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aspenflower17 · 4 years ago

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Finding You (Part Seven of ??)

Hello again everyone! Hopefully you’re all having a good day! Before we get started today, I wanted to mention that I think Tumblr is messing with my tags. If you guys on my tag list can tell me down below if you got the notification about Part 6 last week, I would greatly appreciate it :)

That taken care of, let’s continue. This update is shorter than normal, but I’m planning on having another shorter update out sometime this next week, as well as my normal sized update. As always, the link for Part 1 is below, and Part 6 for anyone who missed it.

Part One Part Six

Tags (that better work!): @simpingforsatan @naimena @wrathandgreed @magi-minminxiii @rensphilia

Satan/F!Mc

Word Count: 1,413

Trigger warnings: yelling

“I think we need to discuss your behavior yesterday,” Lucifer announced, breaking the uneasy silence that had dominated breakfast. Every eye turned to Satan.

Satan said nothing in response, continuing to pick at his food in silence. The fourth born was in a foul mood and no one had said anything to him all morning. Mammon had also been uncharacteristically silent and Lucifer had seemed… careful. Up until now however.

“I cannot simply stand idly by without addressing what happened last night.”

Satan continued to ignore the eldest, though his stabbing got more violent, and the area surrounding him was getting darker.

“Ummm, Lucifer, I don��t think-” Beel began, but Lucifer interrupted him.

“There are a long list of demons who want you banned from that gallery space permanently for the stunt you pulled yesterday,” and then turning to Mammon, who shrunk down in his seat, “And you. Flying in the gallery? I asked you to behave yourself and not-”

“Have you told them?” Satan’s voice was low, but it rang out across the dining room as if he had shouted. His immediate vicinity was pitch black at this point. His horns were curling through his hair and when he looked up, his eyes were glowing, “Have you told everyone at this table? Or were you just keeping me out of the loop?”

Lucifer and Satan began their stare down, until Asmo interrupted, “Told us what?” Satan turned to Asmo, and the look on his face almost made Asmo shrink back a bit in fear, but he repeated, “Tell us what?”

“Satan, don’t you-”

“Mc is here. In the Devildom,” and then looking straight at Lucifer, “As an angel.”

Everything stopped. No one moved as the news sunk in. Oddly enough, it was Levi who finally spoke, “H-H-Hold on. M-Mc?”

Satan responded, still keeping direct eye contact with Lucifer, “I heard her last night over the intercom.”

Lucifer was glaring at this point, “You must have been-”

“Mammon confirmed it.”

Everyone looked over to Mammon, who was gone.

“That little-”

“Don’t you DARE PUNISH HIM, WHEN YOU LIED TO US!” Satan was in full demon form at this point, his power oozing across the table, “WITHOUT MAMMON LAST NIGHT, THERE WOULD HAVE A LOT MORE PROBLEMS THAN THERE WAS!”

“Is it true Lucifer?” Beel was staring at Lucifer with sad puppy dog eyes.

“Satan wouldn’t lie about this,” Belphie said, his tail swishing around behind him, looking at Lucifer with absolute disgust.

Lucifer was now glaring at all the questioning eyes around the table, “This is not the time nor the place to discuss this. I need to-”

“You’re just going to leave?! After that bombshell?!” Levi’s voice was threatening to crack as he stood up, eyes wide, “My Henry is… a-alive,” his voice did crack on the word and his eyes were misty, “The one normie who understood me, and you didn’t think I would want to know this information?!”

“Of course he didn’t,” Belphie growled, his horns out, “This is the demon who would lock his own brother up in the attic. What does he care about us?”

“You wanted to keep her all for yourself, didn’t you?” Asmo shouted, tears rolling down his face.

“Does Lord Diavolo know about this?” Beel asked, still seeming to try to come to terms with what he just heard, brow furrowed.

“I really think we should all-” A plate went flying at Lucifer’s face, followed by a cup and a bowl.

“You think we should all do what? Submit to you just because you're the oldest? Forget that you kept the knowledge about Mc all to yourself? Rejoice that, again, you decided what’s best for all of us?”

Lucifer’s face went completely blank at that last line, Satan’s implied meaning not lost on him, “Enough. I am not discussing this any further.”

“You weren’t discussing it with us in the first place! Do you think I’m an idiot or something? Do you think we’re all idiots? Is that why you treat us the way you do?” Satan shouted at Lucifer as he left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How hard is it to find one angel among a world of demons?” Satan asked, not for the first time since he had started searching. After he had screamed at Lucifer, he had left the house, and started his search. If Mc was still in the Devildom, he was going to find her. He had been pretty optimistic about his chances of finding her when he started, knowing he had a really extensive network of acquaintances. Surely one of them would know where to find her.

Satan had now been out for three days trying to track her down, and was no closer to finding her than when he had first started. Anyone who had gone to the art show only questioned him on why he had been running and laughed when he said he had wanted to be at the center, wondering why he’d be so interested in an angel that he had broken custom. No one seemed to have recognized her as Mc, though he knew some of them had met her. He had introduced them himself. No one had any pictures of the artist in question and the page that she had posted his artist talk on had been taken down.

He entered an open area, sinking down on a bench, “Could I have misinterpreted Mammon? Is it not actually Mc?” he sighed into the open air around him. A soft wind was the only response. Satan sighed, lowering his head into his hands, “If I was wrong though, I don’t think Lucifer would have reacted the way he did. Mammon also slunk off to who knows where, and he wouldn’t have unless he was in trouble. It’s almost like she died again and everyone’s trying to keep me from finding out.” The soft scent of MoonBeam Flowers wafted through the air, “I didn’t know they grew around here,” Satan muttered, breathing in deeply, sinking into a memory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh! Satan! This one’s so pretty!” Mc grinned, running over to stare at the blooms, “Oh, and they smell so good too!”

Satan chuckled, “Don’t let my brothers hear you say that.”

“Why?”

“Well, these flowers are caused by angel feathers. They’re everywhere in the Celestial Realm, especially during molting season, so much so they’re basically a weed. The ones in the Celestial Realm smell a lot like roses, while the ones down here have a lot… darker and deeper of a scent. It’s still florally, but it’s got a lot more musk.

“When my brother’s and Lilith fell, their feathers scattered through the air as they lost their wings. Those feathers then landed and sprouted these flowers throughout the Devildom. All the colors are colors of the moon, and there’s one for each of them. Black is Lucifer’s, gold Mammon, yellow Levi, light pink Asmo, orange Belphie and red Beel. Every so often, one of my feathers will fall, and those are white. Lilith’s were blue, but Beel and Belphie picked them all to put bouquets on her grave. Lucifer was going to have them all eradicated, but Diavolo liked them, especially the black ones, so here they remain.”

Mc looked at the blooms with new reverence, “Are there more black than any other color?”

“Yes, since he still has feathers.”

“Is it hard for your brothers to see the flowers?”

“I’m not sure if it’s worse seeing them for Asmo, Mammon and Beel since their wings transformed or Levi and Belphie since they lost their wings completely.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How do you feel about them?”

“I don’t have much feeling one way or another about my flowers. They simply are.”

“... Do you miss flying?” Mc’s voice was small, worried she’s stepped into territory she wasn’t allowed in.

“I guess, in a way, though I have never owned a pair of wings. I have memories of flight, but I myself have never flown of my own volition, so… I guess the answer is no.”

The conversation moved on from there, until they reached the end of the botanical garden, “I have a new favorite flower,” Mc announced.

“Which one? It’s still the mirage flower, isn’t it?”

“Nope.”

“What is it then?”

“MoonBeam Flowers of course, though the white ones are a particular favorite,” she winked, grinning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan was so caught up in his memory, he didn’t hear the hesitant footsteps as they approached him.

“Satan?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part Seven and a Half

#finding you #obey me #obey me!#obey me! swd #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me f!mc #my writing #obey me long fic

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snailmailworldwide · 3 years ago

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Looking For A PenPal to Chat with... :(

To the person reading this,

Hello, this is Queennie. (BTW, it's Queennie and not Queenie or Quennie because many people wrote my name wrong. My parents wrote my special name to me.)

And before you can delete my submission post and thinking that I'm just the same old spammer or a bot, I want to tell you that I'm 100% REAL human.

Also, I wrote my message on Google Keep before copy and paste it because I don't like my thumbs getting hurt from writing the same message because it takes forever to write like this...

Anyway, let's move on.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

I was born with Autism. I'm from Philippines and my birthday is on July 20. (I was born year 2000s)

I love talking people like when someone gets lonely or having a bad day. You know, I am always available. If you need a question or something wrong, just ask me. (But please, I might be taking time to reply just in case if your replies might upset me...) Also, I might get easily lonely when I get bored for too long so please talk to me a lot okay?

I love sharing interesting things.

My favorite colors: Sunset (Red, Orange and Yellow) and Starry Sky (Blue, Purple and Pink). I also love pastel colors.

My favorite Kpop groups: EXO, NCT, Super Junior, Dreamcatcher, aespa, SuperM, GOT (Girls On Top), VIXX

Favorite KHH artists: BLOO, Nafla, JUSTHIS, Loopy

Favorite Anime: Pokemon, Naruto, Love Live!, RWBY, Kirby (There are so many to count because there are many favorite Anime that are I remember long time ago so I was mentioned my current favorites instead.)

Favorite Movies: Anything Animation, Comedy, especially Romcom, Action comedy, Musical movies. I don't like Horror and gore movies.

Others: I love books, listening to music and going out. I'm a dog lover. I also fond of butterflies and bunnies, flowers, sunsets, nightsky, looking at the view while riding a public vehicle. I also love dark chocolates

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Although I don't have a Tumblr account, you can email me at [email protected]. Kakao Talk is QueenCess and Discord is QueenCess#4819

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

I would like to share my story how I decided not to sign up to Tumblr again:

I was on Tumblr from last 2013-2018 and on last 2020.

