact with the campers except the rare occasions Chris needed him to get something for him before the cameras started rolling and he was in front of them. He stayed there at the campsite until things at Playa Des Losers started going to shit because the interns there apparently couldn't do their job, and some campers started fighting.

Chris got so frustrated he sent Noah to take care of things. Noah thought maybe it was a test of sorts, so he unfortunately had to put in effort. He was used to being in charge and delegating tasks, thanks to being his class president, and set about to do the same at the resort. Miraculously, the interns listened to him, and things started running smoothly. As for the campers, he decided they were in need of his wonderful self. Either to talk some sense into them or snark them for their choices.

He ends up making friends with the Eva girl, which is a surprise as he doesn't really have many friends. Then Izzy, which was a big surprise. Then the finale came, and he got to meet Owen, and somehow, they were fast friends.

Season two kicked off fast, and it was the season he unfortunately was seen by the viewers because Chris needed help with a challenge, and no intern was available, so it fell on him to pick up the slack. Apparently, the viewers liked him???? He doesn't know how, but Chris made him appear in front of the camera a lot more as a result.

Then season 3 was in full swing, thanks to the Dirtbags bait, which may or may not have been his idea. He had to appear on camera a lot more since he was somehow a fan favorite character. It was dumb but hey, he was getting paid. He at least got to interact with the contestants this season, which he was happy about, given he couldn't do it until people were eliminated season one and two. And he wasn't allowed to interact during the competition. This season, though, he got to as long as he didn't offer help or join an alliance. The perks of being a fan favorite, he guessed.

Heather and Duncan still tried to intimidate him for information, which he thought was stupid. Like, have they never met him??? Of course, it didn't work, and of course, he knew they wouldn't give up. He was happy he could talk more openly with Owen, Izzy, and Eva. He did talk to more people, but they were the ones he found himself talking with the most, which meant he was around the new competitor Alejandro a lot.

He knew what he was about. He sometimes had to watch the confessions as punishment for pranking Chris with Chef. So he knew how Alejandro worked. So why was the guy flirting with him???

Did he really think his moves would work on him and he would help him in the competition???

Pathetic.

Except the guy is really smart, and they have very interesting discussions and debates.

Sad.

Except the guy is ridiculously attractive and maybe sort of Noah's type.

Desperate.

Except the guy makes time to search out Noah every day and have chats with him. Whether it be something small like what Noah is reading to swearing to him that any flirting he sees is for the game.

Silly.

Except...Noah may be falling for him.

_______

Au, where Noah was always an assistant and Alejandro falls for said assistant like immediately. He sees the other competitors are familiar with him and decided to ask Courtney about him since Courtney is one of the only people on this plane who can hold a normal conversation.

"Sorry to disturb you, Courtney, but I was simply curious as to who that is beside Chris?"

"Hm? Oh, him. That's Noah, Chris's babysitter - oops, I mean personal assistant. Don't bother trying to get answers or hints from him. He's a snarky ass." (Courtney holds a grudge from past seasons. From Island because Noah threatened to sue her! Her! For "destruction of property." In Action because he was definitely playing up the demands she made after she came back. It painted a target on her back).

Alejandro with heart eyes already: "Oh."

[dameronspector]

Brother from Another Mother

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Platonic!Joaquin Torres

Summary: Joaquín Torres, newly appointed Falcon and protégé to Captain America has been tasked with recruiting superheroes for the new Avengers team. He comes across a video of a man in spandex, swinging across New York City. Joaquin thinks that this might be the perfect person to recruit. Little does he know that the person he’s about to recruit is none other than Tony Stark’s protégé and friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Aka Peter Parker. Who has been an avenger for a while now.

Warnings: Mentions of panic attacks, depression and suicidal thoughts, Mentions of the events of NWH and endgame, Mentions of Loneliness and Isolation, lots of cursing from Joaquin because I know that boy curses like a sailor, Joaquin is a yapper who’s just excited to be around a person of his age, Peter is a little depressed after whatever happened. A first time meet for my princes.

Author’s note: A very self-indulgent and fan service fic because I think Joaquin recruiting Peter for the new team makes perfect sense and they would be best friends, thank you very much.

Joaquin was tasked with a very important job: he had to recruit superheroes for the new avengers team that was going to be led by Sam. There were so many people to be recruited and Sam couldn’t do it alone, so they split the job to make it easier.

Currently Sam was out of town with Bucky. They were going to convince Yelena Belova to join the team. Joaquin insisted on joining them but Sam told him that they needed him to expand the search on his side, especially with his vast tech knowledge.

So here Joaquin was, sitting in front of his computer screen and doomscrolling through twitter because he needed a break. As he was scrolling, he came across a video with over 1 million likes and retweets. The video was captioned: “Spider-Man saves the day again! WATCH:” . Intrigued, Joaquin clicked on the 30 second video and watched a red and blue blur, swinging across manhattan and saving a group of people from a massive apartment fire. He watched, transfixed, at this Spider-Man easily scoop up two kids and swing them back to safety on the ground.

Joaquin fell down the Spider-Man loophole then. He was surprised he’s not heard of this man before. He googled Spider-Man and found endless articles and videos about him. The articles that caught his eyes the most were the ones before The Blip because oh my god, is that Spider-Man with Tony Stark?! “No fucking way, how did I not know this guy before? Sam must’ve known him, right?”, he mumbled to himself. He read about how Spider-Man defeated Vulture, Mysterio, The black order and some weird villains that he didn’t even know existed. All he knew, was that Spider-Man was fucking cool. And they needed him on the team. Joaquin tried to find some more information on how did Spider-Man get his powers. He found an old interview of the guy where he talked about how a radioactive spider had bit him and that’s how he got his powers from. “Damn…might have to try getting bit by a spider someday…”, Joaquin said while raising his eyebrows after he saw how jacked and fit this man was.

Joaquin bit his lower lip and immediately got to work. He traced down Spider-Man’s whereabouts and found him in Queens. He knew where he was going to spending his afternoon at. He had so many questions to ask this man.

Joaquin had promised Sam he will not use the suit unless necessary. Sam had become more protective and strict over him after his Indian Ocean accident and had barred him from using the suit without his permission, for now. But this was important, right? He was going to recruit an Avenger! And he was not going to achieve anything by travelling for 7 hours from DC to Queens. So he took out his suit and flew down to Queens.

After flying for an hour, Joaquin reached Queens. He checked the tracker and saw that Spider-Man had started moving. He had to be quick. So he flew as fast as he could and he was on his trail. He saw a blur of red and blue swinging quickly and he put his jet pack on full throttle. He lost Spider-Man soon after and decided to take a breather on a rooftop. Joaquin took a minute to survey the area to check if Spider-Man is still around. He huffed in frustration and turned around, only to come face to face with the man in question himself. He was hanging upside-down from god knows where and god knows how. “Holy FUCK! Shit. What the hell?!” Joaquin exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest to calm himself down and putting his other hand behind him on the railing.

Spider-Man just kept looking at him. Joaquin saw the lenses on his suit widen and narrow, like he was judging him. His eyes widened. “Oh wow, your mask can do that? That’s so cool, bro-” “Dude, were you stalking me? I’ve known it for the past 30 minutes, man. Not cool. I don’t even know you”, Spider-Man replied, coolly.

First of all, Joaquin didn’t know Spider-Man was so…young? He sounded so young. Must be around his age. And second of all, how did this guy know that Joaquin was tracking him?

“You- wait. How did you know that I was sta-tracking you?”, Joaquin replied with furrowed brows. Spider-Man finally decided to come down and stand in front of him. Joaquin noticed that both of them had the same height, as well. “If you’re gonna track someone then at least find out information about who they are. I’ve got super senses, man. I could sense you from a mile away”, Spider-Man shrugged.

Joaquin was surprised. He didn’t know getting bitten by a radioactive spider means that you get their senses too?! “Wait. If you knew I was tracking you, then why did you let me follow you?! You got no sense of urgency, man”, Joaquin narrowed his eyes and replied, still confused.

At this, Spider-Man lets out a chuckle. “You don’t have a single bone in your body that is capable of hurting someone purposely. I can sense that too”, he replied smugly and crossed his arms across his chest. Joaquin widened his eyes. “You can do that too?! That’s fucking awesome, man”, he said chuckling. Spider-Man narrowed his eyes—or lenses—again. “That doesn’t mean I’m still not suspicious of you. What do you want, dude? I’ve got to go on patrol soon”, he asked Joaquin assertively. Joaquin looked at him and he put his hands out in a placating gesture. “Wait, I’m sorry. So, I’ve been really delving deep in your lore and how you became Spider-Man and how you got your powers. I watched lots of videos as well. And I think you’re super cool. And I’m asking you to join our new team”, Joaquin rambled excitedly, removing his helmet in the process.

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes again. “Wait. Hold on, whatever happened to ‘hi, hello my name is?’”, he said sassily. Joaquin straightened up and introduced himself. “Right. Hi, my name is Lieutenant Joaquin Torres, protégé to Captain America and the newest Falcon”, he said, smiling proudly while sticking out his hand.

Spider-Man widened his eyes. “Captain America…Sam Wilson? You’re with Sam? And you’re the new Falcon?”, he mumbled in awe. As if he couldn’t believe that this was real. Joaquin furrowed his eyes, confused. “Yeah? You know Sam? I mean, everyone knows Sam, but you know him? First name basis and all?”, Joaquin asked with his eyebrows raised.

It was almost like Spider-Man was buffering in real time. Joaquin swore he didn’t see him move or heard him speak for a good 10 seconds. He stood there awkwardly because he didn’t know what was happening. The mask makes it difficult to read, you know.

Joaquin waved his hands in front of the lenses on his mask. “Hellooo? Anybody home? You really have no sense of urgency, bro.” Spider-Man finally moved out of his stupor and the lenses were moving again. “Um. I’m sorry. I was just…yeah i know Sam. We met…a long time ago. D-did he send you?”, Spider-Man asked with hope in his voice. Joaquin blinked and replied, “No, actually. I found out about you and thought you were cool as fuck. Plus we’re the same age, thought we’d get along. Sam is rebuilding the avengers right now so he told me to find out some superheroes who would be interested to join. Also, dude, you were mentored by The Tony Stark? That’s fucking awesome man. I read that you fought alongside him before the blip as well. Really cool. So, we really need more people like you in the team. Are you interested? You even know Sam. I’m sure he would-” “I don’t know”, Spider-Man replied firmly.

“What?”, Joaquin asked, surprised at the sudden sharpness in Spider-Man voice. “I don’t know if Sam wants me in the team. I don’t know if I want to be in the team. So, nope”, Spider-Man replied in a shaky voice. Joaquin was completely lost at this point. Who was this guy and why was he so…complicated? “Dude, come on. You gotta try. Sam is the nicest person ever. And you’re amazing, you’d be so valuable to our team, i mean come on fighting alongside Iron Man and Hulk? Being mentored by Tony Stark? That’s something-” “Don’t. No. I’m not doing this. If you have anything else to discuss, then we can talk. If not, then you can leave”, Spider-Man said hastily and looked away.

Joaquin assessed the situation and replied thoughtfully. “Look man..I don’t know what..is the situation with you and Sam. All I know is that we need more people like you. You’re doing such great work here. And I’d use a friend, not gonna lie. It gets very annoying when you’re surrounded by super soldiers and a 40 year old who don’t get your jokes and are constantly helicopter parenting you”, Joaquin chuckled. “Think about it. The offer is always open. I’ll talk to Sam, don’t worry. I don’t know what happened between the two of you but I promise you, he will come around”, Joaquin says gently and hands a piece of paper to Spider-Man. He had come prepared for something like this. “This is my number. If you ever change your mind, gimme a call. Take care, man.” Spider-Man simply nodded. Joaquin put on his helmet and took off. He couldn’t help but think about how lost and scared this ma–boy sounded. He wonders what must’ve gone so wrong for him to think Sam wouldn’t want him in the team?

Peter’s POV

It’s been a year since May passed already. It’s been a year since the world forgot who Peter Parker was. And peter has spent this one year in painful agony. He has never felt so lonely and isolated before. He missed May, he missed MJ and Ned, he missed Happy and Tony…Hell, he even missed Flash. There was not a single day where peter wouldn’t feel like his chest was being crushed by a big rock of emotions. Everyday he wakes up and feels like he has been paralysed by heartbreak and sorrow. Everyday he thinks about what it would feel like if he just loosened his grip while swinging? Or if he just dropped down from something tall to end his suffering? It was too much. Too much. He couldn’t even go to anybody without the wearing the suit because they’d get confused and ask who he is.

He was sitting by May’s grave and just looked at her name over and over again. He didnt go anywhere without his suit lately. He wanted to be recognised. He wanted to just belong. So even if people recognised Spider-Man, he’ll be okay with that. He put on his mask and pressed a kiss to May’s grave one last time, before the hair on his neck stood up. Someone was tracking him. And they were approaching him. Fast. Not wanting anything to happen in the open, he quickly started swinging. His senses kept going off, meaning the person was following him heads on. He decided to take a huge leap and squat on the rooftop of the nearest billboard.

Peter observed the person before him. It was a guy, around his age. He had mechanical wings that looked alarmingly similar to..Sam Wilson’s? He was wearing a green and beige suit–horrible colour combination–and he kept looking around to see if he can find Peter. Peter decided that he had enough of this and decided to thwip his web from a bent pillar and hung upside down.

Peter saw the guy jump and clutch his heart and start cursing. Peter was amused by his reaction yet confused as to why this harmless man decided to stalk him.

After watching the guy ramble for god knows how long (which, peter thought was funny because usually he’s the one who’s constantly yapping), peter finally asks him about who he is and peter swears he almost fell over. His name was Joaquin and he was Sam’s protégé? The new falcon? Peter couldn’t believe his ears. He felt an immature hope rise in him. That maybe it was all just a bad dream. That the spell never happened. That maybe, Sam remembers him. That hope was crushed immediately when Joaquin said that he sought him out on his own. To join the new Avengers team. Peter felt bile rise up his throat. He was panicking and he clenched his fists tightly to dissipate the feeling.

After successfully not saying anything for 10 seconds or bursting out crying (seriously peter, pull yourself together.), peter finally had the courage to say No. He doesn’t think he’d be able to do this again. He can’t handle it. But then this guy kept mentioning Tony and everything that happened. He snapped and said that he will not be doing it. He saw how confused Joaquin was at his answer but he ignored that. Joaquin handed him a piece of paper with his number on it and left.

Peter couldn’t move for a solid minute after Joaquin left. He composed himself and swinged off to go home—if he could even call that dingy room a home. He got back to his apartment and the dam broke. He removed his mask, sat down on his bed and held his head in his hands. That conversation kept echoing in his head. Peter gripped his hair and let out a cry. He cried, and cried. He wished he could turn back time. He wished Joaquin never found out about him. He wished he never went to Strange for help. He wished he wasn’t Spider- No. Peter shook his head to clear himself of these thoughts and stared at his hands for a long time. He wanted to belong. He wanted to feel human connection. If joining the team meant that he would talk to people who atleast knew him from before, then fuck it. He owed a thanks to Joaquin.

Joaquin’s POV

That night, when Joaquin got back on the base, he video called Sam to update him about the day.

“What’s up, man!”, Joaquin exclaimed. “Yo, Torres.”, Sam replied while sitting down on a bed. “How’s it going? Any luck with Miss Yelena?”, Joaquin asked. Sam let out a sigh. “If Bucky is a stubborn mule then she’s 10 times worse, man. She hates us. Can you believe that she called Bucky a loser?! I damn near cried from laughing so hard”, Sam said while chuckling. Joaquin gasped and laughed, “No fucking way. And what did the old man say to that?”, Joaquin added, chuckling. “I had to drag him outta the room before those two started throwing hands. It’s not gonna be easy to convince her. We might be here for a day or two more. You tell me, what’s the update on your search?”. Joaquin let out a big sigh and pursed his lips.

