#and to top it off i feel even more. socially inept this year. somehow. when i meet someone i could actually be enthusiastic about getting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

legionofpotatoes · 3 years ago

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I love your art, it is very detailed in a neat way. Was wondering how you got started making it as a source of income? How did you get your first paid work, I'd love some advice on how to get started, if that's ok

Thank you. Of course it's okay, although I doubt I have enough work experience in art to really delve into this. I only went full freelance this year, and had been juggling art as a side hobby until then. If you're still interested in my somewhat narrow perspective, and are okay with my long-winded rambles, I'll give it a shot:

So to answer your question fully, I'll describe how I started and move into personal advice and learnings later on. As a disclaimer, I am a white cishet dude in my late twenties with a moderate cocktail of mental illnesses, but overall I can pass for a functioning adult so a lot I have to say may come laced with privilege I cannot fully identify.

So uhh I began drawing in around 2012? I think? Maybe halfway through 2011? And I mostly made fanart for things I enjoyed and tried to branch out in communities that felt nourishing to my style and interests (I caught a bug for alt posters and enjoyed mainstream movies so I spent a long time on posterspy early on). There were a handful of opportunities that came from there but I could only accept a couple because of primary workplace commitments. Still, it showed that networking in a focused community was definitely a good place to start; I myself have huge trouble committing to social networks and really staying socially active, but I knew it was an essential ingredient in succeeding so I tried to make myself be involved in challenges and art support trains etc. as much as I could.

In parallel to all that I also ran a few third party online stores (redbubble, teepublic) for disposable income and would sometimes, if rarely, hit around $100-150 a month from those sources combined. It is a sort of thing that requires helper accounts on other social media sites to promote it on, because the stores themselves have a huge volume of content that translates into low organic discoverability. Obviously it was never gonna be the way towards financial independence through art, and with community projects being few and far between, I opened private commissions in around uhhh 2017 I think, focusing on offering a few styles I knew I could do well, and sometimes operating in individual fandoms (it was mostly a bioware thing to be frank). But I had to close them back down after a year or so, again because of work-life conflict and how badly it was burning me out. The reason I kept trying to monetize this hobby is because I honestly hated what I did for my main job and wanted to see a way out in some shape or form in the future.

And then in 2020 I had to quit my main job altogether because of *gestures at pandemic* and deal with a mental breakdown from all the wonderful things it did to us and me specifically. I took a short break and decided to give art a shot full-time, and that was around May this year. I was planning on opening up commissions again (and I still am), but a few sudden opportunities that fell in my lap moved that timetable down and now I'm grateful to even be doing something I am getting adequately paid for.

So, with that somewhat limited perspective, here's what I've learned that I'd tell myself if I was just starting out:

1. Being a fan of something can be a shortcut towards effective networking kickoffs. Which are important evidently. If you love something and enjoy making content for it, join communities, settle into a combination of social media websites that feel right for those interests + your body of work + your inner rhythm, and try to play to content discovery as much as your mental health allows you to. Like I said, I know that I myself am incredibly bad at self-motivating to talk to people, so I found that synergizing common interests into fanart - which I enjoyed making anyway - could be a way to give myself a gentle nudge forward and build those bridges leading to community activities, which then net experience and coverage. Sometimes even freelance projects from official avenues. Again; picking the right spaces for what you're after is key. Companies roam twitter, concept art recruiters scour artstation or linkedin etc, instagram can land you private commissions and collab opportunities, so on and so forth. Find your niche and try to kick up dust. However...

2. I do not believe that any social profile can replace a good portfolio. The thing that made an immediate difference to me this year was building a coherent, simple website with my best work front and center and a contact form on top. Every single opportunity I got came from that form (maybe via twitter or instagram initially, but always sealing the decision after going through the website), so I firmly believe that showcasing your skills and portfolio in a visually arresting and user-friendly way is a big priority. I had some reservations about tackling that task but fortunately I had help from a savvy life partner and we slapped it together via wordpress in less than a day. Twitter/whatever social media is prevalent in your target groups is definitely important to get the right eyes on your shit, yes, but those eyes will then look for a second stop where your work and rates are more clear and concise. Simplicity is key imo, I cannot overstate this. So make a cute, simple portfolio!

3. Your skills and rates will grow and change as you do. Let them. Over the years I built several lasting professional relationships from my obsession over mass effect and kept getting opportunities both from bioware and their partner companies, some small and some a bit bigger. A one-off job earlier this year opened an unexpected door to another much larger commitment, and then the work I did there brought some attention from small businesses looking for commercial commissions. These were all incredibly different projects in terms of scope and budget, and I've been tackling them all on a case-by-case basis and slowly coming into my own irt my needs, rates, and SOW thresholds. It is still a work in progress (and a LOT of literal work as well), and very much a thing I struggle with in publicly marketing, which is why I felt a tad underqualified to answer your question in the first place (obviously I did not let that stop me). But what it means for me now is that I am rapidly developing into whatever my "version" of a functioning freelance artist is, and when the conditions for that guy are met, I need to be able to confidently plant myself and operate from that space despite past precedents. Do not let anyone bully you into downpricing what you yourself perceive as legitimate products of personal growth and development. Speaking of which...

4. The shitty challenge of turning envy into inspiration, and paddling outside your comfort zones in full riot gear. it is hard, but realizing that being a miserable, self-hating artist in my early days got me nothing but more misery back was the first real step I took and what truly blew the hinges off. I was just not pleasant to be around, I would badmouth my work all the time, and it all somehow made sense in my broken mind because the validation I sought was purely external and the way I sought it was through eliciting sympathy via self-victimization (even when I made something objectively nice). It all led fucking nowhere. Except perhaps to my own narcissism that I one day managed to identify and start managing. So I started looking at things that made me seethe with envy and calmly deconstruct and figure out their inner workings instead, do studies, and find nuggets of inspiration or discover new ways to approach rendering or building up specific elements. It was an application of analytical diligence to what I wanted to be a purely emotional, esoteric workflow, but that I deep down knew wasn't. Art is a discipline and a skill, and maybe it isn't a straight line, but you gotta find some line to thread nevertheless. Being self-hating was almost an identity I had to break out of, and despite it still being like, 4-5% there? I realize its cause and effect on me, my work, and those around me, so it is with a conscious choice that I gently set it aside when I work and especially when I learn. It won't always stay quiet, but the effort is the difference. Your doors towards accepting true growth and venturing into uncharted territories, art styles, and networking will really open from there. But there's a huge caveat...

5. Toolsets, accessibility, privilege, and all the good things that enable artistic expression and profitability are not given equal to all. you might do all the mental work I mentioned to be ready to rock and roll and learn and draw your way out of anything, but digital art is a fucking money pit that asks almost too much at times. I don't got a good case study here but identifying and ensuring accessibility to the tools you need to do your best work is, like, super important. The ergonomics can improve as you make money and settle into the job, but the basics have to be made available to you. And some of that might not even be under your direct control. That can be anything from pen tablets to software subscriptions to opportunities in hiring sullied by sexism or what have you. You gotta navigate all that through careful networking and money/time management. I don't do a good job of devoting specific slices of time to work/study, and my primary clutch is iPad software which went from a good deal to a nightmare scenario over the years. So all I can say here is do what I didn't; network, invest in a PC/tablet, and pick a software you'll learn that won't burn a hole in your pocket.

6. Be nice to work with? This one is hard to articulate and has landed my own ass in hot water in my early years because of how socially inept I am, but nothing is more worthwhile than being.. like. a good person to work with. That can be anything like meeting deadlines, or sometimes missing them but eloquently articulating why, being generous in early stages, being communicable and not too wordy in your emails, having a good grasp on abstract artistic concepts and how to describe them in simple terms, having a clear, laid out framework of your working rates in commercial and non-commercial projects and sticking to those guns with grace, understanding when you need to say no and saying it well, the works. Just being nice. Sometimes that might mean going headstrong with something you believe in, or simmering down and sucking up to the big man, all relative and adaptive. Part and parcel of the service provision dance that we all have to do in order to make bank. Know your lines here, obviously, and don't like. work for nazis. or uh.. *shudders* exposure. but be nice and empathetic and communicable and word will travel eventually. Skill may be in abundance these days, but good people are most certainly not, and capitalism has a way of bubbling up scarcity. Grim, but uh, them's the breaks.

I know I'm ultimately telling you to like. Have a body of work, make a portfolio, grow, and network. But that's really how I see it for now. And being nice can be a cherry on top that sets you apart, along with the inherent irreplaceable voice of your artwork. I think I rambled on enough, but if there is something specific you need my help with, even if you want to come off anon and talk in private, please feel free.

#anon #asks #long post #sorry I cant actually condense ideas better :(

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hueswrites · 4 years ago

Text

hq kinktober [day1] tendou

main hq kinktober list

hq kinktober [day1] tendou satori/cosplay

includes: a bit of story, some angsty broody stuff on reader's part, cosplay (obviously), fingering and female receiving oral sex

wordcount: 4,827

ok this turned out to be more fluff and actual sort of plot than smut. i just started writing at 12:30am and kept going until 6 in the morning. this is the result. if you were looking forward to straight up smut on this first prompt, i'm sorry but THIS IS NOT IT LMAO.

i absolutely adore tendou and the perspective i gave him on life in this. stay quirky, my friends. (as kenma would say... stay interesting, shouyo)

Being Satori was hard. It was unfortunate, exhausting, and just plain miserable - that's what his junior high school classmates wanted him to believe, at least.

In his early years of school, Satori Tendou was teased for his awkward, gangly appearance and unusual mannerisms. His attempts to interact with his peers were often shunned due to the offbeat semblance he exuded, which left most of the other kids feeling unsettled.

His mother, equally peculiar in her own way, urged Satori to make the most of his eccentricities. "Think about the characters you like from the manga you read. Would you want to keep reading the story if all the characters were the same?"

Satori shook his head, already concluding the point his mother was trying to make. "I get what you're saying, Mom," he grinned from ear to ear, a smile the width of his perfectly straight cherry red bangs, and pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He plopped down onto the wooden floorboard with exuberance. "Life is boring when everyone's the same. Who wants to live a boring life?" He padded over to his room and jumped onto his bed, going back to the first page of this week's issue of Jump. The warm, tingly feeling of adventure took over as he reread the newest chapters of his favorite series for the thirteenth time that week.

A decade later, Satori found himself living in France, where he stood out more than ever before. Not only did he need to learn how to adapt to the country's unfamiliar customs, he also had to learn how to speak its language: the language of love. He found his self-appointed tutor in the bookstore he frequented once he felt comfortable navigating the streets of Paris, which happened to be the same bookstore you browsed when you had a little bit of money to spend.

There you stood alongside him in the graphic novel section, your form hidden under an oversized hoodie, brows scrunched together in what appeared to be deep concentration. You were extremely aware of his presence looming over you, and it created a feeling of unease that sunk into your bones. You braved a glance up at his face, and he quickly turned his head back to stare at the row of the slice-of-life series that lined the very top shelf before him.

Tall, you thought to yourself. That's a very tall man.

You shuffled away from him just a bit, browsing the very bare section of "how-to-draw manga" guides that you knew were second rate to how real manga artists crafted their work.

Moments later, a silvery voice spilled into your consciousness and caught your attention. "Hmm, if only Matsuo-chan realized Hibari's feelings for her in the very beginning..." You can't help but look back up at the lanky man next to you, listening as he changed his speech from French to Japanese. "Then perhaps sweet misery would've never crushed their poor, little hearts." He turned his head to look down at you, heavy lids lowered over brilliantly crimson irises. A cheeky upward curve lifted his thinly shaped lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your mind went blank, rendering you speechless.