As a person with Autism, there was a downside on Tumblr despite it was my favorite and nice one to hang out:

1. Anonymous hate 2. Triggering posts (I started to hide, filter and ignore tags and posts after Jonghyun of SHINee died from suicide. Also year 2020 is full of sadness, tragedy and lost) 3. Friends blocking me. (Yes, there are people who blocked me either I'm a bot but I am a real person or they just don't reply to me at all. There are even some mutuals blocked me after we are having a quarell)

Although people on Tumblr say that I am awesome, creative, cool and all but I have weaknesses:

1. I easily became upset or angry over small things sometimes or even when it gets something wrong.

2. Sending a wishlist to the people I don't know. (Yes, because of the pandemic, I easily get bored staying at home that I made an Amazon wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/R7H5RSDT3VLH/?ref_=lol_ov_le&filter=unpurchased&sort=default&viewType=list and I realized that it's a bad idea that I made my promise that starting January 1, 2022, I will not send my Amazon wishlist to people I don't know them. That's one of my new years resolutions)

3. Yes, I can be sometimes rude so that is why I got anonymous hate and no one understands me that it takes really long to recover over something lost that I love. (Also, I hope I am not the only one who does that one...)

4. They called me a dramatic person just because I have Autism

And that's the reason why I decided to leave Tumblr forever and I made my promise not to sign up again. (Yes, not only they showed me posts that I don't really like and triggering me but also spoilers and stuff that I used to be a fan of but not anymore that I have to filter out)

Yeah, Tumblr can be toxic and dramatic sometimes like Twitter or Instagram. Sometimes I need to cool down because I don't want unexpected bad news coming along the way.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Favorite Kpop Biases

EXO: Baekhyun

VIXX: Ravi

aespa: I don't have one yet... They are pretty talented and I can't choose one...yet...

Super Junior: Originally it was Leeteuk and Yesung but actually, I love all of them

SuperM: Aside of Baekhyun and Taeyong, I do love Ten and Lucas

Dreamcatcher: I don't have one actually...

For biases of NCT: I think depends on the situation and mood.

My favorites are: Taeyong, Doyoung, Yuta, Haechan, Kun, Xiaojun, Hendery, Lucas, Yangyang, Ten, Chenle (Chose him because he is a fan of Golden State Warriors, especially Stephen Curry), Johnny and Mark

And lastly, my main favorite subunit of NCT is NCT 127.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Gifts for my birthday (July 20):

ANYTHING! Fanart (Digital), Wallpapers (More to talk about), Moodboard, Header for YouTube, AMVs (More to talk about it later), Fanfiction

For Wallpapers:

Mobile: I will tell you via email so I will send a screenshot PC: 1080p to 4k

AMVs: For the AMVs, I just wish someone put a Kpop song because it's niche and only a few people made an anime AMV with a Kpop song like 25+ of them.

Also, please provide me a Google Drive link so I can download it and play offline as a memorabilia.

FOR FANFICTION: Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst but with Happy End because sometimes there's people who are easily upset over that sad ending like me of course. (Examples: Hanakaki but with a Happy End, Sickness but with Happy End)

P.S. FOR GIRL GROUPS: Bestfriend x Reader with Fluff

For AUs: Domestic, Royalty, Mafia, Vampire, Non Idol, Idol, Barista, Liberians, Genshin Impact AU, RWBY AU, Beyond The Boundary AU, Angel AU, Husband and Wife AU, Detective, Sword Art Online AU, Ninja, School AU, Soulmate, Magical Girl reader AU

For Smut (FOR UNDER 18, DO NOT READ!): Fingering, Babygirl, bunny, princess, doll, Daddy, safe sex (IMPORTANT!), arousal, dirty talk, female breast fondling and sucking, oral (m and f, giving and receiving), impregnation/breeding kink, Reader who is feeling aroused from shirtless male character (Example: Reader who is aroused and turned on by shirtless/un-buttoned pictures), mirror sex, shower sex, doggy position, sitting position, missionary, spanking (by hand ONLY), cum on the stomach and back, multiple orgasms, female squirting, praising, thrusting sounds. Most important is CONSENT.

Personalized Ships are Included

For Fanart: Please provide me HQ version on Google Drive link so I can download as a memorabilia.

OPTIONALS:

1. Amazon Wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/R7H5RSDT3VLH/?ref_=lol_ov_le&filter=unpurchased&sort=default&viewType=list

2. Handwritten Letter with bits and bobs or a birthday card

3. A Kpop album of my favorite Kpop artists I mentioned. Bonus points if you are going to send me an album that you will recommend me.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

If you accept my message, please let me know the changes, questions and such concerns. (But it will take time to reply because there's some replies that I found upsetting to read it. Please bear with me.)

If you reject my message, I understand because there are some people don't accept it that way but that's okay because at least you tried and you read it carefully.

That's all for now, I will see you soon. Thank you and have a safe time.

Love,

Queennie

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suntrastar · 4 years ago

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abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.

But you don’t have it.

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

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evesbeve · 6 years ago

Text

Tongue Tied (Prologue)

gUESS WHO IS WRITING A MULTI-CHAPTER BRUISE FIC? IT'S ME!

This was part of the Ninjago Valentine's Week Challenge I hosted on tumblr. The final prompt was 'Favourite Non-Canon' ship, and well, it's now a fanfic :D

I have not set on update dates yet, but I am going to try to update once a week (most likely on Saturdays)

Also, there’s a quick mention to @ninjagoruinedmylife‘s OC Ange! She won’t be part of the story, but I still recommend checking her out, since she’s amazing ;w;

Thank you so much to everyone who has taken part in this event!! Ninjago Valentine’s Week was amazing, and once again, I’d like to thank Ver and Ali (@clumsinessinperson) who helped me with the prompts, because if it wasn’t for them, this wouldn’t be a thing now!

Without any further ado, let’s cut to the chapter!

Franchise: Ninjago

Pairing: Bruiseshipping (Jay x Cole)

Summary: When Cole first receives that anonymous love letter, he decides to ignore it. However, as more and more letters come his way, he becomes obsessed with figuring out who the mysterious writer is. It's too late to back down when he realises he might be falling for the person behind the letters...

Word count: 1,244

Find the other chapters here!

Read this chapter on AO3 and FFN!

'Cole,

There are so many things I want to tell you, and honestly, I don't know where to even begin.

For as long as I can remember, I've admired you, but only recently did I realise it was something romantic. I guess I just needed to spend some more time with you. And I did. And it was great.

I love the way you mumble under your breath when you think that no one is listening, or the way your eyes sparkle when you're excited. I love listening to your laughter, and seeing your smile.

I know I'm supposed to be able to stand for myself, but when you're here, I don't want to. I want you to hold me, to keep me safe.

I want to keep you safe.

This is why I won't reveal my identity. It's better that way, so none of us get distracted by these feelings. Well, me. You'll be fine.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Sincerely,

Someone Who May Or May Not Be In Love With You'

The words were printed on a yellow A4 sized paper, in the Gotham font. At first, Cole thought the letter was from a fan - it came with the rest of the mail after all, and he wasn't the only one on the team getting letters like these from fans.

On second thought, there was no way. The way the writer described Cole's habits was accurate. Way too accurate.

So who was the writer?

Cole decided he'd investigate later, as he was called for breakfast. The smell of pancakes had spread across the entire Monastery, and the master of earth was looking forward to a festive breakfast.

The others were already in the kitchen when he got there. Kai, Jay and Lloyd were throwing sugar cubes in the air, trying to aim at their mouths. Meanwhile, Nya and Zane were chatting about some blueprints or who knows what, and Sensei Wu was observing them all, quietly sipping his tea.

"Morning guys!" Cole greeted.

"Cole!" Jay said excitedly, accidentally throwing a sugar cube at Kai's forehead.

"Watch it, Jay!"

Nya shook her head. "You're finally here - I don't think the others could have waited another second. Um… Me included."

Zane had gone overboard, as expected.

There were seven plates on the table, and each one had a short tower of pancakes covered in maple syrup, with strawberries and berries to the side. The nindroid had also made sure to prepare fresh orange juice, and had just placed the coffee maker in the middle of the table.

"Gosh, Zane! These look delicious!" Cole said, sitting on his usual spot at the corner of the table.

Over the course of the years, everyone's spot around the table had changed. However, Cole always went for the top right corner from the door.

The most current patern went as followed; Kai was next to Cole, followed by Lloyd. Across of Cole sat Jay, next to whom was Nya, and Zane - unless Pixal was joining them, in that case Nya went to the side. Master Wu always went for the side too.

"Thank you, Valentine," Zane winked at Cole jokingly, and everyone laughed.

Cole was caught off guard however.

"Woah, you okay there Cole?" Lloyd asked.

"Yeah, sorry," Cole shook his head. "I just received this letter this morning, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"Pff," Kai huffed, "I got like, a dozen of those-!"

The master of fire was hit with a sugar cube once again, this time by his sister.

"Hey!"

"Show-off," she commented.

Maybe Kai had received admiration letters too, but Cole still wasn't reassured. "It's not just a fan, Kai," Cole tried to explain. "What this person wrote, it was… Well, personal."

"Really?" Jay asked, with his mouth full of food. "I mean, we're practically famous, right?"

Nya nodded. "Yeah, which means that Jay and I keep receiving Valentine's wishes, even though we're not together anymore."

Cole still couldn't believe that Nya and Jay were no longer a thing. It had been around three months that they told everyone they broke up, yet it still felt odd. Apperantly they had stopped seeing each other romantically in a long time, but decided to give it another try.