“What? What’s with that look?”, Sam asked with his eyebrows raised. “Well. I did find someone. And it was someone you knew. Or know”, Joaquin said carefully. Sam got surprised and raised his eyebrows. “What? I don’t remember anyone that I haven’t told you myself….”, he trailed off. “You don’t remember Spider-Man?”, Joaquin asked, quirking an eyebrow. Joaquin saw how Sam’s face turned from surprised to shocked to…guilt? “Oh. It’s been so long since I saw that kid. Poor him, man. I never got a chance to reconnect after…everything. And since Stark died…he’s not been the same. Went off the radar. Didn’t keep contact with any of us. Especially in the past one year. I didn’t know he was still fighting crime?”, Sam asked inquisitively.

“Yeah, he is. He’s so fucking cool, bro. He can swing? He’s got super senses? He’s jacked? He’s got super strength? And he’s just my age. So cool. I saw his videos and I had to go talk to him. Sam, he sensed that I was tracking him. How cool is that?!”, Joaquin exclaimed. Sam chuckled. “Careful man, I’d think you have a new favourite.” Joaquin chuckled heartily. “Maybe. But really, he’s so cool. But, he was just so nervous and scared when I asked him to join. And he was hoping that you’d sent me. But when I told him that I sought him out, he just sounded even more saddened and disappointed? He also said that he wasn’t sure if you wanted him in the team? I don’t know, man. He was going through a lot. Did you guys not get along or somethin’?.” Sam was shocked. He doesn’t know what the kid has been through but he felt guilty at the fact that a stupid fight over a piece of document had ended up scarring so many possible acquaintances. And that he had unintentionally hurt a kid.

“I…I didn’t know this was happening. When Stark died…the kid was inconsolable. Completely shut himself off from everyone. And….well you know what happened with the accords. All of us parted ways. Bucky and I were on the run and declared as fugitives. I can’t believe we let that stupid thing ruin our lives like that. Then the blip happened, and I didn’t see him until 5 years later at Stark’s funeral”, Sam said in a pained voice. “I should’ve tried to converse with him…he was- he is just a kid”, Sam added, guiltily.

Joaquin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t know what the situation was like during the Accords but he was sure that Sam must’ve not done it intentionally. “Hey, i know you’d never hurt someone intentionally. Whatever happened, must’ve happened for a reason. And it’s probably just a misconception. He is going through some shit as well. I’ve given him my number so that he can contact me if he changes his mind.” Sam nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good. You did well, Joaquin”, Sam added while smirking. Joaquin smiled big. “Another thing….did he or did he not beat yours and bucky’s ass?”, Joaquin added while smirking knowingly. Sam narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m gonna cut off your internet connection, Torres”, he said while pointing at him.

Joaquin just laughed.

After ending the call with Sam, Joaquin got ready to go to sleep. As he laid down, he couldn’t help but think about Spider-Man. He thought about how similar they were and yet…the sadness and burden on his shoulders was something that Joaquin could never imagine. He wished that Spider-Man would think about it and give him a call. He wanted to help him. And he knew Sam wanted to help him too.

Suddenly Joaquin realised that all this time..he was thinking about Spider-Man and not the man- or rather the Boy behind the mask. He wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed that he would be alright. Joaquin Torres was a soldier, and he would never leave a brother behind.

When he woke up the next morning, he opened his phone and saw that he had received two texts from an unknown phone number. Joaquin furrowed his eyebrows and opened the chat.

Unknown Number

Hey, I’d like to join the team

Thank you. - Spider-Man

AN: wow. I have so much love for my two pretty boys I cried. and based on how badly danny wants them to meet as well, I HAD to write this. Maybe I’ll make a part two.😁

please like and reblog! 🤍

[lovegalor333]

fresh start

part three (chapter 7-9) previous part • next part

word count: 7.1k

content warnings: panic attack mentions of selfh*rm and depression

Lily

"What time does your shift start?" Madison asked me as we sat together eating breakfast in our apartment.

Kelsey and Hannah both had classes today so had already left but Madison and I had Wednesdays free.

"Not until 11." I glance at my phone, it was currently 9:45AM. "But I'm going to get there a little bit earlier because I don't actually know what I'm doing."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fun!" My roommate reassures. "Are you nervous?"

"Kinda, I don't want to mess anything up and I just hope everyone likes me." I say honestly.

"Hey, who couldn't like Lily? You're a ball of sunshine!" Madison compliments, "Don't stress it, they know it's your first day, I'm sure they'll be easy on you."

"I hope so." I huff finishing off my cereal before taking my bowl to the kitchen to clean it.

I had almost completed my first full week at UConn and I counted my blessings that it had been going well. I had made friends, enjoyed my first taste of classes and found a job. All things that worried me when it came to transferring. I'd also unintentionally met Paige and I don't know what the future holds with that but it feels nice right now.

We hadn't seen each other since our 'date' a few days ago but we started an almost constant message thread on Instagram. Paige sent the first message yesterday morning and it's basically been nonstop, back and forth from us both.

As if she knew I was thinking about her, my phone pinged with a notification,

[lily.kent] paigebueckers

just spoke to janet, you will be with us today

try not to stare pretty girl, you'll distract me

I smiled at the confirmation that I would be working with Paige and her teammates today, it put my mind at ease considering I'd met most of them already and of course I'd get to see Paige.

I cliked on the dm she had just sent and replied,

i cant make any promises

It was 10AM and my phone pinged again with my daily medication reminder. I went to my bedroom and swallowed down the pills that were singlehandedly keeping me alive. Without them, my brain just doesn't know how to function, it goes into full self destruct mode and getting out of that is the hardest thing of all.

I definitely still have some days that are hard despite being on medication but they're easier to deal with and come around less often.

I had decided a second coffee of the day was a good idea and I had just enough time to pick it up from, what's quickly becoming my usual spot, before my shift started.

The late August air was still warm so I had opted for a low waisted pair of jeans and a long sleeve t-shirt that stopped just before my bellybutton so the perfect amount of skin was showing.

I picked up my favourite order of an iced caramel latte with almond milk and took a slow walk to the athletics building, taking in my surroundings. More and more students had returned to campus over the weekend and beginning of this week so it was busy.

It reminded me of my old college and for a moment I was back there, in Massachusetts with no friends and just having been outed and anxiety hit me like a truck I almost toppled over.

I navigated myself to the nearest bench and sat down in an attempt to regulate my strained breathing. I remembered what my therapist had told me about panic attacks and how to handle them. I focused on my senses.

What was one thing I could taste? Coffee.

What was one thing I could hear? My heart pounding.

What was one thing I could feel? My phone clutched tight in my hand.

What was one thing I could smell? The perfume I had sprayed earlier.

What was one thing I could see? My eyes were closed in an attempt to block out everything around me but I opened them and one thing I could see was someone walking towards me.

My vision was slightly blurred as it always is when I have a panic attack but as they got closer it was clear it was Kayla.

"Lily, are you OK?" She asks dropping her bag down and kneeling in front of me. 

"Yeah." I manage but it comes out unconvincing and shaky.

"Did something happen?" I can't even get myself verbalise anything this time so I just shake my head. Kayla quickly realises that I'm in so state to talk so she sits beside me and gently rubs my back until I eventually calm down.

"I have panic attacks sometimes." I tell the girl next to me, finally able to talk without feeling like my lungs were going to explode.

"How do you feel now?" She asks, a look of concern on her face.

"I'm OK now, a little shaky. They come out of nowhere most of the time." I explain, taking a sip of my coffee - which probably isn't helping.

"I can tell Janet you need to push back your start day, she'd understand."

I shake my head sternly, "No way. I'm not giving up before I have even started." I say standing up, my legs still slightly weak.

"It wouldn't be giving up Lily. Everyone has struggles." Kayla tries to empathise but I've already started walking to the athletics building again.

"I'm seriously fine, I've struggled with a lot worse than a panic attack." I blurt before realising Kayla knows nothing about my past.

"Ok, well maybe lets just take five before going in? You've still got fifteen minutes." She says looking at her watch.

"Ok." I give in and Kayla and I stand side by side as I take a few deep breaths.

"You got this and I got you." Kayla says after a few minutes of silence as she wraps me into a hug.

I hug her back, "Thank you, K. Sorry for the freak out, I can usually keep it under control."

"No need to apologise, I'm glad you weren't alone. Panic attacks can be scary." She says as we walk into the building and begin our way to the offices, a route I'm familiar with now.

"Do you mind not telling anyone?" I ask sheepishly.

I'd rather be the one to tell Paige about things, I didn't want her to hear it secondhand from anyone else.

Kayla mimes zipping her lips and I smile at her in response just before we step into Janets office.

"Hello Lily! Happy first day!" Janet beams standing up to greet me.

"Hi Janet, thank you. I'm super excited." I beam back putting on my best fake smile as I push back the remnants of the panic attack I just had.

Janet explains what my day will look like, "So the basketball girls are already on the court but open practice officially starts at 11:30. That's when you'll go in with the rest of the media outlets. You'll be working alongside Marcus who writes the sports column in the UConn newsletter. He'll explain your job more but write down as much as you can, take photos and videos and just be yourself!" She smiles and hands me a folder with the Huskies logo on the front with my name printed beneath it.

I open the folder and find a notebook, multiple pens and a mini microphone, the kind that plugs into your phone that you see tiktokers using in their videos.

"Oh there you are. Marcus, meet Lily. Lily, meet Marcus." Janet says and I spin around to the door that Marcus had just walked through.

"Hi Lily." Marcus says stretching out his hand for me to shake and I do. "Hi Marcus."

I wasn't expecting Marcus to be a fellow student but he was, he didn't look much older than me and had dark brown hair and eyes to match. He was handsome for sure, I'm lesbian but I could appreciate a mans beauty.

Marcus and I quickly acquainted as he told me exactly what we'd be doing today. It wasn't much different from what Janet had explained and before I knew it, we were walking down to the basketball court.

Paige

The ball had just left my hand and I knew it was cash, from my spot on the three-point line, when the doors to the court opened. My eye's flicked to the large digital clock on the wall, it was 11:30, media were here.

I watched intently as familiar faces filtered into the room and then one familiar face in particular brought a smile to my face, Lily.

Her effortless beauty always seemed to catch me off guard. Still being new to each other, I was seeing Lily in a new way each time. Today was the first time I'd seen her with her hair tied up, her perfect facial features on full display. She had a simple outfit on but the sliver of stomach on show between her jeans and shirt did something to me. I wanted to run across the court and hold her in my arms, feel her skin on mine, tell her how pretty she looked. Her smile shone from meters away and I could just about make out her sweet laugh over all the commotion going on.

I was so focused on Lily, I didn't notice the aggravatingly good looking guy stood beside her, until his hand came into contact with her arm.

Who was he and why was he touching her?

I watched intently as he pointed over to the stands where some of the media people had already began setting up. In all fairness, it looked like he was just explaining something to her but either way, he didn't need to make physical contact.

"You got some competition, P?" Jana joke nudging my side, obviously seeing the same thing as me.

I scoff, "That kids got nothing on me." I say and bounce the ball again few times before shooting another perfect three.

I glance back in Lilys direction to find her already looking in mine a small smile on her face, she raises her eyebrows and nods slightly as if to say "not bad", I give a quick bow in response and go to retrieve the ball.

We shoot around a little more before we all disperse to the different media outlets waiting to ask us questions.

My eyes fall to Lily more than I'd like to admit and I had to ask for a few questions to be repeated due to my lack of concentration. Lily never reciprocated any of my stolen looks because she was so engrossed in her job; jotting down notes, recording interviews and laughing along with the girls.

After what felt like an eternity, I was finally stood with Lily and Mr Shaggy Hair.

"Hi Paige, Marcus with UConn newsletter and this is-" Marcus introduced himself and tried introducing Lily.

"I know Lily." I say making eye contact with the brunette girl to the right of me.

"Hi Paige." She says softly, phone in hand already pointed in my direction.

"Paige, this was your first summer without injury, what did you do that you haven't been able to in previous years?" Marcus asks, pen poised to take an necessary notes.

I answered all of Marcus' questions before I had to move on, "Thank you, Paige. Nice speaking to you." He smiled genuinely. "Thank you, you too." I smiled back trying my best to also be genuine but probably failing.

I intentionally brushed my body against Lilys as I passed her, using my hands to manoeuvre around her small frame.

We wrapped media and hour or so later and the team and I were free to go but I lingered, shooting random shots while Lily and Marcus had a discussion before they packed up their things.

Marcus left but not before hugging Lily goodbye, I rolled my eyes watching the interaction before making my way over to her.

"My favourite journalist." I say draping my arm over her shoulder and pulling her close.

She laughed, "I wouldn't say journalist, I'm just helping out."

"Ok, my favourite helper-outer then." I tease and we both watch as the final few people exit the court, leaving us alone.

Lilys arm swiftly navigates itself around my waist and she steps in front of me, her other arm looping around my torso also so she was hugging me. Both my arms wrapped around her shoulders and we just held each other for a few seconds.

"So...Marcus?" I drag out looking down at the girl in my arms. I feel her body shake with a little giggle, "Handsome guy, right?" She says pulling away and looking up at me. A scowl forms on my face, "Not really." I say matter of factly crossing my arms.

"Oh, is this jealous Paige?" She asks jutting out her hip and placing her hand on the other. I turn away from her, "No..."

"Oh, I think it is." She says walking around and standing in front of me, extremely close, our toes are touching and her body heat is radiating onto me. She brings her hand to my face and directs me to look at her, "I am one hundred percent gay, Paige." Lily reassures her eyes looking directly into mine.

When we first met, Lily would never hold eye contact with me, as much as I tried but now she was and I could see every single fleck in her eyes. The light brown points making them sparkle under the bright lights.

"And I am one hundred percent regretting agreeing to keep this a secret." I say truthfully now bringing my hand to her face, stroking her cheek gently.

"But just us knowing is so..hot." She says soft and breathy. "The secret glances and touches." She continues, her hand smoothing down my chest to my stomach.

Her eyes linger on my lips and I run my tongue along them.

"Don't do that."

"What?" I ask innocently but a smirk creeps onto my face.

"Don't lick your lips while we're this close."

"Why not?"

She doesn't answer and we stand in silence, tension rising between us as the seconds go on. I move my free hand to her waist and pull her closer, if that was even possible and my hand on her face moves to her neck. I lean down and Lily leans up and after what feels like decades of waiting our lips reach each others and we kiss.

It's needy but delicate and everything and more that I'd imagined it to be. Getting a taste of Lily made me realise I'll never get enough. Her hands are all over me. My stomach, my back, my hips. She kisses me harder with an urgency I never knew I needed.

When we finally pull away from each other, both our chests are rising and falling at a quickened pace. Lilys lips are blushed and plump and they break into a soft, swollen smile.

"Let's get out of here," She says grabbing my hand, "and hope no one was watching the cameras." I'm still speechless as I follow her out of the basketball court, our hands linked together.

I drive me and Lily around Storrs for the best part of a few hours. Lily has her phone connected to my car and is playing her favourite songs.

Her playlists were filled with Lana Del Rey and I think it suited her perfectly. Lily was the embodiment of a Lana Del Rey song, the softness and vulnerability of Lanas vocals complemented the girl next to me without fault.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

Lily

I'd barely left the confines of my bedroom in the past two days. I only got up from my bed to pee and grab bottles of water which were now scattered around my room, empty.