"I saw the Todai button on your bag," he said, voice now light and cheerful.

You blinked once, twice, then looked down at your messenger bag decorated with various pins from the clubs you took part of in college back in your home country of Japan. Your body relaxed, and a breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Yeah, Tokyo University. Are you from Japan?"

"Yes! Came here from Sendai. How's my French?" He beamed a child-like smile.

You produced your most sarcastic chuckle, turning to lean a shoulder onto the bookshelf so you could face him. "It's kind of terrible."

He mocked a look of despair and dropped his head in feigned embarrassment. You noticed how the pale skin of his cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and you wondered how someone could go from intimidating to adorable in a matter of seconds. Then his eyes snapped back to you, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wanna be my tutor?"

Your cheeks flushed pink, and your breath came to a halt again.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to do something like that," you said, pushing yourself away from the shelf to stand square.

He hummed and straightened his posture, shifting his eyes away from yours, down to your shoes, then back up to your face. "Why not?" The look on his face expressed genuine curiosity.

You decided to pretend you didn't notice his blatant evaluation of your physical form just now.

"I've only been here for a year. I can speak enough French to get by, but I'm not sure I can teach someone else how to speak it."

"So little faith in yourself, little miss."

You furrow your brows at the nickname.

He whipped out a volume of a manga you recently started reading and held it up to you. "You have a pin of this on your bag, too," he said with a wiggle of his sparse eyebrows. "How about you try and get me to start reading this subpar manga by making me read it out loud in French?"

You gave him a look of piqued interest. The possibility of roping someone into reading your favorite series was tempting.

Then he continued, "And we can get yakitori and beer while you teach me?"

The hue of red on your face extends to your forehead.

"You've got pins of beer and yakitori on your bag, too."

A few weeks later, you and Satori were on your sixth date seated across from each other at a cat café in downtown Paris. It took the first three dates (he'd somehow coerced you into) for you to realize that the strange man was just that - strange, but harmless. The one friend you'd managed to make in your year in France introduced you to some very attractive and very gregarious men that you just couldn't see yourself with. Your friend's idea of fun was clubbing and bar hopping through the streets of Paris, and that was unsurprisingly the same kind of fun those men preferred as well.

To you, fun was something much more personal and intimate. Your past experience with relationships lead you to believe that you are meant to be on your own - that there is nobody in this world that will appreciate your oddities and make you as happy as you can make yourself.

Your interests lied in worlds of fiction and fantasy - games, books, movies, and manga, which you learned Satori was just as passionate about as you. Not surprising. He seemed to fit the socially awkward, emotionally inept stereotype you knew most men fit into that also liked anime. He asked too many questions, didn't understand when his questions push personal boundaries, and just wouldn't. Shut. Up.

He did smell nice. You gave him that.

"So little turtle-in-her-shell, do you ever go to conventions?"

You paused your chewing of the last bit of coffee cake you ordered. "Turtle in her shell?"

That carmine, wide eyed gaze of his remained fixed on your face. "You wear that big hoodie all the time like a turtle in a shell."

"It's comfortable," you state. “And yes, I go to conventions.”

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two of you, and if it weren't for the chatter of others seated around you and the clinking of cups and plates, you'd have really retracted into your "shell" of a sweater.

So you changed the subject, deciding to ask a question that stepped a hair outside of your comfort zone to a man you weren't quite sure about yet.

"Were you just trying to get my attention with that whole "be my tutor" spiel?" You asked following a sip of your iced cappuccino. A little calico feline had chosen you as its scratching post, kneading its nails into the fabric of your jeans. You ignored the little stings of pain for the sake of the cat's enjoyment.

Satori multitasked between feeding himself scoops of his chocolate parfait and playing with the lashing paws of the black cat that sat on the table between you. "Hey now," he said, lightly squeezing the cat's tail before quickly retreating his hand away to avoid the tiny beast's teeth. "I wouldn't know all the different ways to say "I need to take a dump" in French if it weren't for your tutoring thus far, little miss.”

"That's a weird nickname you have for me." The cat on your lap suddenly hopped to the ground, skirting across the ground to the human it suddenly deemed more worthy of its attention than you. You frowned, the action wounding your cold, bitter heart.

"You wouldn't remember me if I called you by just your name, would you?" He used a straw to slurp up the remaining concoction of sugar at the bottom of his cup.

"Do you even remember my real name, Satori?"

He pushed the now empty cup aside and ruffled the black cat's ears with his fingers. It hissed and gave a quick swat of its paw to his hands, then jumped off the table and scurried away.

"I never forget the names of all the cute girls I get to add to my harem," he said with a smirk, his cheeks rising to meet the crinkled corners of his eyes.

You gave him a lopsided glare. "You're kidding, right?"

Satori laughed - a lilted giggle that sent a shiver straight down to your gut, and then his expression darkened and his eyes captured yours in a binding stare. "Would you like to come over and see for yourself?" The way his voice rumbled an octave lower than you've ever heard had you squeezing your hands into nervous balls of tension above your knees.

You frowned. You genuinely couldn't tell if he was being serious. If you hadn't known how much wit and jest the man exuded in nearly every one of his actions, you wouldn't put it past him to be a basement dwelling, serial stalking NEET that kidnapped girls and made them dress up to suit his twisted fantasies. The thought had you questioning every single thing he's said to you so far. He had your number, he knew where you liked to eat, where you liked to drink, and he even knew where you worked. Was this guy like the others?

Suddenly his laughter burst through the air, the sound so boisterous it made you flinch.

"You look so petrified! Are you that gullible to believe everything I say?"

You grit your teeth and grabbed the paper wrapper from his straw to chuck it at his face. "That was so not cool!" You huffed, getting your wallet out to leave a tip on the table.

His laughter continued to tumble through the café, disrupting conversations from nearby customers only for them to direct their attention towards you. You rose to your feet and hurried towards the exit. You absolutely hate being the center of attention!

Satori followed you and matched your stride easily, one of his steps covering three of yours. He stood unbearably close, and if he didn't smell as sweet as the parfait he just ate, you would've shoved him away,

"___-chan," he sang, and you realized it was the first time he said your name. You allowed yourself to relax just a little and slowed your steps. A brief moment of silence settled between the two of you, and he used that moment to gauge your current state of emotional wellbeing.

"___-chan," he said again, this time demanding your attention.

You remained silent. Satori had picked up on so many of your habits in the past few weeks of talking to you and observing your actions that he understood your silence as your cue for, "Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, bending at his waist so he could meet your line of sight, continuing to stroll alongside you. He must've noticed the creases under your eyes disappear as your tension eased away because that smug little smirk returned to his face. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look at him just slightly. A shade of pink colored your cheeks when you met his gaze - his wide, inquisitive eyes studying you with childlike innocence.

You looked forward.

He chuckled and stood up straight, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "Adorable," he said aloud, further deepening your blush.

You steeled yourself and regained your composure. "Which way do we go?"

Satori hummed. "What do you mean?" he said, bending down again to look at your face. Why must he always have to stare like that when he speaks?

"Aren't we going to your place?"

He grinned. "Really?"

You threw a glare his way. "I'll change my mind if we don't start heading there right now."

Satori grimaced. "___-chan does not cool down so easily after bursting into flames," he mumbled, and you ignored the comment. He sighed. "This way, little miss," he took your hand and pulled you along, bounding across the street as the pedestrian crosswalk countdown hit zero. Your hand wrapped around his, holding on tight to keep up.

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid sound effects he made as he continued to leap from the street onto the sidewalk, giving you no choice but to run and jump over the curb with him.

Your self-conceived belief that you are all you'll ever have and all you'll ever need to be happy now faced a challenger. This strange person - this bizarre character - punched a hole through the wall you've put so much effort to build on your own.

Satori's twenty-seventh birthday came just after your one year anniversary of the strange... relationship... you managed to maintain despite your ongoing struggle against the warped, pessimistic reality you believed about relationships through years of self-doubt. Slowly but steadily the glass case you built around yourself chipped away due to Satori's freakish ability to see beyond your façade and understand your feelings.

You learned about the bullying he faced in his childhood, and how his mother and high school volleyball team helped him accept the fact that life will always have real jerks with nothing nice to say to test your tenacity. He created a routine of reminding you that you can choose whether or not you let those nasty words bring you down or give you motivation to build your self worth.

Life is more fun when things are a little out of the ordinary. Who wants to be the same as everyone else? These are words you considered when you felt down.

For Satori's birthday, you wanted to do something different, something unique that he would remember about you if you ever went your separate ways.

Since the beginning, you noticed Satori had a thing for cute girls in cosplay. When you told him about your own cosplay projects and showed him pictures, his whole demeanor changed. He became shy - something hardly anyone had ever seen in his usually indiscreet personality.

One thing that helped you feel a little more confident in yourself and your relationship was your experience in physical intimacy. From what you gathered in the little bit of discussion you've had with Satori on the topic, he seemed to have far less experience than you. It was cute how his face went bright red when you managed to pry the details of his past encounters out from the tiny little box of insecurities he still held within. Perhaps it was your turn to bring something out of the wicked Guess Monster (you thought it was a cheesy name but he really took pride in the title whenever he reminisced on his youth at Shiratorizawa Academy) that he kept so carefully hidden away.

"Why are you so shy about this?" You asked the first time you had sex.

Suddenly, the creepy, unwavering eye contact he managed to hold with anyone he came face to face with vanished from the list of unsettling and seemingly unashamed habits and mannerisms that made Satori Tendou so uniquely... Satori.

"The one thing I still have trouble with is..." he looked down at where your naked bodies connected on the plush mattress he swore really was worth the $2,000 he spent. (I don't mean to diss your profession, but do you really make enough money as a chocolatier to afford a bed that expensive?) you asked, immediately regretting having asked the question when a gloomy grey cloud appeared over his head).

"Fucking?" You said, giving him a cocky little smirk.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

"I know you get turned on by cute cosplays of your favorite anime girls."

"...and cute actresses," he muttered, now stuffing his face between your breasts.

That's when you decided to shake things up.

Satori's weekends were usually occupied by work at the sweets factory. He was in the process of getting promoted to a position that freed up his weekends, but it wasn't happening anytime soon.

It was just your luck that his birthday fell on a Saturday this year, your only day off on the weekends. You left your cosplays and wigs back in Japan, boxed up in the bedroom you grew up in. While Satori was slaving away at work, you went shopping. You managed to find a decent sewing machine and plenty of fabric at a (pricey) thrift store on the other side of town. The wigs you looked at were ridiculously expensive - definitely for the high end fashion scene of Paris, not for nerdy cosplayers.

Once you returned to his apartment, you spread all of your findings across his bed and bedroom floor.

A maid's skirt that you will definitely chop up to be anything but modest.

A coreset you honestly weren't sure would fit your little love handles and tummy that lost its tone after all the dessert dates Satori insisted were good for "self care."

Cute devil horns with a pointed tail to match.

Knee high stockings and garters he mentioned as being one of the sexiest things a woman could wear.

And a simple leather collar to put around your neck... with the option to hook a leash.

You looked at the spread before you and wondered how such a quiet, reserved person such as yourself could be so... kinky.

You checked the time on your phone. You had three hours to put something together.

9:43pm Satori:

i'm leaving! boss said he'd let me leave 27 minutes early to celebrate the 27 years of my blessed existence on this planet

@( o･ꎴ･)@

9:44pm

that's all he did for your birthday? and wtf is that emoji

9:44pm Satori:

it's supposed to be a monkey but now that i look it really doesn't look like one. be home soooooon!! ＼(^o^)／ he gave me a $1000 bonus too #stacked

9:45pm

omg you are so lame! come straight to your room for your present :)

9:45pm Satori: (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) ohooOoOOo??