In the end, they decided it was better for everyone if they officially ended things. There were no fights or anything, which Cole was greatful for, and the two of them were still pretty close and comfortable with one another.

Cole couldn't help but wonder how he would have reacted if this had happened the previous year, when he still had feelings for Jay.

But not anymore, he reminded himself. Cole Brookstone was a free man.

"Perhaps it is one of the other elemental masters?" Zane suggested. "We did spend last weekend together."

"True!" Lloyd said. "Gosh, I can't believe how nice Metalonia was."

"Speak for yourself," Kai mumbled. "If I have to spend another second with Karlof's family, I think I'm going to lose it."

"Oh come on, they're good people!" Lloyd disagreed. "Besides, how awesome was the festival?"

In celebration of defeating the Oni for good, the elemental masters had gathered at Metalonia, Karlof's homeland, and spent the weekend there together. Metalonia was at southeastern Ninjago, and even though it was isolated, it was very much alive.

Despite looking ferocious, the people of Metalonia were very good hosts. They lived simple lives, and valued Ninjago's traditions a lot. What Cole enjoyed most was the food - it left a nice spice in your mouth.

"The festival was delightful," Zane said. "But Kai does have a point - Karlof's daughter didn't seem so fond of you, Lloyd."

"She's… Okay." Lloyd was clearly trying to deny Zane's comment.

"She calls you broccoli," Kai insisted, earning a groan from the green ninja.

"I'd love to sit and talk about Karlof's goth daughter for the rest of the day," Cole interrupted, "but who of the elemental masters would write me a love letter?"

"I don't know, Ash?" Jay shrugged. "Chamille?"

"Chamille wasn't even there," Cole said, "And no offense to Ash, but he's so not my type."

"How about Bolobo?" Zane suggested.

Kai shook his head. "Don't take it personally, Zane, but it sounds as if you're trying to cover up your crush on Cole."

Cole couldn't help but laugh, and soon everyone on the table - except Zane - joined him.

"I have a girlfriend, Kai," Zane said, with a dead serious tone.

"He's joking, Zane," Nya patted his shoulder. "But hey, at least you can cross our nindroid friend out of your list. And while you're at it, cross me out too. I don't think I'm ready for a relationship at the moment."

"Oh, same," Lloyd agreed. "No offense, Cole, but I could never see you as anything other than family."

"Me and you both, buddy," Cole said, smiling at Lloyd. He had grown so much, yet nothing had changed.

"Why don't you just cross everyone here out of your list?" Jay said. "I mean, it's a start!"

Cole shook his head, chuckling. "What makes you think I have a list?"

"This is nice and all, my students," Master Wu said, placing his cup on the table, "but don't you think time for training has arrived?"

"Yes, Sensei," everyone said in one voice, starting to put away their plates.

Soon they were all outside, doing their warm-up exercises. Yet, one question remained in Cole's head;

Who had sent the letter?

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago valentine's week 2019 #ninjagovalentinesweek2019 #bruiseshipping #jay x cole #cole x jay #jay #jay walker #jay gordon #cole #cole brookstone #cole bucket #evelina nonesense #eve's writing #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

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omgreally · 4 years ago

Note

for your procrastination: grey, orange, yellow

also I totally wandered from Tumblr to your ao3 back to Tumblr- I've been reading your Set in Stone whenever I get a chance today and (yes I also started it today and am like on ch 28??? so I'm also trying to ration these chapters but who am I kidding ima give it a reread like as soon as I'm done) I love it, so sosososososoosososo much like everything- Kit's backstory, her and Din, your smut (!!!!!😩😩!!!), Din's emotional arc, its just-

-i love it 🥺

Grey: What’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Edit, edit, edit! Read and re-read. I re-read and edit a chapter about 3-4 times before I actually post it (and even then I make a shitton of mistakes). Basically I read my own writing until it makes me want to puke (although sometimes that doesn’t take very long!)

Orange: How many projects do you usually have going at once?

Ahaha, fuck. Usually only one. But apparently I have too many ideas right now. Send help.

Yellow: What’s a common writing tip that you mostly ignore?

I’m pretty sure I use passive voice a lot, and too many commas, and I love to dangle a participle. And I start a lot of sentences with ‘and’ or ‘but’. But sometimes it works.

Thank you my friend your comments have been giving me life <3

0 notes

russianspy24 · 6 years ago

Text

Devils in the Windy City - Chapter 6

Summary: Elijah travels to Chicago, led by a vague prophecy about a girl who could be the Mikaelson family’s salvation. Klaus soon confronts him, and later Rebekah is drawn into another case of family drama. However, this trip to the Windy City turns out to be longer than a short stint. The Mikaelsons discover that their lives may change forever. Including every other vampire’s.

Word Count: 5,024

Author’s Note: This story is posted on FF.net and AO3, and since I’m on Tumblr, decided to post it here. ‘Bout time I’d say. Hopefully you read and enjoy!

Warnings: Rated M

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter 6: Mum’s the Word

The sun was setting. It was a beautiful sight. The skyscrapers of downtown, the direction in which they were walking, were silhouetted with a deep orange. The light glinted off cars that sped down Lake Shore Drive. The lake itself was darkening, but the rays hadn’t disappeared just yet, so Niklaus still had his sunglasses on, a pair of classic wayfarers. He and Elijah were strolling along the lakeshore path. Bicyclists and joggers passed them on the left.

“I’ve got an idea,” Klaus began dramatically and didn’t wait for his brother to prompt him to go ahead, “Why don’t I book a redeye flight to Los Angeles and pay a visit to the little psychic boy, snap his neck, and you take care of the witch? Or, you can wait for me, and I can help you since there’s her werewolf roomie to deal with, too. At least, you and I will get some fun out of it.”

Elijah had ended up telling his brother most of everything. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Klaus had left him with no choice after he’d showed up by Liza’s apartment.

“We will do no such thing,” Elijah said sternly.

“It seems to be the best solution,” Klaus argued.

“It is not. Absolutely not. You will kill no one. We will kill no one.”

“Witches and their prophecies. They never go right, ‘specially when our family is concerned, so the best thing to do is get rid of the prophets. Have you learned nothing over the years? This is how you deal with them, Elijah.”

Elijah hardened his voice like the scolding older brother that he was. “That boy is innocent. He was just delivering a message. Killing does not get rid of it. In fact, all that killing will accomplish is setting the spirit off—and it’s a witch’s spirit, no less.”

Klaus rolled his eyes, which then followed a fit, young woman who was jogging past them. She had a nice, tight ass, even though he didn’t comment on it. “So, what do you propose we do?”

“What I wanted to do was monitor the situation—to do things my way. And you know, this wasn’t really a prophecy. There were no eloquently written words, as there usually are. It was just a message, which connected this girl to our family.”

“Right, which involves me, brother. And Rebekah. How long did you plan on keeping this from us?”

It was Elijah’s turn to roll his eyes. “As long as I saw fit—until I knew more about it.”

Klaus turned a glare on him. Elijah ignored it. “You had no right.”

“Well, now you know, Niklaus. I don’t want to argue about this. If you were a more rational person, I would’ve probably included you in on this from the start. But alas, all of your actions in the past have proven otherwise. You don’t think before you act.”

“I don’t need an analysis of my personality,” Klaus snapped.

“Then don’t ask me why, if you already know the reason,” Elijah said coolly.

Klaus was silent for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides. He watched the people around them through his shaded glasses, looking from a pair of adults and their toddler, who was running across the grass, giggling; to an elderly couple on a stroll, hand in hand. How cute. A group of bicyclers passed. The momentary distraction of listening to heartbeats and pumping blood at various rates helped calm him, seemingly. Elijah indulged his brother’s silence as long as Klaus needed it in order for his mood to level out.

“Perhaps one of us knew this girl’s grandmother at some point,” he suggested eventually.

Elijah answered in stride. “I’ve thought of that, but I did not recognize her name,” the older brother said. “No witches from the Soviet Union jog my memory. What about you?”

“I’ve only spent time in the satellite states—and Moscow, of course. And after the fall, it was a clusterfuck.” Klaus smirked at the memories of the time he had spent in the early 90s. “Perfectly chaotic. Humans, reveling in new-found freedom, made their blood taste especially...ripe.”

“I meant during the height of the Soviet Union,” Elijah clarified.

Klaus glanced at him. “No. I tried to avoid post-war Russia. The scenery was quite boring...and I don’t like military regimes.”

“So, nothing jogs your memory either.”

“No, I suppose not,” Klaus said indifferently. He stopped all of a sudden, looking at something across the grass. Elijah followed his line of sight.

Klaus was looking at a group of people doing yoga, a group of twenty. Smirking, he watched. Elijah paused beside him but didn’t let his brother’s thoughts carry him away, thoughts which were morbid, more than likely.

“Are you going to meet with Marcel?”

“Later,” Klaus replied distractedly. The group switched to downward facing dog and he was fascinated. Yoga and the meditational arts were something that had never interested him, though. He didn’t have the temperament. But there were mostly women in the group. Their asses were in the air.

“I’ll join you,” Elijah said, watching him watch them. Instead of answering his older brother, Niklaus returned to their previous subject.

“So, if this girl has no idea what the spirit of her dead grandmother meant, then how will you go about finding out?”

Now, who looked like a stalker? The yoga enthusiasts switched to the cobra pose and those asses clenched up. They didn’t notice that they had an audience of one. Elijah resumed walking. Klaus had no choice but to follow him, albeit a few seconds behind. He caught up with several long strides, huffing impatiently.

Elijah answered once he was beside him again. “I don’t know yet, but I do know it entails keeping the girl alive.” He’d left out the part of the spirit’s message that had mentioned their family’s “salvation,” because he had no idea what to think of it and knowing Klaus—he would jump to his own conclusions. “Perhaps we need to find a way to contact the spirit again.”