Kelsey, Hannah and Madison had periodically been coming in to check on me and bring me whatever food they had ordered in or cooked that day. I'm guessing at some point during all of this, Kelsey had somewhat explained to our other roommates what she had discovered about me, because no one asked questions and that's how I liked it.

I didn't have the mental capacity to explain the way I was feeling or why I was feeling it when I couldn't even understand it myself.

After having the panic attack on Wednesday, everything inside of me felt...off. After throwing myself into my first day at work, I spent the afternoon with Paige and it gave my mind respite from itself. But once I was home and alone with my thoughts, they took over and refused to be tamed.

I went through Thursday in an altered state, so distracted by everything in my head, I felt like I was watching myself from a third persons perspective. The day didn't seem real.

One thing that was clear though was my time spent with Paige. She met me after my final class of the day and we just sat and spoke and enjoyed each others company. Things felt lighter with Paige, easier to handle but I was not Paiges responsibility and I was not about to become a burden to her either.

Kissing Paige on Thursday night was bittersweet because I knew I wouldn't be seeing for a few days at least. I could feel myself slipping into a deep depressive episode and along with that came a whole lot of self isolation.

I isolate myself when I get like this to save the people around me. I'm a ticking time bomb when my thoughts darken and I wanted to minimise the casualties. I was the only casualty allowed.

I cried when Paige dropped me home. I cried for me and this inevitable dark cloud that appears whenever it feels like it. I cried for her because she had no idea what was going on. I cried for us because things were going well and I was about to ruin it.

I skipped classes on Friday and slept most of Saturday. Sleeping when I feel like this is the only time I have that allows the feeling to pause.

It was Sunday now and my roommates had invited me to go to brunch with them, of course I declined. I think they knew deep down what my answer was going to be but they asked anyway.

Kelsey hugged me tight before they left, telling me to call her if I needed to, I just hummed in response and watched the girls with sympathetic smiles on their faces leave.

Getting up from my place in bed, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was bundled in a bun on top of my head, undoubtedly tangled to hell. I had an oversized t-shirt on that I had previously cut to be off-the-shoulder. I looked a mess but I didn't have the energy or care enough to do anything about it.

The healed marks on my arm teased me to feel that of so familiar, temporary relief of physical pain. It was a mental battle that I had won up until today.

Paige

I knocked on Kaylas apartment door after hours, days actually, of deliberation.

"Oh hey, Paige." Kayla says smiling, opening her door for me to step in.

"Hi Kayla." I gave her a small smile in return that makes it obvious that somethings wrong. I've never been good at hidding my feelings.

"What's wrong?" She asks, perching on the edge of her couch.

I sit down too, unsure how to approach the subject without making overly obvious that something was going on between me and Lily.

"Have you spoken to Lily at all?" I ask, not really caring what Kayla thought, worry taking precedent.

She shakes her head, "No, I haven't. Not since Wednesday." She tells me. "Why?"

"I just haven't heard from her in a few days. I've tried messaging but had nothing in response." I explain.

It looks as though something clicks in Kaylas head when I say this but she doesn't speak up.

"What?" I push for her to say what she's thinking.

"Something happened on Wednesday. I promised Lily I wouldn't say anything though."

"What happened Kayla?" I ask, my heart rate increasing at the thought of something bad happening to Lily.

"I really can't say Paige. She asked me not to."

Ouch.

"She asked you not to tell me?"

"Not you specifically, anyone." Kayla says.

"I'm worried." I admit.

"Have you been to her apartment?"

I nod, "I walked past today and yesterday. I rang the buzzer but there was no answer."

"I could try calling her." Kayla suggests pulling out her phone.

"Please." I urge and watch as she presses call on Lilys contact.

The phone rings and rings and eventually goes to voicemail.

"I'm going to her apartment and if I have to break in, I will." Is all I say before leaving Kaylas apartment.

My mind reels with scenarios that could have happened to make Lily go completely MIA as I make the short trip to her building.

As I pull up, someone is leaving the apartment block and I jog from my car to catch the entrance door before it closes and I have no way of getting in.

I take the stairs two at a time to reach Lilys floor and I knock on the door.

Nothing.

I knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Clearly her roommates were not home because they would have answered.

I knock again.

"Lily," I call out her name desperate for a response, "It's Paige."

I wait a while before knocking for the fourth time when I hear the latch of the door click and it slowly creaks open revealing Lily. She looks different, tired, like exhausted and...sad.

"Oh my god, Lily." I exclaim basically forcing myself through the door. "Are you OK?" I ask, my arms instinctively wrapping around her.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice is quiet and shaky and it takes me aback, she usually sounds so upbeat and cheerful.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for days. I went to Kaylas, she said something happened on Wednesday. What happened on Wednesday?" My words are rushed and messy.

"She had no right to tell you that. I asked her not to." Lily says, now out of my arms, she crosses hers over herself.

"I was worried. What happened Lils? Talk to me."

She just looks at me with heavy eyes and takes staggered steps towards the couch before sitting down.

"Is it me? Have I done something?"

"It's not yo-"

"Just tell me if I have. I'll fix it. I really like you Lily." I cut her off before she can finish her sentence.

"Paige." She says getting my attention, "It's not you. Please will you sit down."

"Was it Marcus? I'll kill him if he's done anything to you." I say now thinking of the worst possible things.

"Paige!" Lily says louder this time, "Just sit down." She flings out her arm that was across her chest motioning for me to sit next to her and as she does I notice array of white lines. Healed scars bestrewn across her wrist and inner arm.

She looks from me to her extended arm and quickly pulls it back to her chest before getting up and walking, fast to her room.

I follow after her in silence, unsure what to say in the moment.

When I reach her bedroom, shes pulling a sweater on over her baggy t-shirt.

"Lily.." I begin but I don't really know what to say next.

"You don't have to say anything Paige." She says, sensing my hesitation.

"I want to say something. I just don't know how." I tell her truthfully.

"Just say what you're thinking."

"What happened?"

"When - on Wednesday or what happened to cause my scars?" She asks sitting on her bed, crossing her legs.

"Both." I breathe out going and sitting next to her.

Lily inhales deeply, "I'll tell you, but I want you to know that's its OK if you want to leave after. I'll understand."

"I have nowhere to be today."

"No. I mean like really leave. Leave this," She motioned between us. "before it becomes something."

"Lily, why would I want to leave?" I ask genuinely. Theres nothing that she could say to me right now that would make me want to walk away.

"Because Paige, I'm a burden and being around me when I'm like this quickly becomes exhausting." She says, her head bowed down looking into her lap.

"Don't say that!" My voice comes out louder than I wanted and Lily looks up at me taken aback. "Sorry," I mummble. "but please don't say that. Being around you is not exhausting, I've never felt more alive than when I'm with you, Lily." I shuffle my body over to her, closing the gap between us on her bed.

We're side by side with our backs against the headboard, my legs extended in front of me and Lily's crossed in front of her. I place my hand delicately on her thigh to let her know I'm here whenever she's ready talk.

It takes her a while and we sit comfortably in silence, my hand on her leg and eventually her head on my shoulder, before she speaks.

Lily tells me everything. From her depression diagnosis at thirteen to her somewhat recent breakup and being outted and how that ultimately resulted in her attempting to take her own life. She explained the scars on her arm were self inflicted and she said it was hard to explain but she would rather feel something physically than mentally so thats why she did it.

As much as it was hard for her to explain, it was equally hard for me to understand. I didn't want to think of Lily hurt and understand it.

She had a panic attack on Wednesday that started this most recent episode. She said they come every so often without warning, she's on medication that helps her get through most days but she still has moments that she can't control.

I stayed mostly silent while Lily bravely shared such a vulnerable part of her. She cried at points and I wiped her tears but I didn't ask any questions, I just wanted to listen.

"Do you think I'm crazy." She sniffles, lifting her head from my shoulder to look at me.

I shake me head, "No baby. I don't think you're crazy. I think you've been through a lot in your life. A lot of shit that you didn't deserve. But what matters is, you're here. You're here trying, despite it all and I'm proud of you." I tell the doe eyed girl infront of me.

I place a hand on each of her cheeks and hold her face, wiping strays tears as they fall. I plant a kiss to her forehead, then one on the tip of her nose and I hover my lips over hers unsure if now is the time but Lily's the one to close the space, pressing her mouth to mine.

I kiss her gently at first as if scared to break her but Lily pushes deeper into the kiss, harder. Without breaking us apart, she manoeuvres herself on top of me, straddling my thighs. My hands find her hips like they were made for them and I hold on to her desperately as we continue to kiss.

"I don't want this to change the way you see me." Lily says breathlessly as we break away from each other.

"I knew you before I knew this and that's the Lily I see. The one who buys coffee for her friends when they're hungover, the one who smiles at everyone, the one who works hard. That's the Lily I know." I say to her as she stays sat in my lap, my hands caressing their way up her back.

"If it gets too much...if I get too much, I'll understand." Lily says playing with the strings of my hoodie.

"Can you stop saying stuff like that?" I take her hands in mine, "I want to be here. With you. Right now. Do you understand that? I'm choosing to be here Lily."

She nods a small nod letting me know she heard what I was saying.

Lily flips her leg off of me so shes back at my side. I shuffle down the bed slightly and pull her into me, my arm around her shoulders and head on my chest.

"One thing Lily," I say and she hums in response. "if you ever, ever get the urge to hurt yourself again, please come to me first. You're not alone anymore, I promise you."

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

Lily

This week was going considerably better than last week, thank god.

Paige had spent most of Sunday laid next to me in my bed, even when my roommates returned from their brunch plans, she didn't move. I was falling in and out of sleep for the majority of the day, my emotions had exhausted me and with my head on Paiges chest and my body encapsulated by her arms, I felt a sense of peace that I hadn't for a long time.

Paige reluctantly left my apartment that night after making me promise to never isolate myself from her again. She made it abundantly clear that I can always be open and honest with her and she'd never judge me. I made the promise, but I knew it would be hard to keep.

Wednesday had rolled around again and I had a completely free day. No classes, no homework and I wasn't due in work at all this week. From speaking to Marcus, it sounded like things got busier once the sports season really starts, which isn't until next week.

"Delivery for Miss Kent." Madison says in faux accent knocking on my bedroom door, coffee in hand.

"Ugh, I love you!" I say standing up from my place in bed and taking the iced drink from my roommate. I took a sip straight away and immediately felt like I could take on the day.

"What are your plans for today?" I ask Madison as we walk together from my room to the living room, each taking a seat on the couch.

"I have to get in the library today, how am I already behind? Actually, more importantly, who sets assignments on the first week?" She dramatically asks, eyes wide.

"Oh that's rough. My professors went easy on us." I say silently thanking the college gods.

"So what are your plans for today then?"

"I'm not really sure, I might take a walk around campus and maybe meet Kelsey when she breaks for lunch." I tell Madison my unofficial plans.

I wasn't sure what I'd spend my day doing but I knew I needed to do something, giving my mind downtime was dangerous. I didn't need to sit and think about everything, ever.

"Not seeing Paige?" Madison asks curiously and my head shoots in her direction but I try and play off my surprise.

"Um, no, why would I see Paige?" I lie.

I would love to see Paige today. I hadn't seen her properly since Sunday. I saw her on Monday when I'd popped into the office to meet with Marcus and we'd sneakily made out in an empty bathroom. And we'd briefly bumped into each other yesterday but she was with KK and I was with Kelsey so we kept it short. Maybe I'll message her and see if she's free.

"Oh I don't know, she only spent the whole day here on Sunday. In your room...with the door closed."

My cheeks flushed at the insinuation Madison was hinting at even though nothing like that happened between us. The most Paige I did was was kiss and OK, maybe I was in her lap and maybe I did get flustered and maybe I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her hands on my bare skin and her mouth on mine...

I'm texting Paige.

"We're just friends." I say matter-of-factly, standing up to go and find my phone.

"Uh huh," Madison pretended to agree, "sure you are."

Paige had finally asked for my number after days of using Instagram DMs as our only form of contact.

She had tried to save her contact as Buckets with a serious of drooling emojis but I overruled and we decided on Paige with a star emoji.

good morning p <3

good morning pretty girl

what are u doing today?

wanna hang?

miss me?

duh

ive got practice now but meet me after?

at like 11

i miss you too

ok see u soon 💋

I decided to take my time getting myself ready before meeting Paige. I took a hot shower and washed my hair using all my favourite products.

My phone was propped up on my vanity as i straightened my hair, Emma, my best friend from home, took up the entire screen as we were on FaceTime.

I caught Emma up on my first week at UConn, my account was explicit, there was nothing I couldn't say to my best friend. She begged for pictures of Paige but I didn't have any to send, "I'll take one today." I tell her as I begin applying my makeup.

I keep it natural with a skin tint, brow gel, mascara and of course lip liner, my one true love.

I bid farewell to Emma before hanging up, telling her I miss her dearly and she agrees that she has to come and visit me soon.

With my phone still in my hand, I decided to snap a picture and send it to Paige letting her know I'm ready.

I didn't expect one of Paiges usual quick responses considering she was at practice so I did the final touches to get myself ready before leaving.

Madison had called out a goodbye while I was on FaceTime so I left the empty apartment, locking the door behind me.

The walk to the training facilities wasn't far and took me less than fifteen minutes to reach. Even though I wasn't working today, I had my Staff ID badge around my neck to make it looked like I belonged there.

Walking into the building, I assumed I had arrived just after training had finished. The usual squeak of basketball shoes and balls was nowhere to be found. I made my way to the court peeking through the glass in the door seeing who was around.

My eyes landed on a lonely Paige, dribbling the ball before taking a shot. I couldn't see the basket but could only assume that UConns star girl had made it effortlessly.

I swung the door open and walked in, immediately grabbing Paiges attention. Her previous, serious expression softened as she looked at me, smiling now. We both took rushed steps across the court towards each other until we were face to face.

"Hello, pretty girl." Paige complemented wrapping me in a rather sweaty hug, I fake grimaced, "You're gross." I say trying to wriggle free but Paige is not only taller than me but stronger than me too, I was trapped. "You love my hugs." She protested still not letting me go, "Admit you love my hugs."

I did love Paiges hugs. They were so warm and comforting and I felt like nothing or no one could hurt me while I was bundled up in Paiges arms.

My lack of reply only makes the blonde girl hold me tighter, lifting me slightly off the ground, I let out a squeal, "Paige! Put me down!"

"Admit you love my sweaty hugs." She brings her mouth close to my ear to say that and the hairs rise on the back of my neck at the heat of her breath.

"I love your sweaty hugs." I admit in defeat as she lowers me down, my feet touching the floor once again.

"Thank you." She chirps pressing a quick kiss to my forehead.

"Where is everyone?" I ask looking around the empty room.

"In the locker room cleaning up." She nods her head over to a set of doors which I'm guessing leads to the locker rooms.

"Didn't feel like showering today?" I joke.

"Wanted to shoot around a little more, practice wasn't the best." She explains picking up the ball from where it had rolled to once she dropped it to hug me.

"I doubt that, Buckets." I smirk at Paige as she proves me right by sinking the cleanest three. She smirks back, "You want a go?"

I shake me head immediately, "No. No way." I say backing away from the basketball player.

She laughs and it echos around the court, "Come here, I'll help you." She insists beckoning me over.

"No Paige, I'll be terrible, I know I will." I remain adamant.

"You haven't even tried, have some faith in yourself. Now come here." The second half of her sentence is sterner than the first and the assertion of dominance catches me off guard.