9:46pm stop sending faces and just get your skinny butt over here

9:46pm Satori:

┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛

You heard the front door open, followed by the thump of Satori's shoes hitting the wall. The sound of the lock sliding into place once he closed the door sent a little shiver up your spine.

You sat on his bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of you. You fixed your little devil horns, made sure the tail was pulled out from underneath your butt, and pushed the coreset up to give your cleavage a boost.

Inhale. Exhale.

You'd never dressed up for something like this before, and you had no idea how Satori would react. You imagined he would immediately pass out with a nosebleed.

His footsteps neared his room, and you heard him in his chipper, sing-song voice. "What is my little ___-chan up to, hmm?"

Once he reached the doorway, his eyes landed on you, and his entire body froze. His jaw went slack, looking like a fool with his mouth wide open in dumbstruck awe at the sight before him.

You gave him your most innocent smile, spreading your legs open just a hair. "Come eat up your dessert, Satori~" you said with a tone so sultry it turned his bones into mush.

Satori's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his matted hair in exasperation. His rusty red locks had grown longer than when you first met him - curling behind his ears and covering his forehead. "Baby..." he said, walking into the room, towards the bed. "Baby, baby, baby," he repeated in English, his favorite language to express excitement. He crawled onto the bed, stopping just before you to sit and cross his legs while he looked you over.

Your skirt was cut so short he could almost see the sweet spot between your legs. The garter straps hugged the meat of your thighs and hooked onto the thigh high stockings that fit the muscle of your calves.

Those pointy little horns sat just a little bit lopsided on your head. That slim, pointed tail traced back to your rear, and the collar around that gorgeous neck of yours drew his eyes down to your barely contained cleavage.

"Baby," he said again, almost a whisper. He leaned forward onto his knees to hover over your body and cradled your face between his hands. Hungry crimson eyes gazed right through you, a shade darker than you've ever seen before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said, then pressed the softest, most gentle kiss to your lips.

Your heart fluttered, hands coming up to thread your fingers into his hair. "Happy birthday," you murmured, bringing him back down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly went from gentle to fervent, his hands slipping up your calves over the stockings, over the garters and up to your thighs, rounding out over your ass. He gave your fleshy cheeks a squeeze and broke the kiss, going straight to your neck, kissing every bit of your exposed skin.

You spread your legs more, asking him to come closer, and he did. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt, lifting it above his ribcage, up to his shoulders. He barely moved back to remove the shirt completely before pressing his lips back to the skin over your collarbones, giving you gentle nips with his teeth.

This was the Satori you wanted in bed.

He sighed into your chest, going down to kiss the swell of your breasts. "My little devil," he said, sucking on the skin right above the coreset. "You're so sexy," he bit down a little bit harder, eliciting a hiss through your teeth. "So beautiful," a kiss over the bite, moving to your other breast. "So irresistible," both of his hands came up underneath your ass to lift you up off of the bed and into his lap. You yelped, forgetting his lithe frame could muster so much strength. He placed you in his lap, leaning forward to run his tongue across your lips and into your mouth once you opened up for him.

"Take your pants off," you mumbled, pulling at the waistband.

"I don't wanna stop kissing you," he whined, hands running up along your waist and over your back to press you up against his chest. At that moment you wished you could feel the warmth of his skin, if it weren't for the coreset.

"How are you gonna fuck me if you don't take them off?"

"Mmmfgh," he groaned, a funny sound that only Satori could make without killing the mood.

He pulled away, then quickly leaned forward to steal another kiss, and pulled away again. You crawled off his lap and sat back, watching him rise to his knees to shimmy pants down his hips. He sat back on his butt and kicked them off then crawled back to you, caging you between his arms and legs.

You pushed him away and gave him a devious smirk. "If I knew dressing up like this would flip your switch, I would've done it a long time ago."

He returned your grin with a wicked gleam of his own, eyelids drooping down to look at you with his most perverted leer. "Achievement unlocked?"

You slapped your hand over his face, pushing him away with a laugh. Spreading your legs again, you drew his attention down to your skirt and flipped it up over your stomach to show him your bare cunt.

He groaned, a mix of a whine and a curse, before diving down to attach his mouth straight to your dampened folds. He licked and sucked, pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit before sucking on the little bud, repeating the motion over and over until you started to writhe.

"I-" you began, letting out a huff of a breath, "would tell you to slow down," your hand flew up to grip onto his hair tightly once he pushed a finger inside you. "But it's your night," you huffed again, a strangled moan leaving your throat. "Go wild, Satori."

He removed his mouth and went straight from one finger to three, rubbing the pads of his fingers up against the walls of your core stretching you out and looking up at you with glossy, hazy eyes. "Best dessert I've ever had," he groaned, watching you tilt your head back, chest heaving as your body started to tremble. He went back down to lap at your folds, replacing his fingers with the muscle of his tongue, pushing it deep into your little hole.

"Fuck, Satori, I'm already close," you sighed, rocking your hips up against his mouth. He pulled away again. "I want you for breakfast," he pushed his fingers back inside your cunt, now sloppy with the slick of his saliva and your arousal. He gave a bruising kiss to the inside of your thigh, "And I want you for lunch," a kiss to your other thigh, "And dinner," he groaned, feeling you clench around his digits, pumping harder, faster - long, nimble fingers reaching the very depth of your core.

Those little horns started to slide off your head as you tossed your head forward and back, watching him work between your legs and thrashing back against the headboard whenever he hit your sweet spot.

You lifted your hips off the bed, urging your body to the peak of pleasure. Your voice kept going, encouraging him to go faster, harder, sighing, panting, moaning.

And just like that, every muscle in your body tightened, and a gush of liquid splashed out over his fingers and onto his tongue, his nose, and his chin. Your moans turned into brief, choked sobs as your orgasm rocked your body. You gripped your fist into his hair, so tight you ended up bringing his body forward.

"God," you groaned out load, dropping yourself back down to the bed, your body now spent. He kissed the spot under your navel, over your belly button, back up to your chest, your neck, and your chin. You felt the tips of his fingers slip underneath one of the stockings and pull up and away, letting it snap back down against your skin. You giggled, bringing him up for a slick, sloppy kiss.

You both remained as you were, his forehead now resting against yours, eyes closed, soft pants easing back to controlled breaths. Your left arm slung over the back of his neck, and your right remained tangled into his messy locks, the pads of your fingers giving a gentle massage to his scalp.

"How do you feel?" you asked, too tired to open your eyes.

"Hmmm," he hummed, not quite coherent enough to give a substantial response.

Suddenly, both of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he flipped himself over so that you were on top, straddling his waist. His back rested flat against the bed, that mischievous look once again casting a wicked shadow over his face. He glanced over to where the little devil horns fell onto the bed and placed them back where they belong atop your head.

"I feel like I'm just a peasant, sentenced to be one of hell's slaves for all eternity."

You grin, catching onto his narrative. "Such an unfortunate fate. You were once a hero, but were corrupted by the temptation of lust."

Satori grinned, a toothy, mischievous grin, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Now I'm cursed with the inability to ever be satisfied..." He breathed a laugh. "We're so fucking weird," he murmured, "Sounding like Team Rocket..."

You leaned down to give him a kiss. "Weird, normal. Whatever. As long as we're having fun, right?"

#hq kinktober 2020 #hq x reader #hq smut #hq kinktober #reader x hq #tendou x reader #haikyuu #should i even put these in the haikyuu tag or will people try to fight me #whatever

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ryrycaptain · 4 years ago

Text

Lets See Where This Goes

Description:

Dan and Phil go to the same high school, with Phil a year older than Dan. Phil’s aesthetic is more 80’s/retro, whereas Dan’s is a grunge e-girl aesthetic with makeup. Ever since Dan’s freshman year, Phil admired him for embracing individuality and slowly started to fall for him. However, they never talked except for Phil being nervous and clumsy around Dan. Little did he know that Phil had feelings for him but didn’t show it.

Notes:

Hello! Thu is my very first fic for the PRB, and I'm excited for you all to read. My piece was inspired by the lovely art futurebunnyfluff made. My amazing beta was supermariohbrothers! . I hope you enjoy the fic.

ao3 link

When Phil first saw Daniel Howell, the younger boy had been talking to Phil’s new maths teacher for directions. He quietly slipped past the pair, but it didn’t stop him from noticing the younger boy's style. Dan had been wearing a black shirt with a small logo of an upside-down smiling face. The shirt was worn over a black and white striped shirt and tucked into black shorts that were adorned with white ruffles. The belt cinched around his waist pulled the outfit together and highlighted Dan’s curves. Although the outfit was bold, Phil was surprised to see the purple lipstick that coated the younger boy’s lips. He also noticed the slight blush on his cheeks and the purple eyeshadow coating his eyelids. Overall the younger boy looked absolutely breathtaking with his brown curly hair and chocolate eyes.

His attention had been stolen by the way the boy stood confident by the teacher and how he moved his hands while talking. Dan was confident, and he knew he was special. Phil couldn’t help be inspired by the way the younger boy presented himself when there were so many threats for being different.

Phil’s style wasn’t too out there, but it still stole attention from all the wrong people. He liked the 80’s aesthetic he’d come to life over the year. It helped represent his old soul. He'd been bullied on multiple occasions, and his sexuality had been a popular topic amongst his classmates for a good half of last year. He couldn’t imagine being as confident as Dan was. Needless to say, Phil had been distracted for the rest of the day.

It didn’t get much better after that though. He was often caught sneaking glances at the other boy, and it became a hot topic at his lunch table. He was sitting with his food in front of him staring at the younger boy when PJ dropped into his seat across from Phil. The other boy followed Phil’s gaze, “Have you talked to him yet?”

Phil shook his head. “Every time I try I get too nervous and back out.”

It was true. In a way, Dan had become his idol, and Phil looked up to him like he looked up to Muse. It was stupid, but Phil couldn’t stop his mind from creating situations where Dan would run away or think he was obnoxious. Just as he was about to spiral, Pj interrupted him, “Stop overthinking it, Phil. He’s just another teenager.”

PJ had been his friend since the day he accidentally stepped on the other boy's sandcastle at the park. They’d grown close quickly, and PJ could somehow read his mind at this point.

“I’m trying, Peej.”

Pj sighed “What could go wrong?”

Phil didn’t even need to think before he started listening off all of the reasons introducing himself to the younger boy could go wrong. “-might think I’m weird and hide from me for the rest of my life. Really there are a million ways it could end badly.”

“I wasn’t being serious,” Pj said glaring, “Seriously though, you should go talk to him. I don’t think I can stand you looking at him like a lost puppy for the rest of the year.”

Phil huffed, “Fine.”

He stood up and made his way to the other boy’s table, walking with confidence he didn’t know he had. When he actually gets to the younger boys table, he loses it immediately. He can feel the blood rush from his face, and his lips are moving but no words are coming out.

Dan looks flawless yet again. The younger boy has a purple crop top that stops just above the band of his black ripped jeans and he sports clunky Doc Martens. He’s wearing makeup again, and it sparkles against his eyelids. Phil’s pulled out of his reverie by a small cough. “Hi,” Dan says.

His voice isn’t as high as Phil imagined it, but it’s still smooth. “Hi,” he responds, “I’m- um- Phil. Yeah, that’s right. That’s my name. Phil. Phil Lester.” He laughs awkwardly and then he’s taking off, away from the table and back to the one friend he has.