“I was just about to suggest that, Elijah. Perhaps the girl herself can do a séance, and we can all sit in a circle and hold hands.”

“You’re being a smart aleck, Niklaus.”

Klaus spread his arms in a shrug, a hint of a smart-ass smile on his face. “I agree with you. Let’s go back and see the girl. Her bedtime isn’t in a couple hours, right?” He looked at his wristwatch.

Elijah dismissed the idea. “We are not going back tonight. Let’s go meet with Marcel. We’ll see the girl another day.”

Klaus deflated. “Why not tonight?”

“There is no immediate urgency,” Elijah answered simply.

Klaus hated when his ideas were shut down. “Do you not want to find out why our family should give a shit about this girl?” he questioned.

“We will bide our time and we will go about this rationally,” Elijah explained. He had to be patient. They had to be patient. He also didn’t want to rile Klaus up. Elijah wanted him to understand his reasoning. “I need her to trust me first, and right now, I am far from that goal.”

Klaus couldn’t help but turn sardonic. “She doesn’t trust you, Elijah? Why, this is a surprise. You’re usually good at building trust with humans. And you said you saved her from a couple of rapists, didn’t you?”

Elijah sighed. “Also, that same night, I had barged into her home, questioning her about her grandmother. Liza lost her a mere six months ago. Of course, she doesn’t trust me. And her roommate even less so.”

This perked Klaus back up, gave him an idea, which Elijah saw brewing behind his sunglasses. “See, that’s why you need me. The wolf girl. I should talk to her. I can get her to trust me. She’ll see that we’re…basically kin.”

“Not quite, Niklaus, and you know it.” A hybrid wasn’t the same as a werewolf.

“Ah, but I am handsome and charming.”

“Charming when you want to be,” Elijah emphasized. “Let’s cross to the other side through there.” He gestured to the pedestrian underpass they were approaching. They’d walked around the whole of Lincoln Park and were nearing the Gold Coast.

“Yes, and let’s get a cab,” Klaus agreed.

“I was thinking we’d walk to Marcel’s. It’s a beautiful evening, and downtown is magnificent at night.” Elijah loved his walks, he really did, and he couldn’t get enough of the city. Klaus, on the other hand, wasn’t a take-a-walk type. Walks didn’t exhaust him—he just didn’t like them. Plus, he was being difficult. And sight-seeing wasn’t his thing. He much preferred Europe, if he had to pick, like the city of Paris. He was very much a snob that way.

“I honestly don’t know why you like this city,” he groused when they entered the tunnel, which was lit by yellow bulbs. It was empty, save for a dog walker going in the same direction ahead of them.

“I don’t know why you don’t,” Elijah returned.

“Well, it’s the Midwest, first of all. I hate the Midwest.” Their voices echoed slightly.

“You should’ve been there at the World's Columbian Exposition. It took place here in 1893. It was a marvel. I was with Rebekah. She enjoyed it immensely with me.”

Klaus felt like he had to one-up his brother. “I was at the Exposition Universelle in Paris four years before that. The Eiffel Tower was its grand opening. I highly doubt this place had anything more impressive than that.”

Elijah didn’t fall into the trap of possible argument. Niklaus loved to argue. It was draining. “I’m not trying to compare which city is better, brother. I’m just explaining why I love Chicago.”

“Good for you,” Klaus said shortly. He just wanted to get to the other side of Lake Shore Drive.

“Rebekah and I met H.H. Holmes,” Elijah said lightly. “But the most exciting part was seeing all of the new inventions in action. You know, during the course of our long lives, we tend to miss the little details that might not seem so important in the moment. For instance, electricity was used to power the fair, did you know? And the “clasp locker” was first introduced.” Elijah could tell that his brother was tensing as Klaus quickened his pace, trudging ahead, and this was amusing, but Elijah kept his smile to himself. “That was the predecessor to the zipper, Niklaus.”

“How fascinating,” he said flatly.

“Many artists exhibited too,” Elijah said matter-of-factly.

There was one thing that had peeked Klaus’ attention. “Did you say you met H.H. Holmes? The murderer?”

Elijah pretended that it wasn’t such a big deal. “The serial killer, yes. What about him?”

Klaus looked back at him. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Elijah said. “Why would we? It would’ve been too easy. We did give the human authorities a few leads on him, however.”

“It’s said that he killed more than 200 people, even though he confessed to killing 27,” Klaus said. He was a fan of serial killers. In a way, he was one himself, if he was in the mood. Naturally, humans who had a lust for blood and murder intrigued him. Sometimes, they even impressed him.

When they got out of the tunnel, he took his sunglasses off, put them on the edge of his collar, and shoved his hands into his pockets. Finally, something interesting to talk about. Elijah humored him.

“I always had a theory about Holmes,” Klaus was saying.

They made their way south. Cars on Lake Shore Drive whooshed past. The sun was almost set by now. The Gold Coast was a neighborhood filled with mansions, row houses, and high-rise apartments. It was historic and once compared to Manhattan’s Upper East Side. Elijah looked up, taking in the buildings as if for the first time, marveling at them, while Klaus explained his theory rather enthusiastically.

“I believe that he was the Whitechapel Murderer. Now, I had tried to find out who he was myself, at the time, to no avail. At first, I thought that he was like us, but the blood of his victims was never drained. He was without a doubt human. And I believe that I almost found him once. I chased a man across all of London. The bastard narrowly escaped on a boat that was headed toward America."

"You did? For your amusement or because you wanted to be helpful to the police?" Elijah said. Definitely not the latter.

Klaus went on. “I’m not the only one with this theory, you know. Many disprove it. But their shortcomings result from a lack of understanding the two men. Their killing styles were different, sure. The Ripper was a messy, unorganized. While Holmes was calculating and clever. But what I know about humans is that they are forever evolving, slowly, but evolving nonetheless. Perhaps it’s one of their few positive traits."

"Mm-hm," Elijah said, but he was listening. "Very true."

“The Ripper was able to evade capture, did he not?” Klaus didn’t actually want an answer, though his brother simply nodded. “He was even able to outrun me. Means he wasn’t a complete idiot. He could’ve very well gotten smarter."

“Interesting theory, Niklaus,” Elijah said. “Could be possible, perhaps.”

They continued walking. Klaus didn’t bring up flagging down a taxi. He enjoyed hearing himself talk, and he knew that Elijah was a good listener and would indulge him. And this way, Elijah got his walk, so it was a win-win.

###

“It seems that you’ve established yourself quite well here, Marcellus,” Klaus said, smirking. It was his way of expressing praise. He was impressed with his progeny’s new pad and position with the Chicago vampires, but he wasn’t going to say this straight out. Klaus also wasn’t sentimental, so when he saw Marcel that night for the first time in years, he’d gone for the mere clasp-on-the-shoulder. Marcel was a hugger. He’d been affectionate since he was a little boy.

It wasn’t that Klaus wasn’t happy to see his progeny, his “son.” He just didn’t get all emotional. Marcel, meanwhile, regaled him and Elijah with what he’d been doing in the city over a very fine scotch. They sat comfortably on the large, modern suede sectional before the large, floor to ceiling windows.

Marcel had a gorgeous view of River North. It was an area north of the loop, full of fine dining, galleries, and a lively nightlife. Tall buildings stood all around—boasting regional offices of companies such as Google, Yelp, and Motorola. Countless lights lit the streets outside.

The condo was modern and had two floors, a spiral staircase leading up. The walls and ceiling were white. The floor was a sleek, light brown wood, and the décor was very contemporary. Marcel was always more modern than the Mikaelsons. Sure, he appreciated the old world, but he was the one that stayed up to date with the times. He had the latest everything.

The kitchen and living area were connected, and other rooms branched off from them. There was a loft space upstairs with a glass railing, but the bedrooms were hidden. The wall behind Marcel had a massive collection of records. The opposite wall had a large flat screen and stereo system.

“I’ll go back to Nola eventually, but I’m going to enjoy my time here right now,” he was saying, his arms spread on the back of the couch.

The brothers were on the longer end of the sectional. Elijah sat with his knees crossed. Klaus was sitting somewhat like his progeny, completely relaxed, only with one arm on the couch, not both. Elijah didn’t seem too easily impressed, but that was fine with Marcel. He could tell that Klaus was proud.

“As I was telling Elijah the other day, Chicago runs like a well-oiled machine. There’s no curfew for the vampires, but there are strict no killing laws. Those that break them get punished accordingly, but honestly, if you follow them, you otherwise do whatever you want. Klaus, more scotch, my man?”

Obligingly, Marcel stood and reached for his maker’s now empty glass.

“Why thank you,” Klaus said.

“Elijah?” Marcel looked at the older Mikaelson.

“Still savoring this one. Thank you,” Elijah said as he glanced down at the bit of liquid bronze left in his glass. Marcel went around the couch to the bar tucked into the wall by the records.

“It’s good for a 30-year Macallan, huh?” He grinned at them both. Pouring Klaus a new glass, he went on. “So as I was saying, the vampires mind their own business, the weres mostly roam the suburbs, and the humans are in the know if they need to be. They got a helluva lot of their own issues to deal with. We stay away. If one of us intervenes, there’s got to be a good reason for it. Daylight rings are allowed. If you got ‘em, you got ‘em. If you don’t, you don’t.”

“What is it that you’re working on, Marcel?” Elijah inquired.

Marcel returned to them, handing Klaus his glass and sitting down with a refilled one of his own. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and eagerly answered the question. “Right now, we’re making sure the blood bank operation goes smoothly. It’s with LifeSource. The CMO is one of us, and so is the COO. Believe it or not, only 40% of the vampire population actually hunt in this city. There are plenty of willing donors, but a lot prefer blood bags nowadays.