"Yes ma'am." I mummble and walk back to Paige with slightly red cheeks.

"OK, stand here." Paige positions me on the free throw line, using her foot to push mine apart and using her hands to bend my arms in the way she wants. "Here." She hands the ball to me and I take if from her and she immediately giggles.

"What?" I huff, I knew I'd be terrible at this.

"You're so delicate with it." She smiles repositioning my hands on the ball, "Spread your fingers out more." I do as she says and she takes a step back as if admiring her work.

"OK, now shoot." She instructs and I do and it's terrible.

I throw the ball with all my strength and it flies out of my hands and smacks the backboard, missing the basket completely, before rebounding off and almost taking me out in the process. It acted more like a boomerang than a basketball.

Paige was quick to intercept the ball hurling towards me and caught it with one hand before tucking it under her arm.

She was trying her best to hold in a laugh as I just scowled at her and began to walk off.

"Hey, hey, hey." She called grabbing my arm before I could pass her, "That was a...good first attempt." She says leading me back to the same free throw line I'd just embarrassed myself on.

"Good? That's the exaggeration of the century!"

"One more go, I'll help." She hands me the ball again and I reluctantly take it, remembering to spread my fingers like last time.

Instead of standing back and watching, Paige steps behind me this time, her frame enveloping mine. We're so close I can feel her front pressed against my back, her hands cover mine over the ball and I wonder what we look like from an outside perspective.

Paige draws the ball back, my body moving in accordance with hers, before launching it forward and I watch in awe as the ball spins in the air before falling through the basket in a faultless swish.

"There you go baby!" Paige praises, her arms coming together around me, "That would've got you 1 point!" She says unwrapping herself from me, raising her hand for a high five.

I smack my hand to hers, even though that was entirely Paige, I was taking it as my bucket.

"And how many have you got?" I ask referring to points.

"Maybe like five thousand, career wide." She brags but I like it, Paiges confidence in her abilities is one of the most attractive things about her.

"I'm catching up." I tease picking up the ball once more and taking an unserious shot at the basket and to my surprise, I watch as it circles the rim before slipping through.

I snap my head towards Paige in shock, my mouth hung open, her expression mirroring mine.

"Sinking threes? OK Kent!" A familiar voice called out, it was Aubrey coming out of the locker room, a few of the girls following behind her.

"I try." I boast playfully, knowing it was a total fluke.

"Are y'all coming to grab lunch with us?" Ice called out, also emerging from the locker room.

I looked to Paige for her to answer, the girls were Paiges friends and I didn't want to ever feel like I was impending on their hang outs or make it too obvious that we had something going on.

"We actually have plans." Paige says and I raise my brows, did we?

"Cool! Catch you later." The team waved us goodbye as they all filtered off and out of the basketball court.

"What's these plans that we have then?" I ask Pagie once we're alone again.

"Oh, you know. Our usual."

Paige and I hadn't spent much time together in the few weeks we'd been acquainted and any time we were alone, the majority of it was spent with my mouth on hers and vice versa so I didn't know what our usual was.

I look quizzically at Paige, "Which is?"

"Well it requires a lot less distance between us," Say says returning the ball to its rack and walking over to me, "and hardly any talking." She finishes as she reaches me and dips her head slightly to kiss my lips.

I'm smiling as she pulls away, "Sounds like great plans."

"Give me ten minutes to shower and we can go back mine, seeing as the girls are out we'll have the place to ourselves." She tells me before jogging into the locker room.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

[zapapplejammin]

mlp g5 redesign/rewrite? Info dump ramble and individual images below the cut! Just a sketchy image because I just needed to get it out of my head, but I got things to do lol.

WARNING: I'm WORDY

So, we all know one of the biggest things mlp g5 got wrong was tying the lore to g4. This left contradiction, plot holes, a feeling of missed potential, plus annoying old fans all in one go.

I decided I wanted to think up a better revival plan (in my opinion, but I'm biased) that could of led to a more successful generation. Just basically an opinion on what they could of done differently, with creative liberties. I tried to follow the guidelines of what would be allowed in a children's cartoon, and designs that could work for toys! Higher quality toys tho, that can handle body diversity.

So, instead of creating a new cast of characters, i wanted to follow the patterns of old generations- by reusing characters! Each of the mane 6 presented below is inspired by ponies from generations previous, as recent as g5 or as old as g4. Some ponies may even be combined.

Also, part of the charm and draw of unicorns, pegasi and ponies is this colorful cottage coreish feel- and I feel by adding smart technology to relate to current children, it misses the point of pony characters. I understand the need to add an equivalence, however.

So, in terms of setting, it'll still be a simple magic filled fairytale land, with any technology being a secondary plot factor. I'd imagine that while they have machinery integrated, the common pony wouldn't have many tech toys unless it was a part of their personality. Tech that does appear would reference technology created between the 80's and the 2010's. There's also some social media, but that's usually accessed through a family or household computer.

I think the 'separated pony races' storyline could of worked, but again with it being tied to g4... makes little sense. Our setting would have a Queen Opal ruling Ponyland (Not Equestria) with her being respected as any other princess. The three pony races are in a mostly self segregated life style, though the ruling government encourages it. Schools, establishments, neighborhoods and everything is segregated, though pony races still lived in the same kingdoms, and it was more often hostility than fear.

There would be a clearly established hierarchy, with unicorns at the top so as to encourage them to look down on the pegasi and earth ponies. All pony races would be stuck in labor roles established by the queen, with long and busy schedules. Unicorns are put into administrative jobs such as accounting and managment, pegasi maintain perfect weather (using industrial machines) and the earth ponies farm food and maintain gardens. These roles are determined by pony race.

This world still wouldn't have magic, with all ponies simply believing only alicorns have magic. Opaline would be using the magic to power her castle and a many of her factories/businesses

The establishing story would see the main cast grouping together and overthrowing the evil queen opal, who has secretly been sewing mistrust between everyone to separate them and make them easier to control. She took their magic for the same reason, and has been controlling ponyland for years.

Anyway, onto the characters!

Toola-Roo is inspired by Toola-Roola! Her name has been shortened for reasons soon to be clear. Toola-Roo is an artsy and creative pony, with a strong sense of justice.

She is an activist character, though she begins focused on things that dont truly matter. She starts out the plot without many friends due to her being uptight, but she goes on to see the issues that truly matter, and ends up fighting for what's right

She wouldn't need the glasses all the time, smiliar to g4 rarity

Added some mane colors and gave her the full rainbow. The whole mane 6 have a rainbow motif

Nicknames could include Roo-Roo, Toolie, Tools, ect

Scoota-Loo is Toola-Roo's Older, sportier, more popular sister. A lot of plot would come from this dynamic between the two sisters. Scoota-Loo here is more inspired by her g3 appearance, but has some g4 personality.

Scoota-Loo starts out often feeling embarrassed of her sister, frustrated she doesn't try to fit in with norms more or calm down. She eventually sees the world for what it is, and chooses to help her sister save ponyland. Scoota-Loo would be charming, playful, but truly kind. She has a lot of pride, and doesn't feel confident going against the crowd often.

Nicknames could include Scoots, Scootie, Loo-Loo, ect

Sunset Shimmer was the design I got most excited to do. Inspired by g4 Sunset, she changes a bit in this universe, with her motif being the Phoenix. She likes alt/punk styles. While standoffish at first, she would warm up quickly. She is also a huge nerd.

Sunset would probably be unwelcoming at first, used to non-pegasus looking down on her. She would already be against the queen and government, having read forbidden knowledge in the abandoned library she lives at. She shows the group old books that prove magic is real and hint that opal is evil.

Nicknames could include Sunny... idk if there's anything else

Rarity is a sort of Mashup between g4 Rarity and Fluttershy, with a cutiemark throwback to Rarity's g1 inspiration Glory. Girls toys predominantly exclude the color green,even when including the Rainbow (take g4 for example). G5 introduced something else new; a boy in the mane cast. I feel like as a society we can handle a green girls toy. Rarity is similiar to how she was, though she's much more bashful and aloof.

Rarity prefers to express herself through her fashion and makeup, though is shy in beginning conversations. She would start out the plot working an admin job in the castle, and would be an inside pony for the mane 6 to advance the plot. She would be mostly unaware of the state of things, but quickly become radicalized especially for her friends.

Nicknames include any Rarity went by in g4 plus Rarishy

Moondancer is referenced off her g3 appearance. She is basically an influencer, with her HaySpace page being viral. She takes photos and videos of herself and the world around her, and loves to dance and sing. She is a performer at heart.

Moondancer would start out being unaware and not wanting to get involved, but would eventually be convinced to join the mane group. She would use her massive following to spread awareness once they have proof of the queen being evil.

Nicknames could include Moony, MD, MDance, xXDancing-on-tha-MoonXx ect

Wysteria is inspired by her g3 look, but I've always seen her as a unicorn. This version of her has her as an eco-friendly, crystal enjoying type.

Wysteria enjoys sneaking out of her office to enjoy the gardens. She starts out the story very chill and open, with her being friendly with Sunset before the story begins. She is also friends with Rarity, despite not working in the castle herself.

Nicknames could include Wysty, Wyst, Ria, ect

If you've stuck around this long, thank you! I see this story vividly in my mind, I may one day return to this with a written fanfiction movie if I have time.

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[laugtherhyena]

Now that I'm free from college for the next few weeks i can finally talk about these two, the headcanon/take on Ayame's parents i made a little while back with help from my friend Poi, Bashira and Ippei Hatano.

-Ayame is their only child, she takes after her father both appearance and personality wise as both of them are pretty quiet and timid people who tend to not speak a lot. In Ippei's case, his often very subtle emotions don't help at all on the matter as it tends to give people the wrong impression that he’s serious and intimidating, but he really just doesn’t know how to express himself and is a pretty awkward dude in social scenarios just like his kid. He is a tad more talkative when around his family and close friends, but even then he doesn’t talk THAT much more but his family knows he cares for them more than anything.

-Bashira on the other hand is the complete opposite of her husband and daughter, very extrovert and talkative, it's from her that Ayame takes her habit of rambling about her interests tho unlike her Bashira will continue talking for hours and hours without getting self-conscious about it. She has a keen eye and can read through her family's seriousness like an open book if she senses there's something bothering or off about them, whenever that happens she will make them open up and try to help them with the problem.

-She wears her heart on her sleeve and is a very caring and emotional person, thought she's as curious as she is nosy and tends to ask a lot of questions to Ayame's friends as she wants to know the kind of person her daughter’s hanging out with, this borderline interrogation is made worse by the fact that she's the kind of parent that will embarrass her kid with childhood stories but Ippei is usually there to pull her aside and tell her she's embarrassing Ayame in front of her friends.

-Bashira owns a flower shop as she's been fascinated by plants and nature ever since she was little, she used to tend to her parent's garden since both had very demanding jobs and were busy most of the time which led to her wanting to know more about plants and study botanics. This passion of hers is so strong that she named her daughter after a flower (japanese iris).

-She’s known for having a “magic touch” of sorts where everything she plants grows beautiful and strong, when tending to plants she never wears gloves of any kind as she feels like touching the dirt and plants with her bare heads makes all the difference.

-These two met at a restaurant Ippei used to work in as a waiter in his early 20s because Bashira used to go there often with her friends. The whole reason he was working there to begin with was because this place had a piano in the stage where artists would perform sometimes and he’s always had a love for classic music, so whenever he had closing shifts he would stay there overtime after the restaurant closed to play the piano. There were a handful of times he let Bashira get in after closing to listen to him perform.

-His dream was to pursue that kind of career and become a musician but with the bubble burst and economic recession he decided to take a more stable office job than try his luck in the industry. He does still play as a hobby though! The Hatanos have a piano in their house and he plays it for fun and when he needs to de-stress from work. When Ayame was a child he would often play for her and talk about his passion even if she didn't have much interest in music.

-They're not as close as they were when she was a kid by current time since both of them aren't great at communicating but both know the other does care for them quite a bit even if the lack of words and some not-so-well solved issues are a bit of a barrier between them.

-While Ippei isn't outright not supportive of Ayame’s athletic career, he worries more than he cheers for her after the injury she had in one of her legs because it was a very serious one that could lead to her losing movement/feeling in her leg if she goes too far in training and doesn’t take good care of herself. On the other hand Bashira is still as supportive as ever about Ayame's sprinting, she worries too but much like Ayame herself she is pretty stubborn and being a huge optimist she is certain nothing worse will happen.

-When she was still in the hospital recovering from the surgery he went to talk to her about how it was ok to slow down and that she could still enjoy running and training as a hobby, just like he did with playing the piano. He obviously said that with the best intentions in mind but Ayame was in a very stressful and awful mindset because of everything and ended up not taking it very well, as if her dad was telling her to give up on her dreams, so she ended up yelling at him in the hospital about how she won’t give up like he did and Ippei just goes silent out of not wanting to argue with his kid.

-She apologized shortly after but they haven’t had a proper talk about all this stuff? If that makes sense? It was just a quick apology since neither of them are very good at talking + Bashira doesn’t want to intervene heavily on the situation since she feels like it’s something they need to resolve on their own, just father and daughter. (Though it’s not like their relationship crumbled after this mess or anything, it’s just something that was never properly resolved)

-Both of them died in the tragedy but if they had lived long enough to be rescued by the Kisaragi foundation alongside the 6.5 cast Ippei would have joined the foundation in Rei’s division while Bashira could have become a secretary or assistant of some kind if she didn't dislike Minako to the point of being unable to stand being around her.

-In a non-tragedy setting she would already dislike her quite a bit due to the way she treated her child, but because Bashira developed a strong disdain towards Kizuna because of what happened in the killing game she directs that hatred towards her mother since Kizuna herself is not around. The gist of it is that Bashira refuses to believe Ayame could have been so cruel out of her own volition, “I know my daughter more than anyone else, she would never do such a thing!”, and so blames Kizuna for her death since she was the one who instigated the event. (She despises Akane too, but she's the mastermind so who doesn't)

-Ippei is not the kind of person to hold these kids of grudges + he mostly blames himself for what happened to Ayame because he feels that if he had prohibited her from continuing her training as a sprinter after the injury she wouldn't have been called to hope's peak and subsequently died in the proto-killing game, he would much rather have Ayame hate him for putting a stop to her dreams than her being dead.

[mxjackparker]

hi! sorry if this isn't something you're comfortable answering publicly, but do you have any advice for someone starting full-service sex work? the conventional wisdom i've been able to find online is that you should ask your SWer friends for advice when you start out, but i don't know any irl, hence asking here...

for context, i'm US-based and have been (anonymously) selling solo videos online for a few months for a bit of cash while job-hunting, and i'm stillll unemployed and just so fucking done with the job search that i'm considering really leaning into sex work instead. i know it's not easy money and it can be dangerous, but i don't really have other good prospects and honestly i think i might kind of enjoy it? in that i like having sex and trying out new stuff sexually and talking about sex/sexuality with people, and frankly so far filming myself jerking off and posting it on the internet has felt way less degrading than doomscrolling linkedin and writing endless cover letters that will probably never be read by an actual human. i've found a website called tryst that has queer-friendly options (i'm a trans guy) but like. i feel like i have no idea what to do/how to prepare for actually seeing a client??

like i said, i understand if you don't want to give concrete tips or if it's too difficult to give general advice to stranger on tumblr; also, i really admire the work you're doing with writing about sex work, and even if i don't end up going the FSSW route i'm glad to have learned so much about the politics and history of the industry through your blog.

Hey! Totally fine to ask me things like this, and you're also welcome to e-mail or DM me with specific questions and I'll always keep that private and confidential.