When he flings himself into his chair, Pj jumps and he looks at Phil with caution in his eyes. “Did everything go down well?”

Phil feels like he’s about to cry and he has to blink a few times to clear the unshed tears from his eyes. “God I screwed everything up,” he groans.

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Pj reassures him.

“I promise you it was that bad.”

Pj snorts, “Not everything is as bad as you think it is.”

After that, Phil lays low and he doesn’t talk to anyone but Pj. He wouldn’t say he was a social butterfly, but he made an effort to talk to people most of the time. He’s worried that Dan’s going to start rumors about him and it’s not implausible.

Dan had become quite popular a few days into the school year. He’d made a lasting impression on most of the popular girls, and he seemed to get along well with them. Phil was pretty sure a few of the girls even had crushes on him. The only thing keeping Phil’s hopes alive is the rumor that Dan’s gay. The younger boy hasn’t commented on it yet, and for all Phil knows, the younger boy could be dating one of the most influential people in the school.

The only thing keeping Phil from worrying about the girls themselves whispering about him is the fact that Dan sits away from them with his friend Louise. Louise was nice with curly blonde hair dyed pink at the tips. She seemed like a mother hen, and Phil constantly caught her fixing Dan’s hair or lecturing the younger boy.

Phil’s pretty sure he should try talking to the other boy again to quell his fears, but he still hasn’t convinced himself to do so. He ends up going to talk to Dan on several occasions before chickening out.

He spends the rest of the year giving Dan longing looks and wishing he wasn’t socially inept. His wishes don’t come true though so he stays away and sulks. Pj confronts him multiple times and he ignores the other boy’s advice every single time.

—

The next school year, Dan starts dating one of the football players at school and it confirms one thing for Phil. [ Dan likes guys. ] After his hopes are confirmed his crush gets worse and he’s desperate for a relationship with Dan whether it’s a friendship or something more.

When he finally gains the courage to talk to the other boy, he trips right over an outstretched foot, and he can’t stand to look at Dan for days.

He’s always been clumsy and he doubts he'll ever be able to get away with hurting himself in front of Dan. This time rumors spread, but he doubts Dan was the one who started. He’s only giving Dan the benefit of the doubt because everyone saw it.

His avoidance of Dan spans the rest of the school year, and Phil spends most of his summer listening to Muse and complaining to Pj about his lack of social skills. He also finds Dan’s social media and stalks it for days mesmerized by his makeup looks. He’s seen Dan in makeup before but those are simple looks that don’t draw too much attention, but the looks he posts online are extravagant and eye-catching.

It inspires Phil and he spends a lot of time painting eyes and other random designs onto thrifted clothing that he finds on his shopping spree. By the time he’s done being inspired, he has enough new outfits to last him the first two months of school.

He’s amazed by what the younger boy brings out him, and they don’t even know each other. It makes him think about how much more inspiring Dan would be if they were friends but he pushes that thought away and distracts himself with something new.

—

The first day of school this year was the last and Phil was excited by the idea. He dressed in a black button-up that had a retro pattern scattered across in and threw a pair of stared overalls he painted over top of the shirt. The patterns meshed well but still provided a neat look. He lastly threw on his battered pair of converse and headed off to school.

His day starts off well but it gets better when he finds out Dan is in the same AP art class as he is. He’s honestly surprised the other boy likes art but then he remembers the amazing makeup the younger boy does. He realizes he barely knows anything about the younger boy. He knows things from rumors and social media, but half of it could be fake.

Phil spends most of the class sulking over the fact that he isn’t near Dan, but his luck pulls through a few weeks into the school year. They’re doing a partner's projects and the teachers picked the pairs. He usually picks Pj, and most of the time, the teacher pairs them up as well. She must have noticed the way he smiled at Dan though because she makes them partners.

He gives Pj an apologetic look and makes his way over to Dan’s desk. “Hi. I’m-”

“Phil. Phil Lester,” he teased, “I remember.”

Phil groans, “Sorry I’m so awkward. I’m surprised you didn’t run away when you found out I was your partner.”

Dan laughs at that. “Why?”

“I’ve been so weird in front of you.”

“That just made you all the more interesting. I’ve been trying to get to know you for years, and you’ve just now noticed.”

“You have?”

“I’m mean- of course. You really inspire me.”

Phil’s caught off guard by that. He’s never seen himself as an inspirational person. He runs away from most of his problems, and he avoids human connections like the plague. He isn’t popular, in real life or online. It makes him feel awkward, and he wonders what Dan knows about him.

What happens if he doesn’t rise to Dan’s expectations? Phil can’t imagine disappointing the other boy, and he becomes self-conscious immediately. Besides, he’s borderline obsessed with the younger boy and he starts to worry if Dan has seen the internet stalking that Phil does. It would be even more embarrassing if Dan knew about Phil’s tendency to stare at the other boy.

“Why?” he asks Dan. It’s the only way he can find out what Dan thinks about him.

Dan hums and sits in thought for a few moments. “You seem happy with what you have. I have all of these friends and I’m treated like I queen by half of my dates, but I’m still not sure I’m the happiest I can be,” Dan sighs. “I’m sorry if that was too deep.”

“I don’t think it was,” Phil reassures him. “I had a lot of trouble at first. People aren’t the best at handling differences, and some people tried to change me. It made me stronger in the end though.”

The bell cuts off their conversation then, and Phil realizes they never discussed the project. He doesn’t even know what the prompt is. “Do you want to exchange numbers?” He asks Dan,

“Uh- sure,” he sputters, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Phil takes a few seconds to type in his number and hands Dan the phone. “Text me?” Phil asks, “To talk about the project and stuff.”

“Yeah of course.”

—

Phil is stuck staring at his ceiling. He can’t seem to sleep and his brain is repeating the conversation he had with Dan earlier. It was weird to know that Dan looked up to him in the same way Phil looked up to Dan. Somehow they both comforted the other even though they barely knew anything about each other. He feels slightly guilty for not telling Dan about his admiration. He wishes he had Dan’s number so he can clear his conscience, but the younger boy still hasn’t texted him. It makes him worry he creeped out the other boy, and he doesn’t know how he’d get through the project if he has.

It’s like Dan’s reading his mind because the next thing Phil knows, his phone is brightening up with a message.

From Dan

Hey. It’s Dan :D

Phil can’t help but smile at the smiley face at the end of the message. It fits perfectly with Dan’s personality.

To Dan

Hey, stranger. What are you doing up so late?

From Dan

I couldn’t sleep. You?

To Dan

Same. I can’t stop thinking.

It feels weird to actually talk to Dan outside of school. He wants to run away from the awkward vibe the messages are giving off, but he isn’t risking a low grade in the class. Then again he doesn’t know the prompt so he’s probably doomed to a failing grade in the class anyways. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Dan, but he’s a bit wary about working with someone other than Pj.

At least Pj is working with someone he knows. The girl’s name is Sofie, and Pj had mentioned her multiple times at lunch. Phil’s surprised he hadn’t noticed the look in Pj’s eyes when he talked about her before. Phil’s definitely jealous, but he’s happy knowing that Pj is living the dream.

From Dan

That’s never good.

To Dan

I suppose so.

He watches as the three dots in the corner of his screen move and waits for Dan’s reply. It’s awkward. Phil doesn’t like talking about himself that much, but he’s finally having a conversation with Dan. After a few minutes, the bubble disappears, and Phil is left alone again.

—

When he wakes up the next morning his eyes hurt from leaving his contacts in. He must have fallen asleep after Dan and he stopped talking. He stretches out and makes his way to the bathroom, relieving himself and trading his contacts for his glasses. His reflection looks exhausted and it makes him realize how tired he actually is. He tries to sort out the bird's nest that his hair has become and pushes it into a quiff.

His closet is a mess of colors and patterns, and he can’t seem to focus on any of the pieces. He ends up throwing on a random sweater and a pair of pants that he’d painted over the summer. He remembers his phone and picks it up. It’s completely dead and he can’t help but chastise himself for not plugging it in last night. He throws it on the charger and finishes his morning routine.

When he gets back to his room, his phone is back on and he has another text from Dan. [I can’t wait to work with you].

—

As soon as he meets up with Pj, the other boy is rambling about Sofie and how much they’ve talked. Apparently, they share multiple interests, and Pj thinks he’s found his soulmate. He can’t seem to talk about anything else, and Phil mopes in silence. He needs Pj’s advice on the whole Dan situation, but he can’t bring himself to interrupt his cheery mood.

At lunch, Sofie joins the duo at their table and Phil can't help, but feel like a third wheel. The other two can’t stop talking, and Phil gets annoyed quickly. Dan must notice the bored look in his eyes because he calls him over at lunch. “What's up?” Phil asks.

The other boy is wearing yet another black shirt, this one decorated with the print of an ouija board, and his classic Doc Martens, but the piece that surprises Phil is the skirt that Dan’s sporting. The piece that pulls the outfit together is thigh high socks that hug Dan’s long legs. Phil can’t help but stare for a few moments. He’s interrupted by Dan’s voice, “You looked bored.”

“I feel like a third wheel with them,” Phil shrugs. He turns to Louise. “I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Phil,” he states, sticking his hand out.

“I know,” she replies simply.

At that comment, Dan blushes. “Do you want to sit with us?” he asks, “We can talk about the project if you want.” Phil grimaces. “Or we don’t have to. Just sit with us.”

Phil slides into the seat next to Louise so he doesn’t have to turn to see Dan’s face. “What were you guys talking about?” he asks.

“Makeup,” Louise chirps.

“We can talk about something else if you want to though,” Dan adds.

“I don’t mind,” Phil answers.

Dan shakes his head. “Come on Phil. I want to get to know you better.”

“I’m not that interesting,” Phil replies.

“I don’t care if it’s boring. What’s your favorite band? favorite color? Do you have any hobbies?”

“My favorite band is Muse-”

“I love Muse!” Dan exclaims, cutting him off. “What’s your favorite album?”

“I guess Origin of Symmetry,” Phil replies.

“No fucking way.”

“What?”

“That’s my favorite too. You must have an amazing taste in music.”

Phil blushes at that comment. He never gets compliments, especially not from cute boys. “As for my favorite color. It’s blue, and I paint. A lot. I also play video games sometimes. What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you have a favorite color? Hobbies? This isn’t going to be one-sided, Dan.”

“I guess my favorite color would have to be black, but I love pastels too,” he says gesturing to his outfit. “As for hobbies, I like makeup, though you probably already know that since you follow my Instagram page.”

With that comment, Phil’s face turns bright red. “I’m sorry. I just think it’s really pretty,” Phil mumbles.

“Don’t worry. I’m just glad you aren’t an asshole who thinks boys shouldn’t wear makeup,” Dan states. “Though I also like video games. I’ve been getting into Animal Crossing recently.”

“Good choice.”

They sit and talk with each other for the rest of the period, and Louise butts in from time to time. He feels bad for putting her in the same situation he was in with Pj and Sofie, but she seems caught up studying for a class for most of the conversation.

It’s weird getting along with someone so well. Even though their styles and friend groups differ, their hobbies and interests are almost the same. It’s easy to talk to Dan. He’s sarcastic and witty, and it makes Phil fall in love with him a little more.

—

When Phil finds out what the project is, he immediately relaxes. It’s a symbolic portrait. All he has to do is create a portrait that reveals parts of Dan’s personality. He’s looking forward to learning more about the younger boy, and he can’t wait to see what Dan does to represent Phil.