“LifeSource gives the option of getting the blood without having to compel anyone at the local collection center too many times. Draws zero attention. The company provides free delivery to your home, or wherever you’re staying.”

“You’ve memorized the sales pitch,” Klaus teased with a chuckle, taking a sip. "Trying to sell to us?"

Marcel grinned and leaned back. “The council members—they wanted me to take over PR.” He also took a sip, looking carefully from brother to brother. “So I accepted the offer. I told them I’d stay for a couple years at least. A decade or so. Of course, I have to do well. But they like me here. They like how I’m with people.”

“You always were a smooth talker, Marcellus,” Klaus said with a faint air of affection. “But I always thought you had an interest in law.”

“Well, there are some similarities with PR. Strategy for one. Predicting outcomes, making sure all your bases are covered. And you know what, I like working with the public. I like being around people. Our kind. Doing some good.”

Klaus looked over at Elijah to see what he thought—Elijah listened, one eyebrow slightly raised—before looking back at Marcel. “I raised you well, didn’t I?” he said boastfully.

“You had some help,” Marcel said. His smile all the way up to his eyes, which looked at Elijah over the rim of his glass. Elijah nodded, his own dark eyes flitting over to Klaus. “Don’t give yourself all of the credit, Klaus,” Marcel said. “Your brother had a hand in it too.”

Klaus scowled dramatically. “Elijah gave you your schooling, while I made sure that your childhood was well rounded in other ways. Right, Marcel? Did I not? Who did you get your charisma from? Why, me, of course!” Marcel threw his head back and laughed, a warm laugh, compared to Klaus’ slightly maniacal one. “And all of those endless talks about life as I passed on my invaluable wisdom to you.”

“All right, all right,” Marcel conceded.

“Depends on your definition of wisdom, of course,” Elijah commented.

Klaus thumbed at him. “Imagine if it was he who raised you. You would’ve turned out to be smarter, sure, but what a prude you’d be!”

“Intelligence doesn’t make one a prude,” Elijah said pointedly. He finished his glass but simply held the glass in his lap.

“Hey, now, I’m smart. I did go to law school,” Marcel argued, chuckling. He was standing again, ever observant. “Let me get you that refill, Elijah.”

As he went about doing so, he listened to his maker.

“Of course, you are, my boy. What I mean to say is that I’m glad you turned out more like me and less like my boring brother,” Klaus said, a jab in his voice, directed to his brother, who shrugged it off his shoulders. Elijah's gaze drifting across the condo. Klaus liked to ball-bust at other’s expense—nothing new.

Marcel regarded them over his shoulder, at the bar, still smiling. He was an expressive man. Since he was much younger than them, he might’ve been more human than either them, mentally. But it was also his personality. He was honest and genuine. He certainly had an egotistical side as most vampires did, and could be quite vicious, but he also wasn’t bothered by showing his feelings.

“I missed you two. It’s been too long,” he said, returning with Elijah’s glass.

Klaus didn’t echo the sentiment, but he raised his own glass in a toast. “Far too long. Here’s to our unexpected reunion, my son.”

Elijah gave a somber nod. “It’s good to see you doing well, Marcel,” he said, sitting forward. He always carried himself unaffected, but Marcel knew his words were genuine.

Standing before them, Marcel held out his own glass to clink with theirs. “I hope you two stick around for a while.”

The three drank. After, Marcel decided to put on some music and went to the record player. As he did so, he changed the subject. “So, what is it that brings you guys to Chicago anyway? Elijah mentioned business.”

Elijah was quick to gloss over the answer. “Nothing important. Just some matters,” he said and stood. He wanted to see the view out the window and approached it, looking at the lights, the street below.

“Something like that,” Klaus added cryptically, and his gaze twinkled, mischievous. He reclined in his spot. “Really, I had no idea about these matters until earlier today,” he confessed.

Elijah’s back stiffened.

“My brother wasn’t going to tell me about them. I had to pry it out of him. Really, they concern me, too. The whole family, actually. Perhaps even you, Marcellus.”

Marcel had turned on some light blues, which he kept at a volume that would allow them to continue talking comfortably. He turned around, first looking at Elijah, who’d looked back at them, standing at the window, appearing absolutely disapproving; then Marcel looked at Klaus, who seemed like his diabolical self.

“It doesn’t concern him, Niklaus,” Elijah said, caution in his tone. Marcel knew it was serious when Elijah used Klaus’ full name. Marcel’s obsidian gaze bounced between them. He took a drink.

“What’s going on? Something serious?” he asked lightly.

“Potentially,” Klaus said.

Elijah had spoken over him. “No. Nothing to worry about, Marcel.”

Marcel spread his free hand as if to placate him. “Hey, if it’s not my business, that’s fine. Not trying to pry. I was just wondering what my adoptive family was up to.”

Klaus was encouraged by his words, however, much to Elijah’s chagrin. “Niklaus,” he started.

Klaus cut him off. “Elijah found himself a witch,” he explained brightly. “He’s been watching her for the better part of the week, as a matter of fact.” Marcel’s gaze jumped to Elijah, who scowled. Uh oh.

“This doesn’t involve him, Klaus.”

Klaus looked at his brother over the back of the couch. He stood up, then, facing him. “It could, Elijah. He’s family, after all. Besides, you said it yourself, you don’t know why she’s important to us. I say that Marcel should know. He could be of great help.”

Elijah’s hand was tight around his glass, not enough to break it, he wasn’t a drama queen, but his knuckles were white, and he was restraining himself. “Klaus, you simply cannot help but run your mouth.”

“Yes, so the cat’s out of the bag,” Klaus said smugly.

Marcel stepped toward them, his hand still raised, palm out. He didn’t want them fighting. He hadn’t done anything, but he was feeling culpable already. “Hey, I can keep a family secret. You know that. I won’t say anything to anyone.”

Elijah looked at him sharply. “Yes, I know, Marcel, but that’s beside the point. I told my brother that this is something I was handling. And since the situation isn’t clear yet, there was no reason to involve anyone else.” He slowly looked back at Klaus, his expression hard and reproachful. “He’s always had a fear of missing out. He simply cannot help it.”

“I think Marcel can help us,” Klaus repeated, raising his voice a few notches. The smile on his face turned tense as he approached his progeny and put an arm over his shoulders. “Perhaps not right this moment, but he’s got connections in this city now. Chicago is his playing field. We’re merely guests here.”

“I want you to feel at home,” Marcel assured him. Klaus kept looking at Elijah, trying to provoke him further.

“Come now, brother. Don’t be cross with me. You think I can’t keep my mouth shut, which may be true. In this case, I simply made an executive decision. It’s only fair, since you hadn’t been planning to tell me at all. Let’s let Marcel in on our little plan and tell him about the psychic boy and the spirit.”

“Psychic boy?” Marcel repeated.

Klaus turned his head, his arm still around him. “You watch television, don’t you? I haven’t got the time for it, but you must’ve heard of this lad. Apparently, he’s got quite the gift if he’s telling all manners of actors and celebrities their fortunes.”

Marcel drew his brows together. Elijah had turned away, raising a hand to his forehead, his index and thumb fingers pressed against respective temples. He needed a moment to compose himself. Klaus grated on the nerves. Half the day spent with him was already enough to bear.

“Are you talking about one of those reality shows?” Marcel clarified with a laugh.

“Yes, yes, those,” Klaus said, gesturing with his glass. “One of those real-life series.”

“Are you talking about….?” Marcel was thoughtful for a beat, grinning. “Are you talking about that kid? That ginger kid? What’s his name?”

Klaus didn’t know how he looked like, so he regarded Elijah, who didn’t answer. He was downright aggravated and avoided Klaus’ attention.

“Damn it. I can’t think of his name,” Marcel said. Klaus let him go, taking a swig.

“Benjamin Henry,” Elijah said at last, grudgingly.

Marcel snapped his fingers. “That’s him. I love that kid. I saw some episodes. Like that one when he’s talking to the Kardashians.”

“Who?” Klaus asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You know. The Kardashians. As in “Keeping up with the Kardashians.””

Silence. It didn’t seem like it rang any bells with Klaus, so Marcel just waved his hand.

“Never mind. What’s Benjamin Henry got to do with you?”

And so Elijah was forced to tell him. Klaus wasn’t going to. He didn’t know the details. It was all up to his brother. Klaus sat back down on the couch, satisfied and triumphant, and Elijah remained standing and pacing. He began with the psychic boy and the spirit, explaining as levelly as he could, only wanting to explain this once. He left out details, which he hadn’t mention to Klaus, but Elijah said enough so that Marcel could wrap his mind around it.

Afterward, the bottle was almost finished. The young vampire spread his arms and said, “Let me know how I can help.”

#vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the originals fanfiction #the originals #elijah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #marcel gerard #rebekah mikaelson #original character #elijah mikaelson x oc #klaus mikaelson x oc #fanfiction #originals fanfiction #originals #vampires #elijah mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson fanfiction

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angel-nique · 8 years ago

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Sorry if you don't like what I say

Ok so I had a little problem with one of my post so I deleted it

So I’m gonna say what I was talking about, ok so I was in kard’s tag up here on Tumblr and I seen some people saying how ARMY’s couldn’t have an opinion on j.seph and jiwoo royally messing up and saying Nigga

So I replied and I said that people need to stop dragging rap monster and bts into something everytime an idol fucks up, because they do, and I also brung up Hwasa, mamamoo and BamBam saying how hwasa’s and Mamamoo’s was worse but I defended BamBam so don’t worry about that one

But anyways I went further on saying that the reason that mamamoo’s was worse because they did blackface(which I find very offensive as a black female), Hwasa through in the N-word in a old song that clearly didn’t have it there

Now I also talked about how mamamoo’s fans stuck up for Hwasa and Mamamoo talking about how she only said the word once and how they weren’t doing blackface because Bruno mars isn’t black, like nigga what? But Bruno’s group of guys that was with him and has been for a little bit now their all black and not everyone of the girls were playing Bruno so I can guarantee you that someone was doing blackface

And with the Nigga thing with Hwasa she added it into the song, she didn’t just fucking slip, no she added that Shiz in there, I will put all the lyrics to irreplaceable by Beyonce on here for you guys if you want to see, I’d even put the audio up here but I won’t

But you know the sad thing about this all wasn’t the fact that they did these things it was the point that everyone let it go, like it didn’t happen it wasn’t all over the place for a week, a month or a few months no it disappeared like we just didn’t care, when we should have

But you wanna know who got backlash longer then them?, BamBam did and it wasn’t even his fault it was some other guy at the party that told that boy that nigga meant “Friend” and yes it does sometimes, when two black friends say it to each other, but not for that guy and not for BamBam either, it doesn’t for any race other then blacks

And then we go onto rap monster that has hate for saying that word 1 time but this time it was actually In the song and the song was actually by a Korean group that are known as legends(shinhwa) and yes I’m not gonna defend rap monster for saying the word at all but I sure as hell will stand up for him for him learning to not say that ever again

And I will respect him because he apologized for it more then once and I respect whasa and Mamamoo once again BECAUSE they apologized just like BamBam

Anyways we as human beings don’t understand sometimes how it feels to get dragged into things that have absolutely nothing to do with us

Ever since I was young I was dragged and dragged into so many rumors and altercations that it made me depressed and it made me feel like crap like I was a piece of gum stuck on the bottom of someones shoe and let me tell you, it doesn’t feel good, it makes you feel like you’re less then everyone in this world and thats how you end up seeing yourself for a very long time

Until I guess it stops and I’m saying I guess cause I still feel like this to this day and I’m saying this because I’m going to stand up for rap monster because he apologized and he learned from it so I forgive him just like so many people in this world have made mistakes and they were forgiven, rap monster can be too

Now someone called me “koreaboo” because I simply stood up for rap monster because that’s what I feel is right but the meaning of a Koreaboo is when you literally want to be Korean, when all you do is eat their food, you speak random Korean words like you know the language even if you dont, you dressed like they would, you do their makeup like they would, you think all your favorites are absolutely perfect and do nothing wrong and think their above all, put idols that you dont like down and you start calling all your favorite boy groups, Oppa and your favorite girl groups unnie

Now honey I do neither because first of all I ain’t Korean nor am I asian I’ll tell you exactly what I am

My mixed ass is Puerto Rican, Cherokee indian, African American and Cuban from new rochelle NY most definitely not south Korea and I am proud to be what the hell I am and where I’m from and I definitely don’t need no one else telling me different, Cause I’m most definitely not having any of it

So if anyone else wants to come for me calling me shit and not even having the correct definition of the word then I’ll gladly shut you down, Cause I am sick and tired of some of the damn disrespect that I get up here

But you know what if you want to bash rap monster, a human being with actual feelings for the rest of your life like some pathetic attention whore then gladly do it because either way he’ll have his fans, his members and family supporting him and he’ll be alright just like he is with his group climbing charts that pathetic haters won’t be able to stop him from doing

And once again let me clarify that I am not defending rap monster for dropping the N-word without any care in the world because I am not heck a few weeks ago me, my cousin and sister went bowling and me and my cousin thought we heard some little white boy say the word and I was this 👊 close to punching his lights out

I don’t take that word from no one but blacks because we have the right to say that word and Rap Monster should’ve absolutely picked another word but he apologized and I forgive him now if you don’t want to then kudos to you go right on ahead

But just remember god is the only one that has the right to judge and whatever you think ultimately does not matter

And about the hair thing, you know suga having braids at the mama’s and Rap Monster when they debuted, its their hair they can do absolutely anything with it even if they get hate, remember that it’s still Their hair and no one else so you ultimately need to get over that one

Like no black person that is fully black is naturally born with blonde hair but do you see anyone complaining when they dye it blonde? No because in the end all the hate is lost oxygen that you could be using for good because it’s their hair and they can dye it blonde, blue, red, yellow, orange, all the fucking colors of the rainbow because

STILL. IN. THE. END. IT’S. THEIR. HAIR!!!!

Get over it please?😂

But before I finish this know that I don’t think that rap monster or any idol are perfect because they are not, just like I’m not and I never will be, EVER! because no one in this world is perfect, you make mistakes, you apologize and you learn from them, that’s how the world goes and we can’t go on in life if all people do is bring up our past

So after this post I won’t bring up mamamoo, whasa, bambam and kard messing up, because they made mistakes and Mamamoo, Hwasa, bambam and Rap Monster, apologized and learned from them And as for kard I don’t know if j.seph and jiwoo apologized but if they did I’m glad and I appreciate it

Ok I’m done, now goodbye I hope everyone who read this long butt post has a good life and lives it to the fullest and if you’re someone that people won’t leave alone and are depressed just know that you’re beautiful and that everything will in the end be OK👌

And I’m saying this now that if anybody that read this wants to be rude, I ain’t having it I will block you instantly because I don’t care for ignorance anymore and people who think everyone around them is wrong and their right, anyone is allowed to have an opinion, which you can have while not being ignorant nor rude so if you choose to be one or both of those things then you are irrelevant and are officially blocked I did it to a girl that decided that she was right about everything and I was wrong and she also thought that people don’t deserve to be forgiven which is wrong because she, me and you(everyone reading this) don’t have any right to judge anyone. Thank you😎

Smxxches💋

#kpop #bts #bangtan #bts army #mamamoo #got7 #kard #jiwoo #j.seph #kard b.m #kard somin #life sucks sometimes

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octariane · 8 years ago

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OH BOY OH BOY HUNGER GAMES SIMULATOR BUT WITH GEMSONAS

Warning: long post

Please read I spent a fucking hour writing this garbage

We have here:

The lovely Pyrite, my first Gemsona that I made.

Ogliclase, The Smol™

Adventurine, who has no other description other than when I got an irl sample of it I thought it was a Malachite and made a Malachitesona instead.

Amethyst. Just Amethyst. You can decide whether she’s the canon or otherwise.

Obsidian, who burst out of a fuckin’ volcano, flipping the bird to everyone below.

Pink Tourmaline, who blinks too much.

Rose Quartz, again, you can decide whether or not the’s the canon one in this scenario.

Orange Amethyst, who is like Amethyst, except you know that picture that’s like “Daniel” and then next to it is another pic that says, “The cooler daniel”? that’s her.

Sodalite, who mcfuckin’ chugs soda.

Meteor, who fell from space and somehow didn’t die.

Color Change Sapphire, who, as you will see, is obsessed with being both a Cutie™ and a Serial Killer™.

Emerald, who blinks too little.

Sunstone, who praises both the sun and toaster ovens bc she thinks both are gifts from some kind of gods.

Flourite, who flosses even tho she doesn’t need to.

Gold, who thinks she’s superior to Pyrite in every way.

Copper, who’s only there bc she’s useful and has no idea everyone uses her.

Nickel, who is anti-vore. Put any vore on her dash and she will find you and end you.

Onyx, who is that stereo-typical emo edgelord kid who listens to Wake Me up Inside on a repeat in class, except they’re an immortal gemstone-based shitlord.

Drusy Quartz, who is that one person when making an art project who screams “MORE GLITTER”

Bi-Color Tourmaline, who is slightly less murder-y than Color Change Sapphire.

Calcite, who makes sure to get her daily recommendation of calcium everyday, despite NOT NEEDING IT.

And finally, Citrine, who is that one chick who, when asked to describe herself, says, “Indescribable.”

Let THE BLOODBATH begin.

Idk what sais are, but Meteor has already snatched that shit.

Gold runs away like a pussy.

Nickel runs away like a pussy.

Copper and Pink Tourmaline get into a cat fight over a Gucci bag filled with fruit roll-ups, but then Pink Tourmaline quits and runs away like a lil’ bitch.

Rough Blue Calcite runs away like a pussy.

Oglioglase runs away like a pussy.

Adventurine, determined to murder some bitches, grabs a shovel.

Sunstone runs away like a pussy.

Rose Quartz runs away like a WAR HERO/CRIMINAL!

Flourite runs away like a pussy.

Color Change Sapphire, feeling bloodthirsty, prison-shanks the glittery Drusy Quartz, and begins to...

Is this script right?

Drink her fucking glitter-colored blood?

Holy shit.

Sodalite spawn-camps the cornucopia for resources.

Obsidian runs away like a pussy.

Bi-Color Tourmaline grabs a shield or whatever.

Citrine runs away like a pussy.

Pyrite runs away like a pussy. My first gemsona has become a massive pussy...I am dissapoint.

Calcite high-tails it outta there, her calcium giving her a boost.

Steel, Onyx, and The Cooler Daniel Orange Amethyst work together and mc-steal some resources, just ignoring Sodalite I guess.

Emerald runs out of there, she is oh too precious to get hurt by these miscreants!

Amethyst runs away, clearly being the normal Daniel in this situation.

Amethyst makes a slingshot, determined to be The Cooler Daniel in this situation.

Emerald chases Rough Blue Calcite because she gave her art a bad review. As we speak, her fangirls will soon also arrive to witch-hunt Rough Blue Calcite.

Copper collects fruit, because apparently this stadium makes you have the cravings of a human.

Pink Tourmaline chases Oglioclase because Oglioclase lied about her height on her Tinder profile.

Flourite prepares to shoot some bitches.

Steel goes on a nature-walk in a death arena, because why not.

Adventurine gets a murder-hatchet from Arby’s.

Rose Quartz also gets a murder-hatchet from Arby’s.