I wrote this transmasculine guide to sex work a while back that I think would be helpful to you if you haven't already read it. It has general tips, though it's a little lacking in examples of sites and leaves out options like Rent Men and Bedpage etc. To work out where it makes the most sense to advertise, I'd suggest looking up sex workers in your area on social media or just other trans guys selling sex in the US to see what sites they're advertising on.

As for my biggest pieces of advice based on my experience:

Find community with other sex workers as soon as possible once you start, whether that's through joining online groups or in-person events if there are any near you. This will mean you have people who understand, who you can go to if something bad happens, and allow you to learn from the experiences they share with you.

Get a separate phone and sim card for work. Beg people you know for their old shitty second-hand ones, buy a cheap sim card under a false name, whatever you have to do. Your number is connected to your identity and no matter how careful you are someone will be able to trace it back to your real name and info if you don't get a separate device and number.

If you're someone who currently enjoys sex either with a partner or casually, don't neglect it once you start selling sex. You might think that since you'll be having way more sex, a lack of sex will be the opposite of your issue, but it feels different when it's for work and you don't want to develop a patter of treating all sex you have like it's work. That's less likely to happen if you maintain your current patterns in addition to work. (Disregard if you're not sexually active with others currently, out of preference.)

Decide on sexual boundaries in advance and stick to them even if you change your mind in the moment with a client. Example: if you decide no anal and then you're with a client and you feel like you might actually be fine with it, err on the side of caution and wait until after the booking to think about it again for the future. A sense of pressure can fall on you when there's a financial incentive without you realizing that's what it is at the time.

Find methods of self-soothing and plan what you'll do after bookings in advance, in case you have a bad experience.

Look into sexual health clinics that are sex worker friendly in advance, so you know you can be honest with them and they won't refuse to test you more frequently than people with a smaller number of partners.

These pieces of advice are from all over, but they're a bunch of the things that have been on my mind most recently and that came to me first. If you have specific worries, feel free to ask about them and I wish you ever bit of luck if you decide to start selling sex.

[beesmygod]

i only read tumblr once a day because i [try] to stay sane so only just caught up with the art discourse, which I do have some bits n shit I want to add: a bit fasile for one but, dont you as an artist have upkeep and resource needs to produce? even if its just like...computer, tablet and necessities to continue existence because art takes time to make, those are real, and cost money. "art" in an absolute sense can be made for free with minimal time through just thinking, but like, a webcomic that is a physical thing made of electronic patterns and hosted on a server, takes time and takes stuff. "Webcomics" isnt a free infinitely repeating resource, and you are more than a machine to create webcomic, and none of us are infinite as a resource! at worst, art hits public domain eventually. that said even from that place of survival in capitalistic society it DOES make sense to at least have free public facing art as PROMOTION even if its just idk downtime sketches, doodles, memes, fanart etc so like im not 100% disagreeing yknow, and I am not and artists cant be a paying consumer my/their own art, art has to exist for the self too, the self that isnt a "paying class", or i just start making marvel movies and then its time to find my cool wet hole in the dirt and express my creative individuality like im a mathmatician of statistical analysis of fluid dynamics.

now that im awake i was going to answer these point by point, but this kind of flies past my point that making art exclusively for those who pay is abysmal and treating your audience like they're thieves is a poisonous and off-putting response to one's perceived "loss of income" (which is not even theft because the item being "stolen" can be reproduced infinitely. im talking about like a digital image like a comic page and not a physical item where there's limited copies lol). people either want to pay you or they dont; you can't force people to pay you by making access to your work harder, worse, more inconvenient, and more degrading to your audience. you can't induce artificial scarcity and be a good person.

like yeah obviously art production takes money. that's why most artists work desk jobs instead of trying to make it a solo venture and just expecting the world around them to pick up their slack. i didn't come out of a lotus blossom with a tablet ready to go, i worked desk jobs from age 15-24 in order to have enough savings to cushion myself if need be and pay for base supplies. i use tablets and items gifted/sold to me at a steep discount by my friends. i lived really poor in order to have the life i wanted. and i really loved it lol. i still think of that time so fondly.

once the comic is produced and posted, it is free for my audience to look at and the reproduction costs of the finished image is 0 dollars. it can be copied and reposted freely without charge. it costs me basically nothing to host. the production costs are currently covered by patreon donations. if they were no longer covered by patreon donations i would get a desk job instead of making my choice to go into the financially unsuccessful field of the arts my audience's personal problem to solve. if i don't make things people want to buy, that's my problem and not my audience's.

yeah, it would suck to have to stop doing this because its no longer financially viable (it is really financially hard right now; the state of the world around us is not conductive to the patreon life), but i wasn't entitled to it anyway. i get to make art for a living bc i have an audience that permits me to. why would i start treating them like dogshit or lying about value of my work to squeeze extra money out of them after what they gifted me?

[scummy-writes]

Scum talks about OCs

In this I'm just going to go over my Ocs in sections of their own. I'm not really using a special Oc template, I'm just talking about them and what fics they appear in, because to be blunt, I do write 'reader inserts', but some fics are written with these ocs in mind even if they're not detailed out specifically.

I'm just chatting about for fun, this will not change how I write currently. I would not expect fanfics about these characters specifically.

Amélie - Drawn by @beni-draw-ikemen-please. (Full picture is her in a chair with Isaac sittin on the arm of it, and Arthur resting his head on her lap <3 I love it)

Anju, made with a Picrew here. I think her expression is a bit too gentle here, and she would mainly wear warmer yellows or cool toned blues, not the shirt in the image.

SS from Prince of my WIP OC for it, since she's fuckin impossible to make on picrews. Her current name is Constance.

I am honestly surprised people showed some interest in this, so bear with me through my bumbling please. A lot of these say 'mc' but they are 'reader insert' fics still. Previous fandoms had 'mc' interchangable with 'reader' so...

If you have any questions, feel free to ask, just know I might not have all the answered.

╰❧ Amélie

Amélie has been around for a few years, and Beni has been a saint for letting me comm her to draw her. Because of this, I was able to make a character profile for her Here. Additionally, a much older one Here that details some vague things about her past, and including her past with Sebastian (Childhood friends).

-> Fanfics she has been 'in': Breathless Discoveries (Isaac/Mc), Mental Gravity (Isaac/Mc), Blessed Accidents (Isaac/Mc), Exercise in Restraint (Isaac/Mc), Temptations (Arthur/Mc), A Helping Hand (Arthur/Mc), His (Theo/Mc), Playful Punishments [vaguely] (Isaac/Mc/Arthur), Midnight Impulses [Vaguely] (Isaac/Mc/Arthur), Musings (Isaac/Mc), Oral Prompt with Isaac, First Steps (Isaac/Mc), The Talk (Isaac/Mc), The Shirt Thief (Isaac/Mc), Isaac Overworking (Isaac/Mc/Arthur), Awkward Dates (Isaac/Mc), and likely some other small drabbles I have missed...!

─❧ Summary: (Brief mentions of abuse/SA/Trauma but not explicit details)

A lot of her general background is covered in the second character profile I linked above. It sounds vague, and well! That is because it is a bit traumatic. I don't want to gloss over the fact that she has been through a lot, primarily SA, but I don't like focusing entirely on it to where that is the Only thing about her. Her previous job was ... an 'idol'? I never fleshed it out fully, due to self embarassment, but I wanted her to be a singer with a 'small' following, who got connected with shitty producers and signed a contract way too young without understanding the full implications of it, which caused most of her money to not actually be Hers. Due to her parents strongly against her career choice, going as far as rushing a contract ended up having her cut off from her family. With Sebastian gone, her support network disappeared completely.

She Vaguely goes over this in Patchworked Pieces (be mindful of tags), which was supposed to be a full fanfic detailing her story, but I am not meant for long fanfics at all so I posted what scenes I had typed enough with. on the chapter On Failed Attempts, she details a bit more of her experiences.

How she met Comte was through the normal opening of visiting the muesuem. She did it under distress and wanting a distraction, she was weighing options and considing some pretty awful things! I like to think Comte could tell she was beside herself and trying to calm down a little. I like to think he could sense the distress and the thing she was contemplating, and led her back to the mansion.

Which! Is rocky. She's terrified of everyone, until she sees Sebastian, and he helps ease her into her mansion life. She never tells Sebastian what she went through, due to worries and fears that he would manage to blame himself. So in her story, he never finds out.

Isaac is the primary person who knows some details, but not everything. She'd tell both him and Arthur some bare minimums, just so that when things got intimate, her panic attacks for 'random' reasons wouldn't make them believe it was because of them.

As for how they all entangle with each other? Well... Amélie is not what brings them together, necessarily.

Before she arrives, Arthur attempts to get close to Isaac. It is platonic at first, perhaps he had a crush on him but waves it off. But alcohol is introduced, they start 'drinking' together (Isaac is still a lightweight so he barely builds up his tolerance, mostly keeps Arthur some company), and...They get too tipsy and adventurous with each other. Arthur gets ashamed immediately. Not out of doing things with another man, because it was clear he was using Isaac to get over some trauma. So he avoids, hides, and their friendship crumbles.

And after that is when Amélie stumbles into the mansion.

Her friendship with Isaac is the most prevelant. And after getting on a better start with Arthur, they end up slowly getting entangled with each other. Isaac, unfortunately, deals with the brunt of her panic attacks. Finds scars, attempts to heal them.

It's through healing that they all twine together. Helping each other face their traumas, face what happened between them all.

Ironically, her love for singing was bounced in and out of the story. I wanted a few scenes where she tries to play in one of the many secluded rooms in the mansion- finds an old piano while cleaning, places a few notes. But I don't think she'd be able to any time soon. I think she would need a break for a year or two, before she started exploring music again. Or anything super creative.

I like to imagine that she is friends with a majority of the residents. When she is faring better, she paints with Leonardo and Vincent. She listens to Mozart play, reads what Dazai and Arthur write, so on so forth. I want her to live in a house with Arthur and Isaac, later on, visiting the mansion weekly or every two weeks, happy with her new life.

Sometimes I pair her with Theo, because I think they could help each other, but I think she is fated to be with Isaac and Arthur.

In AUs, I like to imagine Anju as her older friend. Anju does not tolerate a lot of bullshit with Amélie, and would be a bit like a guard dog. But. an unassuming one. She would treat Arthur very harshly until he proves himself. (I am unsure if I ever posted it, but I wrote a few chapters to go with This Au Fic for Isaac week. The second chapter, Anju was supposed to be a witch to help Amélie out after some events [was gonna have Isaac die and then it turn into a reincarnation au thing where they meet again in modern day, and in modern day Anju was gonna be around], and Anju has to help her move forward.)

I've been typing this on and off for a few hours and I am struggling with some details HAHA for now, I will stop here. She's the one OC that has a lot out there for her.

Oh. Amélie is not her 'real' name, but it is now. I am unsure if it is in poor taste or not, but in an attempt to heal she abandoned a lot of her old life. Not Herself, but trying to let go of the past until she could confront it more. She goes by Amélie until the end of her days, and only Sebas and likely Comte know her old name.

╰❧ Anju

-> Fanfics she's been 'in': Training Theo (Theo/Reader)

─❧ Summary: (Vague mentions of parental issues)

OoooOOoooOh Anju....anju....wails.

She is such a complicated Oc for me. She was originally for Shingen in ikes*n (i dont want this on the tags on accident). I still debate if the character she is now still stems from that relationship or not. Because if so, that means she left the past and came back to the present because her and Shingen didn't work out. Not in a TERRIBLE way but probably a sad mutual understanding.

It's either that, or she's just pretty sour from general past relationships not working out.

I like to imagine that she is in her thirties, and that she lives in a neighborhood where everyone knows each other in friendly ways. She is a 'seamstress' just due to how Sengoku has that set up for the Mc. I decied that her grandmother taught her how to sew, and her grandmother owned a small shop to repair peoples clothes and sew clothes for commission as well (i know nothing about how this works so). She would help her grandmother at her shop, and later on when her grandmother passed, she would take over the shop.

As for her parents, I never fully fleshed them out. I just know her mother was constantly comparing herself to other children/people around her, and that their relationship dissolved to the point of Anju refusing to aknowledge her as a mother any longer. The crux of this would cause Anju to move the shop to a different location completely to sever ties. (not move physically, but open another shop elsewhere after funds were saved with the same name).

For Vamp, she relocates her ass to France for Reasons. And here is where it is... well. I don't think a shop like this could exist, but i wish it would. pls spare me from laughs HAHA

The shop I always imagined is the type where the ground floor is the shop, and upstairs is where Anju lives. So upstairs would house her kitchen, living room, and Bedroom and bathroom, a balcony connected to the kitchen would be. great. Lower floor would have the shop, her sewing area, a room to hang up comms and etc, and the 'front' of the shop. Front of the shop is the porch and the actual like...foyer area....of the shop.

She spends a lot of her time sitting in the foyer area at a desk, if she is not actively working on sewing. .....I like to imagine she has a small sitting area set up there for people (children, family, friends, partners, etc) waiting while whoever she is working on measurements and etc with is getting their stuff. With....a lil coffee/tea area....very very small like a coffee maker and some stuff....but cozy vibes... (and she wanted a coffee machine near her while working).

She'll sit on the porch often in the mornings while waiting for customers or going through shop bills and whatever, and that is how she meets Arthur in a modern day setting. By him taking 'Vic' (or whatever pet he is on now) on a walk, Vic escaping, and running up to Anju because he wants pets HAHA.

For first meeting, Anju thinks Arthur is cute, but recognizes the fuckboy tendances. However, i feel like at this point of living as a vampire for so long, Arthur wouldn't be how he is in the game currently. As in, not entirely as self destructive and a smidgen more at peace with himself, but still has the tendencies. She doesn't think too much on the meeting, loves Vic though, and goes from there...

But Arthur doesn't. He gets hung up on her a little, and finds excuses to run into her a bit more. Nothing crazy, but primarily just walking Vic by there and seeing if he can catch her on the porch again, waving, exchanging greetings and pets for Vic. It would turn into him eventually finding an excuse to get some clothing mended, which she can very easily tell is bullshit, but she entertains it because... he's respectful the whole time. She enjoys the company and the innocent flirting.

It comes to a clusterfuck when they spot each other at a bar though. Where he sees how differently she's dressed, where it's clear she's looking for one night stands and nothing else. (He is also alarmed at her smoking HAHA). Arthur doesn't do much with this information, but she immediately tries shutting him out because. Well, she isn't ashamed to have casual sex with others, but she doesn't want the fuckboy tendancies to come back for him. She doesn't want this fake relationship to delve into sex and nothing more. So she puts up walls, and Arthur has to slowly take them down. And it is a rocky thing, because Anju is so independant and refuses to rely on anyone else, so it's a LOT of trouble HAHA a lot of dramatics.

They do fuck, because well they both enjoy sex so why not!!!!! but ah. it's complicated. I think I have a scene of that somewhere. I cannot remember if I have that happen before or after him visiting her home/shop at night when he's drunk. I think it was before.

But Arthur was supposed to go to her place, drunk, because she has such a schedule with her shop/hobbies that it's easy to piece together that she's home, and she essentially lets him stay over in pity because he's wailing about messing up his friendship with Theo.

From there it turns into awkward, more up in the air things. I played with her getting with Arthur only, Theo only, Arthur and Theo, or even Vincent! But the Arthur/Theo subplot would have been too similar to the Isaac/Arthur one in Amélie's story. (Sorry for causing you so much distress, Arthur).