It’s hard coming up with an idea at first. Dan has so many layers that Phil has learned about over the past couple of days and it’s hard to choose the most important aspects. He wants to pick something that most people don’t know about Dan, but it’s hard when Dan is so popular. That’s when he thought of a plan.

——

They were up next and Phil was a mess. He was half-convinced he was dying even though he knew it was just an anxiety attack. His palms were incredibly sweaty, and he felt his chest constricting. He could barely focus on the duo presenting in the front of the classroom. They were talking about fish or something similar.

He was jolted out of his dream-like state when he felt a hand being rested on his shoulder. He turned his head expecting Pj, but he wasn’t surprised when he was met with Dan’s doe eyes. “You ok?” the younger boy asked, “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“I’m swell,” Phil breathed.

“We both know that’s bullshit, mate. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the nurse or something?” Dan pressed.

“It’s just another anxiety attack. It’ll be over soon.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or breathe together? I don’t know what you like to do, but anxiety attacks suck.”

“I just need to calm down.”

“Let breath then.”

Phil was reluctant but Dan eventually convinced him it would make the edge of the attack go away, so they took a few breaths. After a few seconds, Phil’s head felt much clearer and he was suddenly aware of everyone staring at his and Dan. He blushed before shrugging Dan’s hand off his shoulder.

“You good now?” Dan asked.

“Yeah. I feel a lot better. Thanks.”

——

Phil was walking down the hall a few days later when Dan ran up to him. They’d texted briefly over the past couple of nights, but they weren’t having as many conversations as they had when they were working on the project together. Phil had gone back to sitting with Pj and Sophie which was extremely awkward at times. Overall he missed the bond they’d formed and he really regretted losing it.“Oh my god, Phil! Did you see our grade?”

“Yeah,” Phil chirped, “100%”

“I’m glad. It took me a long time to finish.”

“You definitely deserved it, Dan.”

Phil was being honest. When he’d first seen the outcome of Dan’s hard work his jaw had dropped. Every color seemed to jump off of the page and they seemed to move in a strange way. Dan had managed to capture so many of his quirks and interests that it blew his mind.

Phil thought his project had been less interesting though. His picture was grayscale with hidden shapes dotted throughout the landscape. Phil wanted to capture the hidden layers of Dan’s personality, and he had tried to portray it with the colorful shapes breaking through and symbolizing a different part of him. It seemed like a shitty metaphor, but somehow their teacher had loved it.

“You did too,” Dan replied, “I like how much thought you put into it.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Of course. I just love the idea that everyone has a hidden personality and that you never know everything about someone.”

“Yeah.”

“You took Trig already. Right?”

“What’s with the sudden change of topic?”

Dan blushed, “I’m struggling a bit on the new lesson and I need some help.”

“Oh. Of course, I can help! At least I’m assuming that’s what you’re asking.”

“Yeah,” Dan replied, “Can we meet in the library after school? Around 3?”

“That sounds good to me.”

——

“You seem to be doing really well with this lesson. Are you sure you need help?” Phil asked.

They’d been in the library for about twenty minutes, and Dan had answered every problem right so far. It honestly wasn’t bothering Phil because he enjoyed spending time with Dan, but it was a bit strange. “Maybe I’m better than I thought?” Dan said though it came out as more of a question than anything else.

“I think you’re fine,” Phil reassured him. “I think you just need to be a bit more confident in your math skills.”

“Me? Not confident? You wish, Lester.”

Phil laughed. “Ok, maybe I choose the wrong words. But if you ever feel like you need help again I’m here for you. Unless it’s history, I’m horrible at remembering dates.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dan nodded.

They sat there in awkward silence for a few seconds. Phil didn’t want to leave Dan and risk never hanging out again. He panicked and before he knew it, he was blurting out a set of questions. “Do you want to come over to my house and play video games? Like right now? I got the new Mario Kart and I’ve been waiting to test out my skills.”

“I don’t know. I have a ton of work due tomorrow.”

“Shit I forgot about homework,” Phil groaned, “Do you want to go back to my place and keep each other company while we do it?”

“Sure. Sounds good to me.”

——

“I’m sorry it's a bit of a mess,” Phil said while he was kicking his shoes off. “My mom's been busy at work and I’ve been busy at school so we haven't been able to clean up recently.”

“It’s fine,” Dan said with a shrug, “Where are we going?”

“Up to my room,” he pointed up the staircase, “You’ll probably be able to tell which room is mine.”

Dan scampered up the stairs, and Phil followed shortly after with a sigh. He didn’t know how much longer he could spend with Dan before he broke out into a crazy story about how perfect Dan is.

When he arrived at the top of the steps he found Dan staring at his door in awe. “Did you paint this,” Dan asked.

“Ah yeah,” Phil said, “I did it a few years ago so it’s not the best piece I’ve done.”

He’d painted an array of vegetation along with his door with various small items hidden through them. A few of his favorites were the stars and eyes scattered throughout, but he really appreciated the piece as a whole. “Do you want to head in?”

“Yeah.”

As Phil walked in front of Dan, their shoulders brushed and he felt a jolt of electricity run through him. They’d touched before but none of those had felt as electrifying. He pushed open the door and flung his backpack onto the ground. “You can take the desk and I’ll take the bed?”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Just let me grab my laptop real quick and I’ll get out of the way. And sorry about the mess, I wasn’t really planning on having company and that’s where I plan my paintings and stuff.”

“It’s fine. My makeup desk is a mess too,” Dan smiled.

“Well I’ll let you get to work,” Phil said before situating himself on his bed and opening his laptop.

——

Phil felt a jab against his shoulder and he rolled over with a groan. “Phil,” someone whispered.

“It’s too early for this, Mum,” he mumbled.

“You’re not telling me I sound like an old lady right now, are you, Lester?” said a voice that was definitely not his mother’s.

He opened his eyes a bit to see who it was before springing up. “Oh my god Dan, I’m so sorry, I fell asleep. I’ve just been having a stressful day and I can-“

“Calm down, Phil. I’m not mad,” Dan rolled his eyes. “I was going to let you sleep but your mom wants to know if you’re hungry. She shouted up.”

“Oh shit, I forgot she comes home early on Thursdays.”

He rushed down the stairs quickly and into the kitchen where he found his mother stirring a pot of noodles. “Sorry, Mum. I forgot what day it was.”

“That’s fine, sweetie,” she said before glancing over his shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, that’s Dan.”

“Ahh. The elusive Daniel. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she hummed to Dan.

“All good things I hope,” Dan said, easily slipping into the personality Phil saw him use around their teachers before.

“Of course dear. Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if you’ll have me. I’m assuming my visit wasn’t run past you.”

“No,” she sighed, “But dear Philip is a bit scatterbrained so I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“Hey,” Phil mumbled in mock offense.

“She's right you know.”

“That’s a very mean thing to say to your host.”

“Ah like falling asleep isn’t a mean thing to do to your guest. Was I really that boring, Phil?”

“No, I already told you-“

“I’m joking, Phil.”

Phil turned back to face his mother and saw a quick flicker of fondness in her eyes. “You’re sure it’s not an issue if Dan stays? I don’t want to put any pressure on you. We can go eat out.”

“He’s fine, Dear,” she laughed. “Besides I need a new person to gossip about you with.”

“What does gossiping about Phil entail? Do I get to see baby pictures?”

“Shush he’s not supposed to know about that part,” she laughed, “but yes dear I suppose that can be arranged.”

Phil blushed in embarrassment knowing that Dan would finally figure out that his hair was naturally a strange shade of orangish brown. He hadn’t been keeping it a secret on purpose. Especially since his roots took to peaking through every once in a while. “Please don’t show him,” he muttered.

“Why not?” Dan frowned.

“Philip was an adorable baby. I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want anyone to see his squishy face.”

“Very funny, Mum.”

“I’m being serious,” she laughed. “Dinner is finished though. It’s nothing too fancy. Just some spaghetti.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Lester.”

“Oh, dear, you can call me Kath.”

“Ok, Kath.”

——

Dinner went by smoothly and Phil was sat listening to his mother telling Dan what he was like as a baby for what seemed like ages. The worst part was when she brought out the baby books and started to show Dan his pictures.

“Your hair is naturally orangish? Why’d you dye it?” Dan asked.

“I like it better this way,” Phil responded. “Though one time I did try to dye it blonde. Let’s hope she doesn’t show you that picture though because I look like a literal highlighter.”

Dan giggled. “I’m sure you were a cute highlighter.” Phil watched Dan’s cheeks turn bright red and then he was off in another conversation with Phil’s mother.

He came up with a plan then. He would ask Dan out. He didn’t know when, but the new Avengers movie was coming out that weekend, and he knew they’d both enjoy it. He just hoped he was reading Dan’s messages right.

——

They’d ended up back in Phil’s room after some ice cream, and Dan was packing his stuff into his backpack. It was the perfect time to ask but his nerves were everywhere, and he didn’t know if he could get the words out. Dan’s voice broke him from his thoughts, “I really like your mom.”

“Yeah,” Phil replied. “She's pretty cool.”

“She wasn’t as judgemental as some of the other parents I’ve met. Most of them make assumptions and stuff.”

“I think I’ve trained her well enough not too.”

Dan laughed at that. “You can’t take the credit for her lovely personality. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“I’m pretty sure I can, Daniel. Besides, Who said she wasn’t just as naive as everyone else’s parents before I- you know- came out.”

“Yeah. She tried though. Not everyone’s parents do.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Phil watched as Dan’s face twisted into a scowl. “My Dad wasn’t the best. He was very picky about what we could do, and he forced us into sports early on. He was concerned that we wouldn’t be manly enough because people started to accept others more. I was rebellious so I started stealing my mother’s skirts and messing around with her makeup. It made me feel like myself,” Dan said. “My parents divorced when I was just starting secondary school. My mom tried to help us move away from the idea that men had to be a certain way. I started incorporating more stereotypical feminine items into my style.”

“Your dad sounds like a shitty guy, but I’m glad you found yourself.”

“Yeah,” Dan mumbled, “He's not in our lives anymore. He has a new family and I guess that’s okay with me. I never really had him so it's not like I miss him.”

“I get what you’re saying. Look I know this is pretty shitty timing, but do you maybe want to go see the new Avengers movie with me?”

“Oh yeah. I forgot that was coming out. What day do you want to see it?”

Phil internally groaned. Dan wasn’t seeming to get that Phil was trying to ask him on a date. Sure he had bad timing but he thought the excessive nerves would clue Dan in. “Friday’s good for me.”

“That’s perfect.”

“It’s a date then.”

“Is it?”

“Of course. I’ve liked you forever, Dan.”

“Why didn’t you ask sooner?” Dan said punching him in the shoulder. “You had to have seen that I liked you too.”

“I didn’t really notice it until we started working on that project together. Why didn’t you ask me?”

“I thought you didn’t like me and I wasn’t going to be an annoying underclassman.”

“Oh my god we’re both so stupid,” Phil laughed.

“We really are,” Dan agreed. “I'm really excited to see where this goes.”

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lost-eternity · 4 years ago

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Matchup Requests *CLOSED*

This was done as a trade instead of a standard match up, hence why I am permitting it. :)

Matchup for @stormra

okie dokie I match you with...

I have to admit, this was a bit of a difficult one. It was really between Charles Grey and Sebastian. And it was close. But a few small details caused me to lean towards Grey instead of Sebby. I’ll explain why later on.