Gold tries to sleep though this bullshit.

Sunstone also tries to sleep through this bullshit.

Obsidian suffers from a well-known gem disease, called The Thirst, which primarily affects Pearls, but can also affect other Gems.

Pyrite tries to slash at Meteor’s face-zone, but her nails break, so Meteor McBolts it outta there.

Bi-Color Tourmaline discovers an abandoned Love Cave,,, this will be useful.

Onyx just wants to go home to sleep in a bed. Don’t we all?

Orange Amethyst wheelies away from Sodalite.

Citrine grabs a pitchfork out of her gem and chases Calcite, who just wanted some Calcium.

Color Change Sapphire constructs a shack, the glitter blood of Drusy Quartz still on her hands.

Nickel considers seeking a therapist after watching Color Change Sapphire succ the blood from Drusy Quartz until Drusy looked like a mummy.

Drusy Quartz found dead in Miami. She’s alright but she’s dead.

Meteor hums They Might be Giants new hit song, Kazoo Parade on Drusy Quartz’ Dead Body Found in Miami.

Flourite just wants some juicy chicken nuggets, but they burn and she just wants to sleep now.

Rough Blue Calcite, who bit her tongue and is somehow bandaging it.

Ogliclase and Copper decide that they’re going to hunt down these scrubs.

Gold bandages her chipped fingernail and thinks of insults she could say to Pyrite.

Color Change Sapphire just wants to go home. Mostly because she heard that that bitch Chrysocolla, who she THOUGHT she had killed 990 years ago, was found in a nursing home posing as an old lady near Clearwater Beach, FL.

Onyx tracks down and kills Amethyst, and Amethyst just accepts that she can never be The Cooler Daniel.

Emerald, Calcite, and Sunstone sleep and shifts, but only Sunstone keeps watch because honestly these Era 2 kids need their rest if they want their bones to grow properly.

Pink Tourmaline and Adventurine sleep like assholes while Pyrite has to keep watch. GOD ERA 1′S ARE SO LAZY.

Citrine rolls a 20 on dexterity and sneaks into Obsidian’s MTV crib and fucks it up. That 20 dollar bill? burned. Those fries you were saving for later? Eaten. That picture of that Gem that planted your Gem and sat and waited for you to emerge? ...Maybe don’t break that.

Orange Amethyst is recognized as The Coolest Daniel and gets some McDonalds sent to her, free of charge.

Steel has a weird dream where all her teeth fall out and Yellow Diamond’s face turned into spiders. What the fuck, Universe?! She wanted a wet dream!

Sodalite dies because of her soda-deficiency.

Bi-Color Tourmaline burns her McNuggies and just goes to bed. Honestly? She deserves it.

Nickel smells some burgers, but stays away because she’s on a diet, even tho she can’t change her physical form in that way. Shh, don’t tell her. I’m proud of her for sticking with this thing.

The sheer weight of her hair makes Rose Quartz pass out.

Steel makes a shack out of steel. Does this count as cannibalism or body horror or...?

Emerald chases Flourite because she ‘SAW HER HANGING OUT WITH KAITLYN YESTERDAY” “E-EMERALD, IT’S NOT WHAT YOU THINK!” “I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH!”

Pyrite just accepts at this point that she has all the common traits of a psychopath and decides to use that power.

Copper gets some clean water from Dasani. GODDAMMIT SHE WANTED FIJI!

Meteor steals a slingshot off of Amethyst’s shattered gem.

Obsidian recieves...a bomb.

Oglioglase is now suffering from The Thirst as well, a fate worse that death.

Orange Amethyst overhears Sunstone and Citrine talkin’ shit in the distance and makes a mental note to hack their Tumblrs later.

Color Change Sapphire camouflages herself and sets her sight on her next victim.

Pink Tourmaline and Calcite split up to look for some calcium.

Gold attacks Onyx, but she manages to somehow wrangle out of a death-grip.

Rough Blue Calcite flees from THE WAR CRIMINAL!

Adventurine smells some mighty fine health-potion cooking, but decides “Fuck it.” and walks away.

Nickel receives a hatchet from some sweaty guy watching her on his TV.

Bi-Color Tourmaline somehow ignores all the sHEER DEATH AROUND HER AND STOPS TO SMELL THE FUCKING ROSES. YES, BECAUSE YOUR BEST FRIENDS VICIOUSLY FIGHTING EACH OTHER AND KILLING ONE ANOTHER IS LESS IMPORTANT THAN ACKNOWLEDGING THE FUCKING DAISIES.

That’s all for now, folks! since I spent. A fucking. Hour. Writing this. On a school night. it’s now 2:30 AM dear christ.

#steven universe #gemsona #sorry you had to read this shitfest #/long post

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snailmailworldwide · 3 years ago

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Looking For A PenPal to Chat with… :(

To the person reading this,

Hello, this is Queennie. (BTW, it’s Queennie and not Queenie or Quennie because many people wrote my name wrong. My parents wrote my special name to me.)

And before you can delete my submission post and thinking that I’m just the same old spammer or a bot, I want to tell you that I’m 100% REAL human.

Also, I wrote my message on Google Keep before copy and paste it because I don’t like my thumbs getting hurt from writing the same message because it takes forever to write like this…

Anyway, let’s move on.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

I was born with Autism. I’m from Philippines and my birthday is on July 20. (I was born year 2000s)

I love talking people like when someone gets lonely or having a bad day. You know, I am always available. If you need a question or something wrong, just ask me. (But please, I might be taking time to reply just in case if your replies might upset me…) Also, I might get easily lonely when I get bored for too long so please talk to me a lot okay?

I love sharing interesting things.

My favorite colors: Sunset (Red, Orange and Yellow) and Starry Sky (Blue, Purple and Pink). I also love pastel colors.

My favorite Kpop groups: EXO, NCT, Super Junior, Dreamcatcher, aespa, SuperM, GOT (Girls On Top), VIXX

Favorite KHH artists: BLOO, Nafla, JUSTHIS

Favorite Movies: Anything Animation, Comedy, especially Romcom, Action comedy, Musical movies. I don’t like Horror and gore movies.

Others: I love books, listening to music and going out. I’m a dog lover. I also fond of butterflies and bunnies, flowers, sunsets, nightsky, looking at the view while riding a public vehicle. I also love dark chocolates

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Although I don’t have a Tumblr account, you can email me at [email protected]. Kakao Talk is QueenCess and Discord is QueenCess#4819

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

I would like to share my story how I decided not to sign up to Tumblr again:

I was on Tumblr from last 2013-2018 and on last 2020.

As a person with Autism, there was a downside on Tumblr despite it was my favorite and nice one to hang out:

1. Anonymous hate 2. Triggering posts (I started to hide, filter and ignore tags and posts after Jonghyun of SHINee died from suicide. Also year 2020 is full of sadness, tragedy and lost)

3. Friends blocking me. (Yes, there are people who blocked me either I’m a bot but I am a real person or they just don’t reply to me at all. There are even some mutuals blocked me after we are having a quarell)

Although people on Tumblr say that I am awesome, creative, cool and all but I have weaknesses:

1. I easily became upset or angry over small things sometimes or even when it gets something wrong.

2. Sending a wishlist to the people I don’t know. (Yes, because of the pandemic, I easily get bored staying at home that I made an Amazon wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/R7H5RSDT3VLH/?ref_=lol_ov_le&filter=unpurchased&sort=default&viewType=list and I realized that it’s a bad idea that I made my promise that starting January 1, 2022, I will not send my Amazon wishlist to people I don’t know them. That’s one of my new years resolutions)

4. They called me a dramatic person just because I have Autism

And that’s the reason why I decided to leave Tumblr forever and I made my promise not to sign up again. (Yes, not only they showed me posts that I don’t really like and triggering me but also spoilers and stuff that I used to be a fan of but not anymore that I have to filter out)

Yeah, Tumblr can be toxic and dramatic sometimes like Twitter or Instagram. Sometimes I need to cool down because I don’t want unexpected bad news coming along the way.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Favorite Kpop Biases

EXO: Baekhyun

VIXX: Ravi

aespa: I don’t have one yet… They are pretty talented and I can’t choose one…yet…

Super Junior: Originally it was Leeteuk and Yesung but actually, I love all of them

SuperM: Aside of Baekhyun and Taeyong, I do love Ten and Lucas

Dreamcatcher: I don’t have one actually…

For biases of NCT: I think depends on the situation and mood.

And lastly, my main favorite subunit of NCT is NCT 127.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Gifts for my birthday (July 20):

ANYTHING! Fanart (Digital), Wallpapers (More to talk about), Moodboard, Header for YouTube, AMVs (More to talk about it later), Fanfiction

For Wallpapers:

Mobile: I will tell you via email so I will send a screenshot PC: 1080p to 4k

AMVs: For the AMVs, I just wish someone put a Kpop song because it’s niche and only a few people made an anime AMV with a Kpop song like 25+ of them.

Also, please provide me a Google Drive link so I can download it and play offline as a memorabilia.

FOR FANFICTION: Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst but with Happy End because sometimes there’s people who are easily upset over that sad ending like me of course. (Examples: Hanakaki but with a Happy End, Sickness but with Happy End)

P.S. FOR GIRL GROUPS: Bestfriend x Reader with Fluff

Personalized Ships are Included

For Fanart: Please provide me HQ version on Google Drive link so I can download as a memorabilia.

OPTIONALS:

1. Amazon Wishlist: https://www.amazon.com/hz/wishlist/ls/R7H5RSDT3VLH/?ref_=lol_ov_le&filter=unpurchased&sort=default&viewType=list

2. Handwritten Letter with bits and bobs or a birthday card

3. A Kpop album of my favorite Kpop artists I mentioned. Bonus points if you are going to send me an album that you will recommend me.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

If you accept my message, please let me know the changes, questions and such concerns. (But it will take time to reply because there’s some replies that I found upsetting to read it. Please bear with me.)