I like to imagine her in her shop. Arthur flirting with her while the neighborhood granny laughs at her attempts to ignore the flirting.

╰❧ Constance

-> Fanfics she's been 'in': Sinking (Gilbert/Reader) [Descriptions of Self Harm], First Time (Gilbert/Reader), Chev comforts Mc

─❧ Summary: (Mentions of self harm, abuse)

Constance....! Is still a running name. I may change it, I may not. I'm unsure about her appearance, I know I want her to have the split hair and to dress in similar colors though, but her eyecolor I am so conflicted on...

But...! Her story is still being fleshed out, and she has changed a lot. She is now strictly for Gilbert, whereas she was supposed to be a flexible oc for either Clavis or Gilbert. (Maybe she still could be?)

So far, her story is still like Emma's so far. her and Rio friends for years, Akatsuki taking her in, etc. In my mind, she doesn't know who her parents are and is somewhat in peace of that.

I've bounced around a lot with her though, to where the Rio and Akatsuki being in her BG makes little sense. i've wanted her to be someone who writes and sings, but does not preform and instead has a friend that preforms for her. Where they have private sessions of Constance singing and exampling some of the dancing to her friend, and later on watching her friend preform the songs and bringing her visions to life. (i like this a lot but it feels...odd.)

I want her carrying a notebook around the palace, filled with her drawings and songwriting. Far in the journal, there is drawings of Gilbert- not because she knows him, but because long before she saw him slinking around Rhodolite and drew him out of facination of how he looked (did not piece together he was a Scary Dude). (would add a lot of fuel to fire if anyone saw those drawings COUGHS)

In another bouncing, I have her as a secret wrtier/artist that writes songs that are never preformed. I thought it would be funny if she wrote the erotica that Jin apparently reads??? I can never fgure out if thats canon or not because i never see it Mentioend in the game.

In both possible backgrounds for her, she is still a quiet and reserved person who suffers from a lot of depression, and struggles with herself a lot. The two toned hair was for fun at first, but now I'm realizing it would probably be a good symbol for her inner issues. How she has a lot of 'darkness' inside of her, that she feels disgusted by and upset with, while there is a purity she wishes she had (but fails to come to terms with how that is unreasonable).

To be paired with Clavis, she was supposed to be much more shy, and his antics were supposed to draw her out of her shell more.

But now it's more solidifies that she will be primarily paired with Gilbert due to the purity/darkness thing. She is a little dramatic in her thoughts with that, and is now a bit more serious toned rather than her shyness being played for antics.

She believes Gilbert over his refusal to 'lie', and that draws her in a lot.

Discussion of self harming/SA, when text is blue I am finished.

Something I am struggling with is that with many Ocs, i often have them go through some sexual trauma just due to it being an outlet for myself (i have also had sexual trauma). This may be why you see some themes of this in some fanfics I write, where there is something the reader is struggling with sexually and the suitor is extremely patient with them- it's usually tied to stuff like this (unsure of how obvious that is since no one ever says anything! which feels like an act of kindness, if it is obvious).

For her, I am struggling with adding that into her background as something that is fairly recent with her. Rio doesn't know, she refuses to tell him, and his fondness of her and constantly...hm...i don't mean this poorly, but building her up to be so 'perfect' sometimes causes a lot of issues when she reflects on herself, and she uses those words against herself often.

I don't know if the self harm would be. Due to that SA event or not. I don't know if this is soemthing that has plagued her for years, or if it spiked as her emotions got out of control.

Gilbert would not know. I don't really care if JP spoilers suggest otherwise, as there are already hints that make it clear he doesn't know Everything (he just knows a Lot). A lot of their relationship would be them struggling with self harm and the SA. A lot of her trust gets put into him (even if she dislikes it), because he doesn't lie to her like others do, and it is a comfort. (blah blah gilbert does lie blah blah)

It's hard to explain their relationship. I assume i'll have more figured out as his route comes out. Right now, she's who I imagine when I write some stuff with him, but not all of it.

With Clavis, the relationship would have been more healthy, and so would she. I think she would still struggle with both things, as it could be used as a mutual understanding when they discuss needing to be loved fully and not half-heartedly.

That is a rough gist of what I have for her? I have been typing this for hours and I am running out of steam.

Annnd....That is that! At least for now. Another detail I will share for all of them is that they are all bi :) All my ocs are always bi.

Again, you guys are free to ask questions. I may update this over time as well. I don't really want criticisms for my ocs though since you guys don't actually deal with them past them popping up as the voice for some reader insert fics. they just sorta rot in my brain and I get comms of them at times.

[jadeacereigen]

i also always felt like the fandom depicting reigen's childhood as abusive and neglectful never really quite fit. i know that most of it is probably just projection, and it's something i really understand because i've done it before with other characters.

i feel like there's a difference between giving a character trauma that makes sense when taking their canon self into account and giving a character trauma for other unrelated reasons, like comfort or even for fun, to be able to explore the scenarios that would come with it. both are very valid. let the people do what they want, y'know?

but something i feel like people tend to gloss over sometimes is that parents can fuck up when raising you and still not be outright shitty evil people. they can judge you on your career choices and still love you. your friends can make an off the cuff comment that ends up sticking with you in a bad way without realizing, people can suck at showing they care about you while still caring about you, they can be imperfect just as much as you are. it's their first time on this earth too. and it doesn't excuse the times they may have hurt you or made you feel bad about yourself, but it's up to you if you wanna keep them in your life. everyone can change, but that's also up to them.

it gives reigen an added charm [or should i say humanity?], to know that he is a flawed person and that it stems from the things that happened when he was younger, and the people that were in his life, and to know that things don't need to be catastrophic for them to affect and/or change you, whether good or bad. it's a good thing to remember i think. to know that there's so many greys between the white and black. that he has layers. his experiences are very valid.

anywho. sorry for the long ramble i just had to get this out there hehe.

ask game time!!!! 25, 9 and 22

Oh my god no don't apologize you're so right. I agree 100% so I'm gonna answer with my own long ramble.

(Discussions of child abuse below, though nothing that's not present in MP100 canon.)

Yes, it almost feels like people want to dismiss all flawed parenting and strained relationships between parent and child as abuse. There's certainly something very wrong with Reigen and his parents' relationship but I'm gonna be honest, I don't understand how people can find redemption in Toichiro who literally beat up his own son but then at the same time demonize Reigen's parents for the crime of disapproving his life as a CONMAN.

Yes, Reigen actually helps his clients and refuses to take money for things he cannot fix, but he's an incredibly special case and his parents are like most people who have no clue that the supernatural is even real. I personally think IRL psychics are full of shit and prey on the naive and emotionally vulnerable. If I had a kid who quit their normal job and spent all their savings to become a psychic I would not be happy with them! I would hope I wouldn't be as cold and that they wouldn't live in fear of my messages to them but I would definitely be encouraging them to stop that shit and get a "real job". To think that his parents should support his choices in life when he's pretending to be a psychic with no additional context is wild to me. (Also, I can't find the translation anymore but Reigen says in the fanbook that his mom thinks he's being tricked into doing his current job.) Again, they could go about this in a much better way but this disapproval does not inherently point to abuse.

(Sorry this rant got very long so everything else is below the cut.)

I think the biggest thing that points to Reigen's parents not being as awful as they are in fan content is that even after Reigen gets publicly exposed for being a con artist, his mom does tell him to learn his lesson from this but she also takes the time to prepare him an apology, tells him that he should come home (instead of telling him he's not welcome home/disowning him) and emphasizes that she's on his side. Maybe you could consider that the bare minimum of a decent parent but this to me just doesn't feel like she's the hateful abusive mother so often depicted. She could be warmer about it but she's obviously super concerned and wants Reigen to know she cares about him regardless of his actions.

(As for his dad, all we know is that he and Reigen don't talk to each other at all and that he thinks Reigen is unemployed. This relationship is definitely worse than Reigen and his mom's but there's little to go off of in terms of if his dad is a terrible parent or not. His mom seems to think he's worried about Reigen and that would definitely not surprise me.)

In terms of how Reigen feels about his parents, in the fanbook he acknowledges that there have been misunderstandings from both sides and that he'd like to talk things out with them and visit them more often. That's such a real thing lots of people can relate to and I'd love to see that get explored! I want to see Reigen patch things up with his parents! Maybe I'll write out my stupid fic idea for it idk.

I also don't want to stereotype but I am from an East Asian family myself and grew up surrounded by others so I feel like it's safe for me to say that Reigen's parents really remind me of your typical older generation of Asian parents. (Reigen was born in 1984 so his parents would definitely be of the boomer ilk, potentially even the Silent Generation if they had him on the older side.) Reigen also says in the fanbook that his parents are very serious people. Oftentimes with that older generation they just don't really show their care the way you'd normally see it. There may never be any "I love yous" but they'll cut you a plate of fruit without you asking or remember the show you liked 10 years ago and assume you're still into it...

Of course, parental norms in a culture don't justify hurtful parenting. (I mean just watch Everything Everywhere All At Once if you want to see the pain of having a disapproving Asian parent despite knowing they love you and just want what they think is best for you.) His mom fussing over his job and his lack of a girlfriend may be a super "Asian parent" thing, but it definitely hurts Reigen's feelings and she should cut that out. So yeah, Reigen's parents could do a lot better in terms of making Reigen feel supported and loved regardless if they approve of his life choices or not, but Reigen wants to patch things up with them for a reason and I'm hopeful that they can all reach a better understanding with each other.

One thing I also wish the anime showed was that Reigen's mom talks to him on the phone after Separation Arc! We see that in this omake:

Reigen definitely didn't tell his parents his phone number or his home address if his mom had to resort to emailing his business address just to talk to him. But I like to think that after Separation Arc he started letting his mom into his life a bit more...

God this was such a long rant, I'm sorry. One final thing before I get to your questions is that if we really need abusive parents to hate, Teru's non-present parents are ripe for the picking... Just saying.

(ask game)

I'm assuming you mean Reigen for all of these btw

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Gosh I initially thought he was just a silly goofy character who could be annoying and pathetic at times, but I enjoyed his presence on-screen. Then he got deeper in the Season 1 finale and showed just how much he truly cared about Mob... That part definitely got me shook. He only got better and better from there and now he's one of my favorite characters in the story.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

Jesus christ uh I definitely don't think he'd be a bad roommate and we'd probably get along just fine but I also think I'd annoy the shit out of him. I'm not the best at keeping my space neat and clean. Also the thought of meeting Reigen in person is actually terrifying... Reigen should never exist outside the world of fiction because his pure chaos would be too much for reality.

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

Hmm I answered what I don't like last time, but I do like fics that explore his relationship with Mob or Serizawa. I also like seeing him confront more of his personal issues and grow as a person even if he gets a little hurt in the process-

[nvrcmplt]

Early morning rays greet Salem, stomach gently rumbling at the smell of breakfast that greats them. Stumbling out of bed, they slip into one of Marvin's shirts before softly padding toward the kitchen. The avian's issues had abated, but the memory issues still linger. There are days when Salem wakes with no recollection of where they are, but as the morning progresses, it comes back and though they don't remember in the moment, the phoenix still gravitates toward Marvin, because the sense of familiarity is always there. Today is a brand new day and the thought of Marvin and their love for him brings a smile to Salem's features.

Attaching themselves's to his back, lip press along his spine, slender arms sliding around the equine's waist. ❝ ━ I'm sorry I've been such a handful lately. But thank you for staying by my side, even when I didn't recognize you. ❞ There's a smile to their voice, resting their cheek against his back, lips curling at the corners, tears dampening their lashes. ❝ ━ Lets go somewhere, anywhere. Just as long as we're together.❞

Marvin wasn't sure what to thank in his times of hardship with Salem. Taking his job for instance, if he were to still be doing long hours, would Salem healed mentally as fast as he has? What if they weren't an item to begin with? Would Salem even be himself anymore without another looking after them? What of Eli, his best friend more so brother? If they were to last two to be last in these moments… would they ever be the way they are at current? It was a scary thought in reality.

Marvin wasn't a man without emotions, they were just terribly subdued due to his nature. A Ferryman's seen a lot in their time, their existence was merely a boat back and forth, an vessel of travel from one place to the next. Still, in his moments of deep thought and watching Salem sweat through the aftermath of dreams and nightmares and memories he can no longer remember but lived through - tears did often come to his lashes.

His need to protect his mate and everything they held dear was without a question in his mind. The idea that Salem was still suffering even though it was much easier now to allow the time to pass without his heart in his throat. Salem was still hurt, still healing, still a little cracked even with all the glue he's put into place. Marvin wasn't mad or such things, no, he was just worried. Worried to the bone that all this hard work could be thrown into the wind at any moment should Salem have a relapse of such pains he couldn't fight for them.

The deep inhale was needed, as lashes lowered upon the frying pan with batter bubbling from the low heat. Honey with banana chunks, he made sure they were baked into the batter instead of just sitting on top of it… As he flipped it over, he drizzled a touch of chocolate syrup upon the golden brown and waited for the other side to cook through. At this time, he was better in the mind, his lashes slow in their blinking as he plated the pancakes onto plates awaiting the masterpieces of his breakfast talents. Fresh fruits were already laid on the table top, cut slices of strawberries, kiwi, watermelon and others. Powdered sugar in a bowl and self-serving sieve, syrup pots and even just plain pancakes at the side.

Marvin was happily interrupted though upon the sight of his lovers warmth in his mind, turning once upon their touch to his back and the shiver that rolled through his bones at the affection. Divine. No matter how many times it would happen, he could only smile upon their words, a good morning this was, looking after them in the late hours wasn't a bother when this was the reward, that was for sure.

"Morning, dove." His one and only, that was in the midst of apologising to him… He should honestly tell them it's not their fault, but it wasn't so much Salem doing things on purpose, but the understanding that it was indeed stressful. It was a worry of every day - which memory will he lag and not remember completely this time? It was a sad sight, seeing such a brilliant mind and talent be reduced to panic attacks and burning their favorite sheets. It was nice though, to know that Salem was coherent again, to know that things weren't well, but they were getting better.

One step at a time, that was for sure… and Marvin was going to walk with him no matter what too.

"Thank you, Salem. Apology accepted… " As he moved to turn off the burner and lean into his loves arms, he stroked over their wrists on his stomach, linking fingers even as he enjoyed the moment but his stomach did rumble, even if he didn't need to eat much. Trapped air of a Ferryman, he'd say nothing else but peel their hold off of him and turn with their hands still linked. "Let's plan it out over breakfast, I made a lot… Come eat, Salem." Let's enjoy the morning together… just like always.

"How about a full Europe trip?" Spoken out loud as the ferryman sat himself opposite his phoenix at their table for two.

[perciverfeels]

A little Percy Weasley-centric, DH-era snippet from a future chapter of my Perciver fic. Stand-alone. You don't have to read my fic to understand, but I would love it if you did!

Hey friends, as I said earlier, I wanted to publish a Percy scene that takes place during DH, which is WAY ahead in the future compared to what's currently happening in my story. I hope you enjoy it!

If you haven't read my fic, you don't necessarily have to in order for this to make sense. It's pretty self-explanatory and stand-alone. For those of you who do read my fic, after I write the chapters that lead up to this one, a few bits of this snippet might change. If you'd rather not be spoiled, you can ignore this. But I'd love for you to read it if you're interested! The full snippet continues under the cut.

(Oh and just a quick note, the character of Galin Fence was introduced in my most recent chapter as Fudge's nephew, in case you were wondering who that is.)

________________

Percy straightened his posture as Dolores Umbridge stepped off the lift, a broad, jubilant grin spread across her toad-like face. She clutched a large roll of parchment so tightly in her hands, perhaps thinking it would blow away if she dropped it. Umbridge approached Percy’s desk in the center of the room, and gave him a triumphant look.