First of all, your love languages mesh rather perfectly

Charles Grey’s (inflated) ego causes him to thoroughly enjoy the praise and affection you lavish upon him

He enjoys being treated as a prince and has no inclination to returning these affections

It’s a selfish love but weirdly enough, it works

He also doesn’t give enough craps to care for society or propriety to be embarrassed or ashamed of your advances

He is quite inept at displaying physical affection and his attempts are half-hearted at best

It’s that blasted ego again

But he does try. In his own little way

He may (attempt to) awkwardly cook something for you, or more likely than not, force you to take fencing lessons

He always wins

And he goes really hard on you claiming that you would never learn if he went easy

It’s laborious and by the end of each session you are close to collapsing from exhaustion

Insert a lewd joke here, “Oh, my dear, if this is how easily you tire, I better condition you for my bedchamber...”

Yeah, it turns out he is a complete pervert sometimes

But fencing is one of the few ways he can actually express himself

Which seems a bit paradoxical if that expression is affection or love

But it is kind of cute.

He is determined to teach you, and although he may not be the most outwardly affectionate, the amount of time and effort he invests in you is enough to tell you how much he cares

He is a very busy man you know, running missions and odd errands for the queen

His free time is extremely precious for him

So the mere fact that he is spending it with you is a lot more monumental than most people would assume

But you are smart enough to realise this

And that is one of the reasons I did not pair you with Sebastian.

Sebastian is a lot more how shall we put it... salacious. His flirting is subtle in public but that bastard would do anything to make his lover blush, testing the limits of society and still managing to get by without being caught... somehow. It’s his way of exercising control and I think that would really clash with your love language.

So,

Charles Grey is also a rather chipper fellow.

Like "chipper" may be an understatement

Excitable puppy man is more like it, at least when it comes to fencing... or maiming... the dude has weird hobbies

But he really understands your desire to travel. He is full of jittery energy that he uses releases running errands for the Queen, travelling across all of the UK. And really most of Europe running diplomacy missions and handling sensitive cases

He would probably be hesitant to allow you to accompany him

But you'd wear him down eventually

Grey really understands your wanderlust, he has a hard time focusing on monotonous tasks or locations as well

So he may allow you to join him

With one *small* caveat

You have to defeat him in a fencing duel first

Which is absolute shit. But you understand where he is coming from.

That ego of his leads him to consider himself the best swordsman in Europe, if not the world

He figures that if you manage to strike him down then you could handle yourself with anyone

And that is no small task

It seems entirely daunting and near impossible (which is probably another reason he assigned it)

And that brings me to my next point.

Charles Grey needs some who is open minded and chill enough to out up with his shit

But also stubborn and outspoken enough to shut him down when he tries some spectacularly stupid

Which is why you would work well with him. Not only does your nonchalance perfectly foil his constant energy and inquisitive nature, but you also have set your boundaries and know when to shut down schemes and ideas

So yeah

You begin training extra hard

For maybe like a day

Then you give up

It's hard, everything hurts, you are exhausted, and all you MIGHT get out of it is one lousy trip

So you begin putting training sessions off

"I'm not feeling well."

"I'll start once I finish this book"

"Oooh, it's too late now"

To say that Grey would be discouraged and slightly hurt is an understatement

His passion and life blood is fencing. He has worked really hard to get to this point and the fact that his significant other takes no interest in it wounds him

This could definitely be a point of discourse if your relationship

But you have to remain open with each other and talk it out

That is the most important thing. Communication. And let's be honest. Charles isn't not going to say shit

He is "too manly" or too egotistical to admit his feelings

You'd have to be the one to approach him on the matter

But I feel like you would. You are used to hearing problems from your friends. You know when something is wrong and better yet, you listen

After a talk, he understands that it may not be the fencing specifically you are disinterested in

But you just struggle to maintain motivation

And from that moment on, Charles Grey becomes your personal cheerleader

He's the mom at a soccer game freaking s c r e e c h i n g and going "that's my girl!" whenever you win a match

He takes pride in all he does, and he is proud of his protégé

He never allows you to lose motivation and is (annoyingly) insistent about the fencing

Which again, could lead to some arguments if you resist

But he is doing it from a place of love because he can see how miserable you are cooped up in the same place

He knows you

And finally, the day arrives that you set to duel Charles Grey himself. If you win, you get to attend some of his missions with him (others are too sensitive to risk being seen by a civilian)

You are understandably nervous, but also introspective. Honestly it is probably a tidal wave of emotions far too complex to convey with words

But ill try

Let me just....

This morning was like most mornings.

A heavy fog blanketed the docile countryside, most animals just began to shake off the effects of the previous night's slumber.

Commoners rose with the peeking rays of the sun, beginning to perform their routine tasks before the last of the fog had been burned away by the heat. For most people this day was completely, utterly, ordinary.

But not for you.

This day meant everything. This day meant your freedom.

You had risen before even the sun, shedding your skirts in exchange for ivory fencing gear, exchanging your fan for a rapier and your hats for a meshed mask. This had been your life for the past year, and would continue to be so until your final breath.

But today. Today was different.

Today determined your future. And quite frankly, your sanity.

And all you had to do was defeat your lover in close quarters combat. A monumental task in-of itself. Half of your acquaintances thought you mad, the other half patronized you, treating your struggle as a desperate cry for attention. They simply couldn't understand why a lady would go through such trouble as to challenge the country’s greatest swordsman. A woman's place was in the house, and in home is where she is complete. Why would she bother her pretty little head and sully herself in the wretched world around her? That was a man's job, such trifling affairs should be of no concern for a lady.

"She is odd, that one." They would say. But they didn't understand, how could they?

Raised under the constrictive hand of the patriarchy, they were forced into complacency. A complacency so culturally ingrained that they themselves never sought to question it. Or, those that did often keeled to the whims of man's iron fist in fear of social ostracism and reputational backlash.

But you were different.

From childhood you felt the pangs, the longing to not only see but experience both the beauty and sorrow of the world around you. To learn and ingrain yourself with the cultures, to explore every nook and cranny of your planet. You could never understand why those around you seemed so content with living and dying inconsequentially, never experiencing the midnight sun or the sweeping winds of the steppe. Dying without ever truly living. Merely existing in their self-made reality, completely ignorant to the bright, beautiful world around them.

Why stay put when you can travel?

Why exist when you can live?

These questions, along with the persistent voice of your instructor (and fiancé), kept you focused and motivated. All of that training, all of those hours of arduous, grueling work had lead to this moment.

You stood within the fencing hall, the lack of bodies usually present caused the room to echo with each clicking foot fall on the tile floor. It was wide, empty, and entirely unwelcoming. It felt like a stranger to you, despite the year of training you had completed within its walls.

Before you stood a similarly dressed figure, its face obscured by the dark meshing that covered the helmet.

It was entirely impersonal.

A faceless enemy in a sea of a faceless crowd.

But you knew better. His posture was all too familiar to you. The slight tilt of his head, the pitch of his shoulders, the strangely comforting steady hand in which he held his weapon. This was your lover, Charles Grey. And your opponent.

It was definitely surreal. He rarely ever wore his mask in training. The absence of his characteristic gloating smile and talkative nature felt almost lacking. It was rare that he would be so quiet... so solemn. But he was just as aware of your current situation as you were. And how much it meant to you.

Without a word, he raised his weapon and the battle commenced.

It was an intense battle

With every blow he performed, your parried and dodged

With a feline grace, you danced up-top light heels, twirling and spinning in an almost melodic fashion

Metal clashed against metal, each crack ringing through your ears

You had trained enough with him to know that he had a tendency to leave his left side unguarded and exposed

But he also trained with you to know that you can forget to guard your knees

And as the minutes tick by, marking one of the longest conflicts you had ever had with him, exhaustion sets into your bones

And you falter

The blow is lightning fast, you hardly have a chance to comprehend his movements

But his hips are besides yours, his knee hooked behind your leg.

He pushed you backwards with his forearm, causing you to fall backwards, only to trip on his knee and slam against the ground

Something cool and metallic is pressed to the back your neck

You don't need to look to know it is the rapier and that you have lost

The sound of you two's laboured breaths echoes through the empty chambers

Several seconds tick by as the two of you gather your thoughts

...You... lost

You finally turn yourself around, noticing that Charles had removed his fencing helmet

Damp silver hair sticks to his forehead, matted and plastered across his face

For a moment, a look of sorrow flickered across his handsome features, only to be replaced by that typical cheeky grin

"You lost, luv. Better luck next time, eh?"

You never really had much of a plan

But seeing that smug expression kicked your instincts into overdrive

With one fluid scissor sweep, you dislodged his balancing, a well-placed kick aiming where the sun don't shine toppled him over entirely

And then he was on the floor next to you, his face contorted in an express of pain

You were quick to discard his weapon and straddle him, keeping his wrists pinned above his head to the floor

"Lesson one: never trust your opponent"

You parroted this line to him, one he had told you many of times

He only managed a pained grunt in response

Chuckling, you apologized with a chaste kiss which he all too eagerly accepted

He was probably just being theatrical to get more kisses

You did not have much time to ponder the situation before a polite round of applause erupted from a nearby alcove

You nearly jumped out of your skin

You did not notice the shawled figure, cloaked in all black, like a walking shadow

The figure took a few steps forward, emerging to the light

And that is when you realized who it was

Queen Victoria herself

By her side, astute as always was the man you practically considered a brother

Charles Phipps

By now, you were extremely aware of the suggestive position you were in

Straddling Charles Grey, your hips against his, his wrists clasped tightly in your hands and pinned above his head

And oh, gods that insufferable smirk with which he was regarding

"As you can see, your majesty, my darling is highly... proficient." Grey practically hummed

You quickly scrambled to your feet, unsure how to handle yourself in the presence of a queen

Turns out, Grey had invited her to witness your duel in hopes of securing you a position under her employ. Either as an emissary or housekeeper.

According to Phipps, She was quite impressed by your performance, even though you lost

The only other person she had seen to be able to keep pace with Grey was Phipps... and a certain blonde who shall not be named

And that is the story of how you became the head maid for the Queen herself and an emissary on par with Grey himself, running missions as a husband-wife warrior squad, haha

You two probably met in an odd way

I’d say for a fact that you were attracted to Sphere music hall

It’s like that place was made for you

Semi-modern concert style music hall which people hailing from all backgrounds and classes intermingled together in harmony

Divinations and readings were done for free and in return, each patron was given a bracelet depicting their star sign.

As a matter of fact, a lot had to do with the star signs.

Meditations were conducted in between hours and food served

It was a really great place to go, somewhere you fit it because you had always been an outcast

Forced to keep your craft a secret in fear of retribution from the church, you usually made coin as a street performer and singer

It was not a lot, but it was certainly enough to keep you off the streets

Unfortunately that also meant you were constricted to the same place

Your family had consistently tried to marry you off to some rich white dude

Well, rich(er)

But you did not want to be wife and then a stay at home mother

That was somehow worse than your current situation

Also your opinionated and confident demeanour often scared off potential suitors

It was a serious problem because apparently women were supposed to be soft spoken and weak.