If you reject my message, I understand because there are some people don’t accept it that way but that’s okay because at least you tried and you read it carefully.

That’s all for now, I will see you soon.

Love,

Queennie

P.S. I am submitting it again so they will notice it. I felt like my life's so lonely without someone will talk to me like this. It feels so depressing so much that I want to let it out all of it. It feels like no one's being there for me and thinking like I was throwing myself away like a garage.

#submission

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thenegativethreepercent-blog · 8 years ago

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My Introduction/Beginning of a Story Thing?

Hey anyone who might see this! Kale Salad here (that’s my nickname, if you’re in need of context). This is our Tumblr, and if you read our description, you know we made this blog because we have a YouTube channel! Coincidentally, I am a helplessly sentimental person who likes to think I’m good at writing things late at night. So if anyone (for whatever reason) is interested, I’ve started writing a lil thing about the three of us going off to college. None of what I write has happened (yet); it’s more of an imagining of how I might think things will go and I thought some people might enjoy it. Another thing: I used our (decently odd) nicknames in it so I don’t embarrass myself. If you’re interested, keep reading! Chapter one is below. :)

The night before we left for our pre-college road trip, I was a complete mess. Everything I could possibly take with me on the journey that my two closest friends, Milano Cookie and Deli Sandwich, and I were about to make from Kodiak, Alaska, where we had grown up, down to San Francisco was stowed safely in my suitcase and ready to go. However, being myself, I found countless things to be stressed out about the night before, as usual. We had been planning this one last escapade before we headed off to college together in California for months, and yet a million unanswered questions hovered at the back of my mind: what if we get lost on the trip and what if we go over our budget and is any of this a good idea at all and, most worryingly, what if trying to be an adult goes horribly wrong? After I had written my umpteenth to-do list and inevitably scrapped it, I forced myself to relax. It was already 1:30 a.m. and, if I wasn’t careful, my obsessive need to plan was going to keep me from waking up at five in the morning for our flight. I laid on top of my covers for a while, trying to get to sleep, but after almost an hour of this with no success, I gave up and reached for my phone, intent on texting Milano or Deli. Although there was a slim chance that either of them were still awake, it quieted my anxious thoughts to try.

Hey, is anyone awake? I typed into our group chat and set down my phone with a sigh. I got a response from Milano within five minutes.

Yep, I neglected to pack until now. Kinda panicking. You? I giggled under my breath, feeling myself settle down a little. It felt good to know that my friends felt just as unprepared as I did.

I’m freaking out a little too. My obsessive-compulsive nature is keeping me up. But I’m sure we’ll be okay.

Yeah. This is scary, but we’ll survive this. Plus, we have the whole Summer ahead of us to screw around before we actually buckle down for college. Think about all the fun things we have planned! Remember what our first stop is...;)

Another wave of anxiety mixed with excitement crashed over me as I remembered what we – I – had planned for that first road trip stop. I exhaled shakily and hoped that the Melatonin I had taken earlier would kick in soon, whisking me off to sleep where my doubts might leave me alone for a little while longer. Finally, I typed a reply: Oh god. Is stopping there even a good idea at all? I haven’t seen them in years. What if things are different and weird? Please give me a pep talk.

Milano responded almost immediately, forever my fast-typing savior: I know you’re nervous, but you’ll be okay. :) You’ve kept in contact with them, so it’s not like you two are total strangers. At the very least, think of it an occasion to catch up. It’s just coffee. They asked you, remember?

She was right. That’s all it was – reconnecting over coffee. I was just meeting them as an old friend, and trying my best to forget the fact that we had some pretty serious history (oh god what was I thinking?). But none of that mattered anymore. I tried to ignore the thoughts in my head about the amazing time we had spent together in the past. Tried to pretend it was just coffee to me too. I chewed a piece of skin off my lip as I replied. Yeah, I guess I’ll figure it out. Thanks. We should probably sleep now, or we’ll miss our flight lol. See you early tomorrow! 

I forced myself to take slower breaths as I turned up my music and closed my eyes again. I would deal with my irrational doubts and fears about our plans in the morning. For now, I needed my sleep. We had a big summer ahead of us.

I woke up to an alarm I had set the night before, a horrible techno song I had liked for some reason in middle school, blaring unapologetically in my ear. I groaned and, while contemplating all the different ways I would like to murder my past self and/or cruelly destroy my phone, rolled out of bed and stumbled to the light switch. I checked my messages as I walked to my dresser, blinking sleep out of my eyes – from the night before, there was a response goodnight text from Milano, as well as three from Deli, a few minutes earlier that morning, asking us “why were you guys up so late in the chat wtf and also yes Kale you’ll be fine and also probably get laid shut up nerd”. I snorted – this was why I was spending college with these two.

Preparation to leave that morning went by pretty quickly, and I was surprisingly calm the whole time, probably from the shock of it all. I threw on an oversized sweater and leggings, haphazardly brushed my teeth and hair, and hauled my suitcase up the stairs. Outside in the dark of too-early morning, my friends were waiting for me in Deli’s beat-up, piece-of-shit red pickup truck, the headlights cutting a path through the mist in the air. Deli, as always, had her Spotify playlist blasting way too loud, and even though it wasn’t her car, Milano was at the wheel. I could imagine her convincing Deli to let her drive, saying with a giggle that she didn’t want us to be run off the road and die in a ditch by Deli’s terrible driving, thankyouverymuch. I smiled at that moment and knew that I had made the right choice in going on this road trip with them. There were no two people I’d rather spend my summer with. Before I rushed out the door, my parents both gave me tearful hugs, promising to mail me the rest of my stuff in a box once I got settled at Stanford in the Fall. I would miss them, but I knew it was time to leave that island I had grown up on behind.

I ran out to Deli’s pickup, threw my suitcases in the flatbed with the rest of my best friends’ things, and told Deli, who was in the passenger’s seat, to scooch, because I was not sitting with our luggage. When I opened the door, Milano grinned and handed me a can of Redbull. “Here’s your life support. I was smart enough to raid Safeway before Deli picked me up.” She jokingly rolled her eyes, smiling wider, and nudged Deli with her elbow. I sighed in relief, beaming at Milano, and took the can, thankful that I had friends who were aware of the extreme importance of artificial energy to my system at all times. Then, once I squished and maneuvered myself into the small space between Deli and the car door, we were off. It seemed almost like one of our many late-night drives, except now there was a strange and new excitement in the air, as if even the molecules were aware of our impending departure. All the way to the airport, we discussed the shops we would visit in Pike Place Market and what the lines would be like at Six Flags and how Deli was definitely going to buy me Dairy Queen once we got out of Kodiak because I hadn’t had it in years. When we finally got to the parking lot, however, we all drifted into silence. It was mostly empty of cars, since we had opted for the cheapest – and earliest – flight that day, and it seemed like the whole world was paused as we made our figurative and literal steps toward adulthood.

“Are you guys ready for this?” Milano asked, looking towards the gate, fiddling with the straps of her backpack. In that moment, I was sure that I was the readiest I had ever been, and Deli must have agreed, because we both nodded silently at Milano before the three of us continued to the entrance. A little coffee meetup was nothing if I had them by my side.

The flights were exhausting, but the Redbull kept me awake, so I spent my airborne time watching the sun slowly rise over the clouds, lighting them up with blinding pinks, yellows, and oranges. At our stop in the Anchorage airport, I started to get nervous, specifically about the “little” meetup for coffee that seemed less and less small and risk-free the closer our final flight came. Was I even ready for it? What if I said something stupid and offensive like I frequently did in normal situations? And what if things were awkward and unbearably different? It had been almost two years – I had no idea what might’ve changed in that time. I tried not to get my hopes up, afraid of being crushed again. While all these thoughts darted through my head in rapid succession, I followed behind Deli and Milano, who were wandering aimlessly through the little shops and restaurants we passed in the airport, looking for neck pillows and a specific kind of chewing gum from Japan that Deli had seen once and wanted to try. I wished I could focus completely on worrying about the little details, like they were, instead of being stuck constantly thinking about someone who most likely had no intention of starting anything with me again. I shook my head, pushing those thoughts to the side, and jogged to catch up with my two best friends – I was going to enjoy this trip, coffee or not.

I let out an exaggerated sigh of contentment and fell back onto my hotel bed. It was around noon, and we had reached our Seattle hotel room at last. We had booked the room for eight days, hoping that would be enough to explore the city thoroughly.

My eyes were closed, but from my left, I heard Milano muttering. “How the fuck did you get this room for so cheap? The view is amazing and it literally has like five rooms.”

I cracked one eye open to see Milano gazing out the window at the buildings around us, and snickered quietly. “I’m a hotel witch, didn’t you know?”

Milano chuckled at that and padded into her room, connected to mine by a small door. She was right, the room was huge – it had a main room and a bathroom, with three separate bedrooms connected to it that were also connected to each other. The truth was that I had spent a fortune of my own money to book it – I wanted our only hotel stay to be memorable and enjoyable before we left our creature comforts and inhabited connecting buses for the rest of the summer. I closed my eyes again, which were startled open only a moment later as Deli hopped on my bed next to me and poked my cheek. I frowned and kicked her to make her leave me alone and let me sleep the day away.

“Hey, you have a date in about three hours and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to look like you just woke up from a nap.” She whispered, laughter in her voice. I darted up, swearing under my breath and muttering that it wasn’t a date, just a meetup. As Deli scoffed and shook her head, I darted into the bathroom and turned the shower on. I still wanted to look presentable.

#introduction #trio achieved #story #writing #idk #this is cringy and i'm still posting it whoops #FIGHT MEEEE

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