“Mr. Weasley, I have just received the first batch of names,” she said, excitement evident in her sickly sweet voice. With a dreadful tightness in his chest, he knew immediately what she was referring to. “We want to start knocking on doors with registry papers and court dates this afternoon. I will leave it to you to make a dozen, secure copies of this list for Magical Law Enforcement, as they will be taking the lead on rounding everyone up. Make the lists unreadable to anyone outside of Yaxley’s staff, as well as ours. Do not send them as interdepartmental memos. You will hand deliver the lists to Yaxley.”

“Yes, of course, Senior Undersecretary. Right away.” Percy couldn’t decide which was worse— having an interaction with Yaxley, or being forced to walk past his father’s office to do so.

Umbridge set the roll of parchment down on Percy’s desk, and then added: “I expect you will not have any misgivings about this list?”

“Of course not, ma’am. You have my word.”

“Good. I will be supervising the setup in the courtrooms for the rest of the morning, in case the Minister needs me.”

It seemed odd that Umbridge would need to “set up” anything in the courtrooms. Weren’t they merely going to question people? That was par for the course in the courtrooms. But a morning without Umbridge in her office was preferable, especially now that she had Mad-Eye Moody’s eye fastened to her door and was presumably watching Percy and his coworkers through it. It was grotesque and invasive.

As Percy unrolled the list, he wondered gloomily if giving him this job was Umbridge’s way of exerting power over him. Of telling him he’d never rise in the ranks of this Ministry, not with a blood-traitor family like his. Of making Percy see the names of Muggle-borns who were under investigation, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. That he had to obey without question or risk being tracked like his father almost certainly was.

Once completely unrolled, the list was longer than Percy was tall. He would have to be sure to cut the parchment for each copy precisely, which would take a few minutes at most. But the unreadable charms were going to be tedious. Percy was going to have to go line-by line down twelve, seven-foot-long rolls of parchment, focusing hard on the incantations.

Percy sighed and stood up. No doubt he would need special parchment and ink for this job. And just his luck— there was a ban on conjuring charms for anyone but high-level Ministry officials. The supply room was down on Level 8, past the Atrium. So with his usual feigned air of importance, Percy crossed the room and pressed the button on the wall to summon the lift. Thankfully nobody was inside when he got on— perhaps this meant his trip would be quick.

But the door opened immediately on Level 2, and two navy-robed Magical Maintenance workers stepped inside, one very tall with a curly, black beard, and the other much shorter and balding— short enough that the taller man had to lean down a bit to speak to him. Deep in conversation, they didn’t seem to notice Percy.

“Did you hear the rumor about what they’re bringing down to the courtrooms?” the taller man asked. 

“Aye, I didn’t just hear about it, I saw them with my own eyes when I was down there fixing that faulty air vent,” said his coworker nervously.

“Did you? You really saw dementors?”

“Hard to mistake ‘em, isn’t it? Yaxley was bringin’ ‘em in— a dozen I reckon.” The man’s voice shook a little as he spoke.

“A dozen?” the taller man said incredulously. “Isn’t one enough to do the job of scaring people?”

“I heard Yaxley bragging that they’re sendin’ ‘em to Azkaban if they can’t prove they have wizarding blood. An’ if they resist, they get the uhh… the kiss,” the shorter man lowered his voice for that final word.

His coworker gasped. “Blimey, you don’t think they’ll start going after Ministry families, do you?”

“Dunno. But if I were a Muggle-born working in this bloody place, I’d pack up my desk yesterday. Hell, if I were a Muggle-born anywhere in this country, I’d be in the wind faster ’n you can say ‘Accio’. No way I’m goin’ anywhere with a dementor.”

The lift stopped at Level 7, and the two men got out. As it dropped one more level and the door opened on Level 8, where Percy needed to get off, he stood frozen in horror at the threshold. Percy’s whole chest and throat turned to pure ice. He could’t breathe. He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t move. People in the Atrium stared at him curiously as he stood rooted to the spot inside the lift. That revolting new statue directly faced him, as if it were mocking him for being so subordinate. Subordinate like the Muggles that made up the throne were supposed to be, according to the Ministry’s new stance.

The door closed after a few seconds, leaving Percy alone inside the lift with his racing thoughts. What he had just heard could have been Yaxley having a laugh and exaggerating or making things up to sound important. But Percy didn’t think so. He couldn’t afford not to believe it was true. Because if he turned a blind eye to what the Ministry was doing, as he’d done for so long up until now, he’d be ignoring the impending imprisonment or deaths of everyone on that list sitting on his desk upstairs.

Percy unfroze. Without another thought, he slammed his palm against the button for Level 1 and prayed no one would delay the lift. Once back in the Minister and Support Staff office, Percy bolted out of the lift and took long, swift strides toward his desk, his heart pumping anxiety and dread through his veins. Thankfully his coworkers were used to Percy bustling about quickly, and didn’t give him a second glance.

Standing at his desk, Percy finally looked at the Muggle-born registry list. He estimated about two-hundred Muggle-born witches and wizards were listed. And what had Umbridge said? That this was only the first batch of names?

The names were in alphabetical order. With his throat closing tighter and tighter as his eyes scanned down to the letter “C”, he hoped against all hope that he wouldn’t see her name. Please, no. Please PLEASE, don’t be—

Percy’s speeding heart stopped dead in his chest.

—Clearwater, Penelope - age: 20; occupation: unknown; family: Muggle mother, Muggle father. No known wizarding family members; crime: impersonating a witch, wand stolen from a witch or wizard.—

The list crinkled as Percy’s hands shook violently. Penny’s address was also listed under her name. The Ministry had everything they needed to find her, bring her in, and ship her off to Azkaban or worse.

Percy sat down, his wobbly legs unwilling to hold his weight any longer. Something hammered at the back of his brain— an instinctual urge to do something. Anything. The feeling grew and grew as he stared wide-eyed at the list. Penny was on this list. Penny, one of his closest friends and confidants. The person with whom he shared his first kiss. The person who still believed in him no matter how deep he fell. Penny, who was studying Muggle law so she could improve the very court she was about to be convicted in.

He drew a long, shaky breath. Galin shot Percy a worried glance from his cubicle, which he met for a brief moment before looking back down at the list. As much as he appreciated Galin’s continued camaraderie through everything, the man still reminded Percy of Fudge— of when Percy let the Ministry take over his mind and heart. Percy had always been a good little Ministry servant. He’d agonizingly renounced his family, abandoned his friends, and done everything that was asked of him. He’d been personal assistant to three different Ministers, continuing to keep his nose down while hoping, someday, he’d be recognized as useful, and being consistently let down. He’d stomped out all misgivings, ignored his own common sense, and obeyed. He was no better than an Inferius, numb and mindless and cold.

You can’t obey -this-, said the pounding voice in the back of his mind. It was getting progressively louder. They gave you this list because they think you’ll obey. They think you’ve become the exact kind of Ministry pawn who will go along willingly. They think your spirit is broken and they’re holding the pieces over your head. If you don’t cross the line now, you’ll stay here forever. Penny will die and the blood will be on your hands. You used to be strong. You used to have faith in your abilities. You used to believe in your own convictions, even when the Ministry let you down.

They underestimate you. You’re still that person.

Percy clenched his fists and his jaw. He picked up his wand, now completely steady in his hand. His mind was steady too— he was sure of himself. Sure of what he was going to do. The Ministry of Magic would regret underestimating him. They would regret assuming he had no Weasley blood left in his veins and in his heart.

Carefully, Percy touched the tip of his wand to “Clearwater, Penelope”, and pulled the ink up and away from the parchment. He continued to drag his wand across the paper until everything under her name was completely erased. Quickly, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was watching him— they weren’t. To anyone else, he was carefully going over the list to make Umbridge’s unreadable copies. To anyone else, he was a pawn.

As soon as he crossed that line, Percy couldn’t stop. He erased a dozen other names. Elderly witches and wizards who wouldn’t survive Azkaban. People who supported large families like his own, who might not have the means or ability to flee and hide. His heart pounded, this time pumping determined warmth through his body instead of cold anxiety. Once he was done, Percy surveyed the newly blank spaces on the parchment. When he made the copies, including one for Umbridge, he would need to shift up the blank spaces and shave off the few inches at the bottom to make it look like nothing was amiss. But this was all he could do for now. If any more names were taken off— if the parchment was noticeably shorter— he risked being discovered.

The plan wasn’t foolproof. Umbridge could have made another list just for herself, or she could have looked at this one before handing it to him. Penny was still in danger, whether it was today, in a week, or in a month. The Clearwater family needed to hide now. A letter would be too slow, and all mail going in and out of the Ministry was checked, all owls tracked in case someone was trying to contact the Order or Harry Potter.

Percy rolled his wand between his fingers, thinking hard. One of his coworkers— a tall witch with long, silver hair, glided past him on her way to the lift. As he watched her, it came to him. In the month or so after You-Know-Who’s return— before Percy cut ties with his family, before they considered Percy a threat— his father and Bill had a conversation about a secret method the Order used to communicate. Supposedly they could use a Patronus to send urgent messages. A Patronus couldn’t be tracked, couldn’t be intercepted, and couldn’t be captured and interrogated.

But I’ve never produced a corporeal Patronus before, Percy’s rational brain reminded himself, his heart sinking. He’d never found the correct happy memory to conjure more than a half-baked wisp of silver vapor. How could he produce one now, of all times? Had the Ministry blocked low-level workers from the Patronus Charm, just like they’d done supply conjuring charms?

It’s worth a shot to try. You’ve already stepped this far past the line, said the more powerful voice that had been gaining momentum for the last fifteen minutes. The voice, who Percy knew was his own bravery breaking through, was right.

He stood up, slipped the list into his desk drawer, then crossed the room toward the Level 1 men’s bathroom. Percy stopped in front of Galin’s desk along the way. “Galin,” he whispered. The other man blinked up at him through sleepy but curious eyes. “I need you to keep people away from the men’s bathroom.”

Galin tilted his head. “Why?”

“Just do it, please. Tell them anything. Tell them a toilet clogged and there’s muck all over the floor.”

His coworker wrinkled his nose and gave him a sour look. “Are you about to go in there and clog a toilet?”

Percy tapped his foot impatiently. “Please, just give me your word.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you owe me one, Weatherby.”

Percy’s lips twitched at the nickname. This was how he knew Galin Fence was on his side. That he hadn’t been Imperiused. After thanking Galin with a nod, Percy made his way to the bathroom and used a spell to lock the door behind him, as well as a silencing charm for good measure.

As he pulled out his wand, Percy realized his hand was shaking again. Was he losing momentum? Were his nerves returning? Suddenly faced with the seemingly impossible task of producing a Patronus, Percy found it difficult to even whisper the incantation, let alone say it clear enough for the spell to work. Think of something good, something really, really good.

But, as he’d suspected all along, nothing came to mind. It was as though the Ministry had eaten up all the color in his life, leaving nothing but grayscale. Penny was going to be arrested if he didn’t do this now. Penny’s parents were going to be interrogated or killed for being Muggles who knew about the magical world. Umbridge was going to find out what he’d done. He might lose his job and be unable to do any more good. He’d be labeled a blood-traitor like the rest of his family, and he’d be tracked at work, at home, everywhere. And if he went crawling back to the Burrow now, he would be far from welcomed home with open arms. Not after seemingly going along with the Ministry for so long. Not after he willingly missed Bill’s wedding…

Hot tears streaked down Percy’s cheeks, meeting at his chin and dripping onto his hand— still gripping his wand and shaking violently. His throat was closing up again. Using his wand-free hand, Percy felt around in the pocket of his robes for something to wipe his eyes with. His fingers brushed a piece of paper, and his heart leapt into his throat.

It was the letter from Oliver— the last one he’d received before cutting off his mail delivery. Percy swallowed, then pulled it out. Why had he put this letter inside his work robes? He couldn’t remember. It must have been inside his pocket through many cleanings, as the parchment was softer and more wrinkled than when he received it. But the ink was still inexplicably legible.

Hey Perce,

Still haven’t heard from you. Still don’t know if you’re in that apartment anymore. Still don’t know if you’re working at the Ministry. They won’t let me visit you, since I don’t have clearance for Level 1. I thought about waiting in the Atrium to see you, but if you’re not answering my letters, I reckon you don’t want to see me. But I’m not giving up on writing.

If you ever see this… just listen to me. You don’t even have to write back. I’m not asking you to. I just want you to know that you have someone thinking about you. I’m still here.

As per usual, I’ll end on a positive note— I love you, Percy.

Oliver

The signature animated Snitch on the bottom of the letter still moved, miraculously still swirling and fluttering back and forth across the parchment. With a jolt of hope in his heart, he realized that meant the letter-writer was still alive. When had Percy stopped checking?

—I’m still here.—

 Oliver was still alive. Of course he would be. He was pureblood. And he was strong, resilient, and resourceful. Warmth returned to Percy’s chest.

—I love you, Percy.—

Oliver loved him. Percy didn’t dare doubt this anymore. Oliver, who sang romantic lyrics to him while pretending his broom was a guitar. Oliver, who complimented his smile and handed him cassette tapes with silly names that reminded him of Percy. Oliver, who promised he would wait for Percy. Oliver, who kissed him on the cheek at King’s Cross.

With a swoop of excitement in his stomach, with the letter in one hand and his wand in the other, Percy called out the incantation with newfound conviction: “Expecto Patronum!” His voice echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom.

A moment later, his wand began vibrating as silver light came pouring out. Startled, Percy backed up against the wall between two sinks, but he didn’t dare lower his wand. The silver vapor hovered, swirling in the air for a few seconds, then, unbelievably, it took a form.

Percy blinked at the animal. It blinked back. While his heart was fit to burst, while he knew he didn’t have much time with it, Percy studied the Patronus. The silver animal appeared to be a sheep— or rather, a ram— with large, curled horns and round, expectant eyes. Surprise and elation filled Percy’s chest. He’d done it. He’d produced a real, corporeal Patronus.

The ram blinked again and tilted its head. This might have been a reminder that Percy wasn’t finished. That it needed to be given an assignment. He had absolutely no idea how to perform the next bit of magic in order to send a message to Penny. But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The first method that came to mind would have to be what he tried.

Picturing Penny in his mind’s eye, he pointed his wand at the silver ram and flicked his wrist. The next moment, he heard a small “crack!”, similar to the sound of Apparition, but much quieter. The ram disappeared.

He couldn’t physically see where it had gone— but in his heart he knew the ram had reached its destination. Almost instinctually, Percy pulled the end of his wand up to his mouth, and spoke as steadily as he could manage:

“Penny, if you can hear me, you need to hide. The Ministry is after Muggle-borns and you’re on the list. They’re sending people to Azkaban. Leave the country with your parents as soon as you can. Go somewhere far away from Britain. Don’t send owls to anyone. Just go, Penny. Please.”

With another flick of his wand, the Patronus returned. It nodded once at Percy in a silent confirmation that the message had been successfully received, then vanished into a mist of silver vapor. Brief disappointment tugged at Percy’s chest— he’d wanted more time with the silver ram. Perhaps to touch it, somehow. Or ask it why it took that form. But at least the job was done, and that was all he could hope for.

The mental stress of producing a Patronus and sending the message to Penny caused Percy’s knees to give out. He sank to the floor, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, and exhaled shakily. Oliver’s letter had fallen to the tile floor beside him, so he quickly snatched it up and replaced it in the pocket of his robes. He didn’t dare lose it— Percy couldn’t believe how powerful the words in that letter had been. How quickly they were able to help him conjure happy memories.