But you on other other hand, never showed weakness

It was far too “masuline” apparently

So you decided to strike out on your own and try to make it as a singer

Easier said than done

In the music hall, you truly felt free to express yourself

Its charismatic leader put major emphasis on the stars and night sky, he was extremely introspective and the two of you instantly hit it off (I considered matching you with Blavat instead of Grey but I kinda feel like you two would work better as friends)

You were completely enthralled with his demeanour and exuberance

And you consistently attended the hall as it was the only place you felt you truly belonged, no one casting judgmental stares, no whispers behind your back, and most of all, you felt a sense of camaraderie that you have never felt before

And as a result, you fell victim to the cult

Initially, the Queen garnered concerns over the existence of this Music Hall and the traction it was gaining. As a result, she sent out her very own Charles and Phipps to scope out the place before sending word to Ciel Phantomhive

Infiltrating undercover as guests, the Queen’s handy butlers began an inspection of the area

There they ran into you

Literally

You were in the middle of entertaining a small portion of attendees with a song at the behest of Blavat himself (he was actually looking to hire you as a backup singer for the Starlight Four but you were not aware of this)

You were reaching the crescendo of your song when a drunken man slammed into you

You uttered an apology but he seemed rather intent on making himself a nuisance

“Watc’ yaaaa, yaaa stoopid *hic* bitccccc”

You took a few steps back in response as he staggered forward, raising a palm as if to strike you

Before you could react, a flash of white covered your vision

A man stood before you, sword drawn and dawned in a blindingly white coat

Silver tresses rolled down his back, as he glared up at your attacker from behind attractively long lashes

How he managed to sneak a rapier into the party was completely beyond you, yet here he was

“Now, didn’t your mama teach you manners?” He cooed, a slightly maniacal smile across his lips

“Yoooou wanna go?” The man sneered, “I can tak *hic* you pwetty boooy”

Of course, this scene began to attract attention

The murmurings and pleasant violin music had all but stopped as thousands of eyes turned to face you

Blavat had to step in, nervously defusing the situation

He had the drunkard escorted out and moved to confiscate the weapon from the white-clad man only to get the think pointed at his throat

“A man’s worth is in his sword. It would be cruel to take that away from him.”

You were entirely unsure if he was being literal or making a dirty innuendo with that statement

Regardless of his intentions, he was promptly thrown out as well

Much to the chagrin of a separate, similarly dressed man who seemed down right exasperated with his partner’s trigger happy (blade happy?) tendencies.

You decided to follow this peculiar stranger out and thank him for what he did

You found him trying to crawl through a window, seeking re-entry into the part.

“Uh, excuse me...” You called to him as he fiddled with the lock on the window. You had no idea how he managed to climb up that high in such a short amount of time, but he had perched himself rather precariously on the window sill.

“Not right now, luv.” He called back, “I am busy.”

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there. I could have been hurt.”

He paused, not once looking back at you. “Right. Who are you?”

You were rather taken aback

He literally just saved you, how could he not remember you?

“Look, if you aren’t going to pay me the mind to even look at me, I won’t take the effort to thank you.” You huffed and turned to walk away

“I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.”

His voice caused you to halt in your tracks. You spun around to stare at him incredulously. “Excuse you?”

God, those silver eyes were breathtaking as he gazed at you, practically oozing with a feline grace

“Those people aren’t good people.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone

“Oh? And what do you know about them?” You retorted defensively

“More than you, obviously.” He finally managed to pry the window open. “Her majesty has good instincts. She knows this place is dangerous, else-wise she wouldn’t have sent me.”

And with that weirdly convoluted and vague sentence, he slipped back inside and disappeared

You were left to ponder the meaning of his words

Her majesty?

This bloak knew the bloody Queen?!?!

What else did he know?

What could possibly be so bad about the hall?

You decided to call it quits early that night to process. You never thought you would ever see him again, or so you thought

You had been doing your research, sticking your nose in places you probably should not have

Blavat, someone you once considered a close and trusted friend almost seemed menacing to you

And he definitely picked up on your closed off body language

But you knew that something fishy was going on during those “private” events. Only specific people were ever invited (AKA not you)

It all just seemed really sus

And you were determined to find out

So you snuck in

Having spent many hours in the hall, you were aware of certain passages and entrances that others were not

And you were able to sneak in without much issue

But you weren’t able to see much

A heavy smoke filled the air, smelling pleasantly of posies and roses

Your eyes began to droop and heaviness set into your lids

And you fell asleep

You woke up, with the concerned and slightly perturbed face of Blavat staring down at you

Well, shit... busted

“We had a nice thing going, y/n. And you just had to ruin it.” Blavat stated callously. “You know those events are private.”

And with that, you were barred from entering the music hall... permanently

This was definitely rather devastating as it was the only place you could truly be yourself without fear of rejection of prosecution

But now you were more sure than ever that something was amiss in that hall

Why else would they be so strict?

You were probably only left alive because they knew that whatever gas they used to put out those in attendance also affected you before you could see anything incriminating

And so you began trying to locate that mysterious man in white

He seemed to have more answers than you did

It did not take long to figure out his name and occupation. Charles Grey. Butler to the Queen herself

He must have been quite the impressive butler to be going out on scouting missions for the Queen and not just serving tea

Regardless, gaining an audience with him was nearly impossible

So you would just have to attract his attention...

Somehow

Given his affinity towards sword fights, you were sure that a loud brawl outside the palace itself would almost certain garner his attention

The real question was, where in the world would you get people foolish enough to pull such a stunt and risk getting arrested

Sooo, maybe not that

You might have to work backwards

Ask around and find those that may be acquaintances with him

Which was a lot harder than it looked

It took days of searching, but you were eventually sent to speak with a mortician who according to your contact “knows everyone who is no one”... whatever that meant

It did not take too long to find out

This mortician was... eccentric to put it in the most polite of terms

But he was definitely connected with Britain's underbelly

Which you assumed is where the “everyone who is no one” comes from

You came in hoping to pay him off, to which he blatantly refused, instead asking for you to make him laugh

Which was an odd request but one which you were willing to comply if it meant breaking the case

You spent hours trying different tactics to no avail

Until you sang a very dirty and very perverted song (Most likely “God’s Loophoel”. Yeah, actually don’t look that up, it is exactly as it sounds)

He seemed to enjoy that far too much as his cackles were absolutely thunderous

In tears, he kindly revealed to you that he was familiar with this Charles Grey and could pull a few favours to get you in contact

But he never said when, nor did he ever say where

But he did ensure word of your snooping reached the ears of Charles Grey who surprised you in your own home whilst you were halfway dressed

He initially was very cross with you poking around, scolding you and chastising you saying that it was “no business for a lady”

But you shut him down pretty quick

And afterwards, the two of you hit it off and decided to make evening tea on Sundays a staple thing

Grey would inform you about the progress of the Sphere Music hall and in return, you would keep well away from it

It worked out for the two of you

But word of your sniffing around had also reached the ears of one certain earl and his own demonic butler

I would be careful about what questions you ask and where you poke your nose

We wouldn’t want it to get bitten off, now would we?

this was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoyed reading it, dear. Let me know what you thought

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clover-png · 5 years ago

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character quirks!

originally this was going to be a list of passive and active character quirks (ex. passive = loves history but knows nothing about it, active = well, everything on this list), but once i started it, i realized that’s not how it works?? all of your quirks and hobbies and loves and hates leave stains on your personality, even in the tiniest ways. so here’s a list of quirks that actively change your character, with simple explanations! and please remember, this is strictly for characters. it is, in one way or another, based in stereotype! and humans aren’t built around stereotype, you are not built around stereotype.

i don’t write about what I don’t know about, so almost all of this is taken directly from my own self or someone i know :]

only likes cold pizza/raw bagels/the off-brand version of a popular food - can indicate this character is a particular, detail-oriented person, and typically this type of person is not snobbish, but they are stubborn (if you’re looking for something similar to indicate the person is snobbish: they refuse to eat leftovers, wipe grease off their food, shuns fast-food restaurants)

homeschooled/grew up homeschooled - coming directly from a homeschooler, we get a bad rep! not all homeschoolers are antisocial, extremely religious or have old-fashioned views on society. that being said, homeschoolers tend to act more like their parents and siblings than other kids do, and that’s where those stereotypes tend to stem from. while many homeschoolers are very sociable, it’s common for them to still be more reserved and a little more socially inept than other kids, just from lack of practice. homeschoolers also tend have a strong sense of loneliness, even if they have lots of friends/have graduated, that feeling will stick.

walks along the curb of the street, swinging one foot in front of the other - turning something as minuscule as walking along the side of a road into a silent game shows that they are in their mind a lot, they live in their imaginations. showing them walking normally can indicate that something’s wrong. traits that match with this quirk but aren’t necessary: quiet, optimistic

hates wearing hats/skirts/tights/etc. - a person that hates hats/skirts/tights/whatever is very much comfort before fashion. they’ll tend to not wear fully matching or fitting clothing and this can stem from a fear of change. if someone who openly dislikes wearing hats comes into the room in a beret, it’s change (yes, it can be as small as that. trust me, it took me 2 years to work up the courage to wear a non-formal dress in front of my family.)

always tapping their foot/bobbing their head/patting their leg - this means someone is more musically inclined than others, and it’s almost always subconscious. they probably play multiple instruments, and come from a family of musicians/music-lovers. close friends/family might make fun of them for dancing all the time, or someone might get frustrated when they won’t stop doing it during a serious moment

zones out easily/can stare at nothing for hours - similar to the person walking on the curb, a character that tends to zone out on nothing for long periods of time is probably daydreaming about the other lives they could lead. they might feel like they’re stuck with the hand they got dealt in life. when things go wrong, they’ll probably get as far away from every person as possible and fantasize about running away and starting it all over. they don’t have to be loners, but they’ll typically feel isolated and different from their friends, maybe not as invested in their friendship as the other person is.

having stuffed animals - a character, especially outside of young childhood, having stuffed animals can be a sign of their loneliness, the manufactured hug of a friend or soft fur of a pet when they don’t have the real thing nearby. a character with stuffed animals might be more empathetic and sensitive than others, getting upset if someone makes fun of them for it or holding extra tight onto one that fell or got damaged somehow. they also might have childlike fears or simply be more fearful than most, and the stuffed animals might be a sanctuary for them

draws slight attention to themselves in public (listens to music without earbuds, does things that could be done inside [painting, reading, stuff like that] outside, asks a stranger a question to prove their point in a conversation, wears bold clothes, talks loudly, etc.) - while it’s possible for these to just be seen as obnoxious/extroverted quirks, on a deeper level they can imply the character wants something to happen. they want to be seen by strangers. maybe they consume a lot of entertainment (books, tv, movies) and they subconsciously set up their life to be met with question, then a greeting, then a friendship, constantly giving “The One” a chance to appear.

hates jewelry - fear of being trapped. a necklace feels like being choked, a bracelet feels like being chained down, a ring feels like circulation is cut off, but also take it in a figurative way. by accepting the jewelry, an expensive gift, they’re accepting that someone cares about them/they’re accepting that they have to wear it enough to make up for the cost. it sounds dumb i know but i can tell you from experience this is a very real thing

puts off work to the last second/procrastinates - i’ve really grown to hate that word. they grew up smart, or with an easy workload, and now they refuse to adjust to the updated workload. this one is short but there’s about a million posts on procrastination, and i’m sure there’s a more in-depth one than i could ever do! some ideas for prompts for this quirk is running out of time on something important, someone getting mad at the character for leaving the work until the last minute when they need them, being overworked, having a stress-induced meltdown and a love interest/forming friendship offers to help

goes through phases rapidly - based on what kind of phases they are, this could show unrest at home for a secondary character. one day they go to MC’s house wearing florals smelling like fabric softener, soft rock music wafting through the air from their cheap earbuds. they’re making clever jokes and urging MC to go on a walk in nature with them. next week, they show up wearing a ragged, wrinkled black t-shirt and they have bags under their eyes, looking like they haven’t showered in five days. they’re being insensitive with their sarcastic cracks and impatient with MC’s reactions, maybe even admitting they didn’t know why they showed up in the first place. obviously that’s a dramatic juxtaposition, but just an idea.