Percy swallowed a lump in his throat. What was he supposed to do now? Should he cry? Laugh? Splash his face with water? After a few minutes, he chose to stand up, brush off his robes, unlock the door, and step back into the world of the Ministry. Galin tried to ask him what was going on, but Percy waved him off exhaustedly.

For the rest of the morning, Percy busied himself making unreadable copies of his edited list, making extra sure Umbridge’s copy looked indistinguishable from the original, which he surreptitiously burned under his desk. As he gathered up the copies and made his way to Level 5, a newfound determination lit his spirit. The silver ram stared at him in his mind’s eye, reminding Percy that he’d crossed the line. He was working against the Ministry now, and he was okay with that. More than okay, actually.

The rest of his family were in the trenches, actively fighting You-Know-Who and his followers— actively fighting the Ministry that had been tainted beyond all recognition. Percy used to feel dreadful for not going back to them. For not helping them. For leaving them in the first place. But today… today, Percy felt like fully embracing how different he was. How his path had led him here. How only Percy had the means and ability to gain access to the Muggle-born lists. To try to warn people if he knew them. To work for but against the Ministry in equal measure.

Percy was the black sheep of the Weasley family. But not lost. Not anymore.

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Live-blogging Gallifrey: Ascension

Romana the second she finds herself at home: I am not your President I don’t want to be your President please don’t make me do this again

Sefghkjugfdsw mandatory lockdowns. Imagine that.

Also how long has it been since Pandora? Are they saying there’s been ANOTHER war since then? That line was unclear

“Absolutely without precedent. Well, except for that one time.” That is VERY Time Lord

“Under Romana, things were so much better. A golden age of Gallifrey.” How long has it been?? You all HATED her. And also she started a war and declared herself dictator

She can’t fucking escape this life even when she doesn’t want power lol

Oh I think Leela should get to be a werewolf proper btw. Not just heightened senses but everything else that goes with it

Oh dang, Jevon has Andred’s job now (I had to look him up to be sure but I KNEW i remembered him as one of the guards who was a dick to Leela on alt!Gallifrey and I feel proud I was right)

Non consensual presidency

Ok so this is recontextualizing last episode, but I still think Renaissance is my least favorite so far just for listening to

Oh is it time for Zombie Apocalypse 2: Electric Boogaloo?

Anyone who says “not now, K-9” really deserves what’s about to happen to them

They JUST put her back in power and already everyone is yelling at her what to do. Do they really treat every President like this, or just her?

Do. Not. Give. This. Guy. Your. Codes. He is clearly SO shady

You’d think she’d be better at protecting these after, you know, not giving them to the daleks for twenty years

“But Narvin will have a fit! …which makes it worth it 😏” Amazing

She used to judge how much danger they were about to be in by the Doctor saying “what could go wrong?” “It can’t do any more harm” should NOT be in her vocabulary. You should know better, Madame President

*literally cuts to things exploding*

I need Trey to kiss Leela

Narvin: saves Leela’s life

Narvin five minutes later: But why did you come back for me? 🤔

I don’t feel too bad about Leela being confused by Slyne’s appearance, since Romana did the same thing at first

WAIT THE MATRIX CAN RESET REAL LIVING PEOPLE?? Whose idea was this, that’s such a bad plan!!

Narvin like “I leave you alone for a few hours and you seize power again”

Oh damn Leela. Good for her

This is still ridiculous. Not out of character for time lords of course, but utterly ridiculous. They’re so connected to the matrix it can treat them like a computer in need of a rollback to previous save

I know it’s widely assumed renegades are deleted from the matrix but he just included them. Are the Doctor and Master asleep somewhere too and about to wake up confused? (One with no memory of a current companion, the other stuck mid plan no idea what it was?) Can this set people back to previous regenerations? I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS

Sigh. It really is always the daleks

I never thought the exterminating monsters would exterminate MY face! 😧

Let Romana say fuck

I would like to point out that, while as Leela likes to point out none of the time lords are particularly athletic, Romana does seem to get winded the fastest every time they have to run away

And she’s facing the idea of potential dalek torture again, oh this is so delicious

(Also the “they’ll rip it from my mind if they have to” implies she couldn’t resist them again which goes nicely with the idea of her psychic barriers being all messed up)

I know Trey is fake but I like the idea that Romana programmed her to be enough of herself that she is also dealing with dalek trauma

WAIT THE FACT THAT TREY IS FAKE HAS ANOTHER GREAT IMPLICATION: Romana met her before creating her, but she’s not real so it wouldn’t really be a paradox if she regenerated into her…because she thought she was hot

I love Leela and Narvin’s we’re-friends-now dynamic

“It is customary to knock before entering my office” SINCE WHEN MA’AM

Lmao this only works because they expect her be self sacrificial instead of cunning

(She is, of course, both)

This is of course deliciously tragic, but I’m also laughing because this is THREE TIMES now that the matrix has been destroyed or rendered useless in this show

Leela’s right, you dumbass. This is your worst plan ever

Oh I love Narvin being called a weirdo. He is so weird, just not as weird as her his friends

Dfjkhfds he’s going to the Doctor I did NOT see that coming

Oh SHIT genesis of the daleks was directly because of Narvin\

Actually imagining a version of Genesis now where the Doctor got more information, namely that this was about saving Gallifrey his friend he hasn't met yet

Helps to save everyone -> Immediately starts the time war

Ok this hurts. If Narvin could have waited like. An HOUR, it might have all been alright. Gallifrey would be safe and the time war wouldn’t have happened

But this also means that the time war happened directly because of that one time the Doctor didn’t destroy all the daleks. Not indirectly, as in they existed to do it, but directly because of that. Damn! Do you think he knows?

[lasi-nariyoyoreads]

Suho's personality according to tarots

Disclaimer:

My readings are made for fun and you should read them for fun too. So don't take them seriously. 

Core

The star

The star is such a pretty card, I can see why it appeared for him.

He's at peace with the universe, someone who has a positive look on life.

He's a spiritual person and a source of inspiration for the people in his life.

But this doesn't mean he's a hermit, there's a balance between his inner and outer world, he cares equally about both aspects.

Often, someone who cares about looks and popularity can be a bit vain and someone who is introspective might forget about the social aspect, I feel Suho manages to balance his need for self-reflection and his need to be in the spotlight. I think it's such a rare and amazing quality.

He seems like a man who has reached a nice position from a spiritual point of view. He might've struggled in the past, he still struggles probably, but he's mature and he knows how to face properly the challenges that come to him.

How does he see himself?

Rev ace of cups, 9 of cups, rev 4 of wands

He feels that he's holding back his emotions, or he feels blocked by certain things, as if he can't truly break through to get what he wants.

There might be a feeling of "they don't love me enough".

At the same time, he can't really complain.

He knows he's a successful person, he's doing a job he likes, he's able to try new things, he meets many people etc.

He wants to be a positive energy for others and he thinks he manages to do.

Maybe that's why he feels "blocked" sometimes, he doesn't like to open up on his negative feelings, he tends to bury them deep down in his heart, while he only shows his good and happy side to others.

It's possible he feels that he shouldn't complain, that he's lucky etc. so he's ashamed to harbor feelings of unsatisfaction.

As much as he enjoys hic current life, he probably wonders many times if he isn't missing out on anything. A normal childhood, just going to school and hanging out, without having to go to train, a normal young adult life, going to university, finding a job, falling in love etc.

He probably wonders "what if I wasn't who I am today? Would I be happier?"

How do others see him?

8 of pentacles, 3 of cups, rev 9 of pentacles

The general impression is that Suho works a lot, he takes care of a lot of aspects, he's diligent and dedicated to his job and to his group.

But he isn't only linked to his job, people think he's a very sociable person, who likes to party, have fun with others, hang out with friends.

It seems like he does have a great work/life balance 

It's also possible he's the type of person who likes to invite his juniors to eat and pay for them.

They feel that he might lack indipendence, a real self-identity.

He might tend to show off his money/status or to show that he's more than what he truly is.

Positive traits:

Rev 2 of cups, king of pentacles, the hermit

He's extremely faithful to the people close to him

He can have very respectful relationships, with a lot of harmony and balance.

And yes, he's the embodiment of the king of pentacles.

He's a mature man, successful and wealthy, he doesn't try anything risky, he never does anything controversial, he's dependable, he's hard worker, he's solid, generous, almost an old-fashioned man, in the most positive sense.

Despite all this openness, like I mentioned before, Suho is an introspective person. He knows his inner world very well, he probably enjoys to analyse his own feelings and try to not let them become harmful.

As much as he likes gatherings and friends, he also enjoys some alone time where he can take care of his inner world and mental health, allowing him to be all the positive things that people around him think he is.

It's possible he might take actual periods where he enjoys being completely alone and out of touch with other people, like traveling alone.

It might also point to him taking seriously his mental health and attending professional like psychologists etc.

He's not afraid to seek help and take time off if he needs.

Negative traits:

Rev 4 of pentacles, 6 of swords, rev 10 of swords

He might be too generous with his money. Like he might spend too much on himself or the people around him.

His faithfulness might be a weakness if he's dealing with bad people.

He might be too trusting in general and they might take advantage of him.

If he realizes he's being taken advantage of, he might have a hard time to push that person away. I feel he might be prone to end up in unhealthy dynamics.

He might in general have a hard time to let go of the past and move on.

He's faithful but to the point it gets problematic and gets in the way of his growth as a person.

He might suffer in silence and be ok with all sorts of hardships, he has a tendency to self-sacrifice that might be excessive and unnecessary at times.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello mbti-notes! I'm 25 & INFJ. I currently feel directionless, lost and stagnant. Due to this I've isolated myself for a long time up until recently when I realized it's making me more anxious. I've been trying not to isolate myself by taking daily walks, practicing mindfulness, interacting a little with people, learning soft skills and learning from your blog.

Many setbacks have occurred in the past few years. I feel after covid I've just had hardship after hardship without break. I've lost my drive and goals. So I started I've started rethinking my goals. I always knew that I wanted to do a career involving history, travel and in service to others so I worked towards that. In my final year of uni my friend suggested going into teaching because I could do history + teach abroad. I thought it was a good idea. I've taught for one year in my own country.

Since I've entered the teaching field I've had a very difficult time and experienced burnout in no time. I don't feel supported or guidance to overcome challenges that I have. I'm lacking strong classroom management in a class of 40 students (public schools). Senior teachers have told me that I should consider switching to kindergarten or that I would be viewed as incompetent and lose my job. I was also told I'm going to struggle in this field because I struggle to socialize with colleagues. I'm very introverted and lack social skills due to being socially isolated during my middle childhood to teenage years. I'm working on this and try to socialize with colleagues.

It feels discouraging to constantly be criticized. I was told twice by two teachers I worked with closely I work diligently and they'd love to work with me again. First teachers usually struggle with classroom management the difference is how slow or fast one gets a grip on it. For some it's months, just a year or many years. I'm not given the time or space to practice my classroom management. During my entire first year I believed myself to be incompetent because of the comments from experienced, high rank teachers. Which caused me stress and unhealthy perfectionism because I internalized those comments due to my low self worth & external validation. I'm working on changing this belief and learning about myself. I know I can do it with experience, guidance and support. I believe that I'm capable of doing any job or career if I have proper guidance or mentoring.

Unfortunately, only teachers with good classroom management are employed. Unless a school is interested in taking on new teachers and mentoring them which isn't frequent. So far I haven't been able to find stability in this career either. I've just gotten accepted for contract posts which are only for a few months. I'm currently taking a break from being a school teacher and I've started volunteering work by tutoring children. I'm at crossroads with what to choose. Especially because I'm doubting whether I'm suitable to be a teacher considering my classroom management which is very important. I'm considering exploring other jobs than teaching or continuing in that field but as a tutor, online teaching or private schools (20 in a class and my classroom management is good with 20). My question is how do I know if I'm on the right path? How do I find healthy direction? Thank you for your time.

---------------------

1) Trying to learn on the job can be very challenging because of the greater sense of responsibility and the pressure it generates to succeed quickly.

To my ears, the amount of help you need actually sounds a bit unreasonable. There is one point about your situation that is unclear. Did you get a teaching degree that included a proper internship or practicum? (If you entered into a position without the right qualifications or training, then you shouldn't be surprised about struggling.) It's not the job of the employer or your colleagues to educate you once you've already graduated from school, though they may choose to be supportive as part of their mission or as resources allow. Technically speaking, the training should've already happened in your practicum, so it is assumed you already have enough classroom experience to get a grip on things quickly on your own.

If you haven't had enough practical classroom training, it might benefit you to spend time working as a teaching assistant in order to learn from experienced teachers in a more appropriate way, rather than expecting your colleagues to add teaching you to their already full plates of teaching 40 students.

Factors such as student demographics and school funding also influence the workplace environment for teachers, so it might be a good idea to try out many different schools to ensure that the problem doesn't lie solely with you. It could be that the workplace culture in specific schools isn't a good fit for you. It's not something to cast blame about but to accept; simply move on and look for a better fit.

There are many different forms of teaching, so just because you can't manage a class of 40+ doesn't mean you have to give up teaching entirely. Yes, private schools and sometimes schools in more rural areas generally have smaller classes. Also, there are companies that provide after school tutoring programs, so you could actually work as a tutor if one-on-one teaching appeals to you. Private tutoring can be lucrative if you produce good results and the right parents spread the word about your services.

2) The idea of "the right path" is somewhat misleading because it doesn't exist in any absolute sense. And believing there is only one right path for you isn't the healthiest mindset because it makes you less open to possibility and then less adaptable to change. That said, there are some very general indicators you can use to determine whether life is going well, for example:

- Emotional Well-Being: Do you generally feel good? When life is going well, your mood should be relatively stable, your attitude positive, and your outlook optimistic. Remember, pain is a warning that something is wrong. Similar to problems with physical health, if there are any aspects of your life that produce pain and suffering for you, it's better to address them sooner rather than later.

- Healthy Self-Esteem: Are you proud of who you are? Healthy pride comes from things like: taking responsibility for yourself and what you put out; making wise judgments and decisions; speaking constructively; working productively; nurturing and appreciating individuality; building good moral character. It's important to pay attention to feelings of guilt, shame, inadequacy, or self-loathing because they shine a light on opportunities for personal growth.

- Being of Value: Do you feel that you matter? To "matter" basically means your existence is better than your nonexistence. To feel as though you matter in the world, you need to offer something of value and also have your offerings valued by others. If you feel as though you have little or nothing of value to offer, then you might have an underlying issue of low self-worth to address. If you feel as though others don't value you, then you need to examine what is causing the problematic disconnect in your interpersonal life.

- Sense of Purpose: Do you have good reasons to get up every morning? People with a strong sense of purpose generally: strive to use their time and energy in meaningful ways; undertake work that produces tangible benefits; look for opportunities to make a positive contribution; make a commitment to higher goals and ideals. Feeling unmotivated, stuck, lost or adrift often points to lack of purpose in life. Purpose doesn't magically appear. You have to make purposeful choices in accordance with the value you see in yourself and want to express out into the world.

It's not my place to tell people how to make life decisions. You have to reflect on whether this is the career you want and then explore your options and find the position of best fit. This difficulty you are facing in your career could mean any number of things. It could be the challenge you need to learn the skills that you've neglected up until now. It could be a wake up call for realizing that a change of direction is necessary. To be a healthy INFJ means being able to use Ni to connect with the whole truth of the matter. Who else can tell you what is right for you? You have to reflect on it with as much self-honesty as you can muster.