a gentle vandal (carving their initials into old wood, drawing/writing in textbooks, letters to no one put in cheap bottles and thrown into the ocean, underlining passages in books, so on and so forth) - fear of being forgotten, a good romantic partner/close friend of this character would be someone who reminds them they’re not alone in the universe.

never paints their nails/does their hair/wears extravagant clothes - fear of being seen as “different,” doesn’t want to be noticed by people. probably was bullied when they were young, or they have a family with a Reputation™ to uphold

struggles to accept compliments - a character that struggles with compliments, and basically any positive attention on themselves, would have low self-esteem to begin with. they probably didn’t grow up being seen as “pretty,” or someone made them feel ugly when they were young, regardless of whether it was true or not (example: Cinderella)

tips restaurant employees/delivery people way above the average/gives big gifts for small celebrations - this could mean they grew up in a upper class/upper middle class household and feels guilty for it, or that they grew up in a lower class/working class household and know what it feels like not to get gifts/have extra money. either way, it can give you insight to a character’s past without too much exposition, just a simple line of dialogue after an action.

always has at least one band-aid on somewhere - this can show that a character is careless with themselves, or maybe that they have a very active mind and force their body to match it (running to write something down and tripping, getting excited about seeing something pretty to sketch in nature and getting scratched by thorns as they tried to reach it as fast as they could, etc.)

wears vintage clothes and/or watches old movies - in the most accurate sense, i think, a character who enjoys these types of things would likely have an old soul, they probably think life should be more exciting than it is, and they’re dissatisfied with the current state of humanity (this doesn’t mean that they have to have an old-fashioned mindset! i wear vintage clothes and one of my favorite movies is meet me in st. louis, but i’m still VERY glad we don’t live like they did. not everything that makes logical sense in life can be drawn together with a bow on top)

i hope this didn’t come off too preachy or anything? i mean, i don’t know shit, i just like writing and characters that make sense, and i feel like i see a lot of character flaw lists that are very.. generalized, and not everything works for every character! obviously you’re free to use any of these, but if you’d like to show me how you used them in your story i’d love to see it!!! feel free to message me any time!

#writing #writing prompts #writing tips #scene prompts #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing inspo #lolas posts

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honeysuckle-writings · 5 years ago

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PART THREE PREGAME AMASAI

*************************

Saihara had been so distracted after everything that once his time was up, he almost forgot to get his game back from Akamatsu. He had watched Amami walked out of the aisle before he leaned back against the book shelf and closed his eyes. What the fuck just happened? Why would Amami even acknowledge him in that sense? Saihara took a moment to collect himself before he attempted to leave. He walked back towards his table and grabbed his bag before exiting the library.

Through everything, he felt like he was on cloud nine. He almost wanted to ask Akamatsu to slap him across the face just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. She would end up being way too happy about that request though.

Luckily he didn't have to go far. Akamatsu had been sitting outside of the door on the ground playing on his console.

"Oh, I d-didnt expect to see you h-here." Saihara figured he would have to go and hunt her down.

"Eh. Didn't want to go far. Too busy." She kept her sentences short, obviously in an intense part of the level.

"I appreciate it."

"I didn't do it for you. I just wanted to spend more time playing and less time fighting people off from talking to me. Fuck!" She growled at the screen and tilted her head back. "Fine. Take the stupid thing back. I'm gunna smash it if I keep trying it."

Saihara reached out and took the console without saying anything.

"You seem like you're in another dimension." She stated as she stood up and flattened out her skirt.

"Oh. Uhm. N-no." He couldn't just tell her what happened. She would not believe him and think he just had a wet dream during detention, resulting in her making fun of him even more. "I'm just, uh, ready t-to get home and get someth-thing to eat."

"Yeah." She didn't enjoying going back to her place either. Saihara never pryed too much into her personal life, but knew most nights she didn't go home until well after 11 or 12 when her parents were asleep. She would bounce between friends and hanging out just to pass time. He wondered where she would be going tonight.

They made their way outside, the sun in it's early stages of setting because of the changing season. Saihara didn't live too far from the school making it very easy to walk to and from. Akamatsu normally walked with him until they reached a stop sign at the end of the street before she would break off and head off on her own.

"I-ill see you tomorrow alright?" Saihara waved at her as she shoved headphones into her ears. She nodded at him and quickly turned on her heel.

Saihara dug his keys out of his pocket and made his way up his front porch steps to the door. Once he entered, he knew immediately that his uncle was probably at his office doing some work on a case and he would be alone to fend for himself. This would include making a small rice side or microwave dinner and enjoying some YouTube theories that people had over the last season and predictions for the new season of Danganronpa, right after a shower of course. He could not stay in his clothes for much longer.

He knew he should probably eat better but microwaved food was so much quicker than actually putting in effort to cook. Finally cleaned and cuddled up in his pajamas, Saihara sat down on the couch facing the television in the living room. He plugged up his laptop to the HDMI cord and displayed his YouTube page on the screen.

He thought about shooting a text to Ouma and seeing how he was doing. After seeing him with Amami, he wondered if he could get any info or reasoning why. Did Ouma know what Amami had done? If they were together, would he be mad at him for doing that to Saihara? Did Amami tell Ouma he was spying? He didn't want to make anything worse for Ouma that's for sure but he had so many questions that were overwhelming him.

Saihara sighed and took his phone off the table and sent the text anyway. He at least wanted to strike up conversation again. Ouma was one of the cutest boys he has ever seen. His hair so puffy and soft that he wanted to just pet it, and if you got him laughing then you would become addicted to the sound. Saihara did have a bit of a crush on him when they had first met, but his timid personality clashed with Saihara's inept one. Now he was settling for a simple friendship.

Saihara: *Hey Ouma! What are you up to?* He set the phone down and began to eat on one of the sides from his dinner and pressed play on a video.

Soon a notification on his phone went off.

Ouma: *Hey,, I'm just doing homework. You..?*

Ouma was even timid in his messages.

Saihara: *I'm eating dinner finally and trying to relax.*

Ouma: *oh, yeah I saw you had to stay after. That super sucks.*

Fuck so he did see Saihara there at least?

Saihara: *Oh yeah! You came in sometime during that huh?? There was someone else with you, I think?* He had to play it cool. Maybe he could make it seem like he didn't even know him.

Ouma: *Oh, uhm, yeah.*

Saihara huffed. That was all Ouma was going to say?

Saihara: *That's cool!* He really wanted to press further but wasn't exactly sure what to say. *Is he a friend of yours? Boyfriend? ;) Name??*

It took a lot longer for him to respond this time. Saihara wondered if he had scared him away. He really just, didn't know how to talk to people most of the time. He would become annoying or exhausting and people would eventually cast him away. Social cues just were not his specialty, but he really was trying to work on it.

While he waited, Saihara reached down on the ground for his messenger bag and lifted the flap to look for his notebook. It wasn't right there in the front. He could have sworn he had just stuck it in. He checked behind the other things he had but there was no trace of the notebook. Saihara's eyes widened and he suddenly felt his chest tightening. Fuck.

He knew the sound of his phone had gone off but it sounded so muffled, much like he was underwater. His vision also started to become blurry. Did he leave it at the library? Did it somehow fall out? Someone was going to take it and his life would be over. He found himself gasping for air, the room feeling like it had been closing in on him and he was losing oxygen.

Shakily he reached back into his bag once more, not for his missing notebook, but another compartment that held a small bottle. He flipped the lid off taking a small pill out and took it with a swig of his drink. He kept these on him for moments like this. Moments when he was loosing himself in an attack and needed help to calm it down. He was supposed to be taking them regularly but he opted to only take them during panic attacks.

His mind was running 80 mph as he imagined scenarios of someone picking up his notebook and spreading everything through the school. He grabbed a couch pillow and shoved his face into it, trying to regulate his breathing and keep himself from passing out.

It felt like years to him, but finally he felt himself begin to relax. He could still feel a sense of fear, but his breathing had gone down and his body felt weak. The downside of this was the feeling afterwards, like almost a delay in his reactions. It certainly calmed him down, but it didn't fully take away the feeling that got him there. It was just easier to handle now.

The pillow fell lazily to the ground with a thump and Saihara looked over to his phone. Maybe he would look and distract himself from everything. As he pressed his on button, the screen lit up and it took a second for his vision to adjust to focusing on it. He clicked on the text message Ouma had sent a while ago.

Ouma: *saihara, we both know you know who he is..*

Ouma wasn't wrong. He really didn't think about it when he had sent his reply earlier. He probably looked like a big dumbass. What was he even supposed to say now? A lot of time had passed so he assumed Ouma thought he had ignored him after being called out. Shit another great attempt at a friendship.

Saihara: *Sorry, I know. I was just trying to keep up conversation and not sound too stalkery.*

He put his phone down on to his laptop and looked over at the food he hadn't finished eating. At this point his appetite was shot so it was going to end up as lunch for the next day. Saihara pulled himself up on to wobbly legs and took the bowl to the fridge. Another ding came from his phone, and then another as he finally got back over to the couch.

Ouma had replied.

Ouma: *You're fine,, no worries. Its good that you didnt freak out about it... hehe*

One thing did bother him about the responses. Ouma never addressed the boyfriend part of his question. Saihara wondered if maybe that was intentional. Maybe Ouma didn't want anyone to know or maybe he thought Saihara would throw a fit if he knew, which wasn't the case at all.

But another number had also contacted him.

*Saihara.*

That was, weird. Saihara stared at the message trying to figure out what the best response should be. This mystery number was just another thing on top of his already overwhelmed plate.

Saihara: *Maybe?* That was the stupidest response but nothing else seemed like it would be vague enough to match the vibe.

*Are you missing something?*

Saihara's eyes widened. This had to be the person who stole his notebook.

Saihara: *What gives you the right to dig into my stuff?*

He'd be lying if he said he was anything less than livid. Who had the balls to dig into others belongings? In all actuality, he could think of a few. Momota came to mind. He wouldn't think twice about taking whatever he wanted and having more of a reason to ridicule him. Saihara hoped to whatever deity out there that it wasn't him.

*Says the person who likes to eavesdrop on conversations he isn't a part of.*

Saihara re-read the message at least ten times in his head. No, no way. It couldn't be him. How would he have even gotten his phone number? He didn't have it written down in the notebook anywhere. Maybe someone had been watching them?

Before he knew it, Saihara had pressed the call button at the top of the text messages, determined to get to the bottom of it.

The phone rang three times before it was answered.

"Yeah?"

There was no mistaking that voice. Even over the phone it made him melt like butter.

"Amami?" His voice came out breathy, with a small squeak as he struggled to fit pieces together.

"Mhmm." Amami answered with more of a confirming noise than anything.

"You, you have m-my notebook?"

"You really like Danganronpa don't you?"

Well that answered it. Saihara stayed quiet at that. The answer was completely obvious. Then it hit him. All of the pages that had been dedicated to Amami, were now in his hands.

"Did you, uhm, uh, re-read all o-of it?" Saihara began to bite on his finger nails trying desperately to stay grounded.

"Eh, not yet. You kind've interrupted me." How was Amami so chill about this. He acted so nonchalant about what he had done, about the reactions he was recieving from Saihara.

"Listen, uhm, c-can I just hav-ve it back, please?"

"Sure. I'll give it back to you tomorrow. If you don't get yourself stuck back in the library again."

Saihara pulled his finger out of his mouth and huffed loud enough to he heard against the reviever.

"H-how did you ev-ven get my n-number?" He may have sounded a bit more agitated than he intended to show.

"That's for me to know. Got it?" His smooth, relaxed voice now had a firm sound to it.

"O-okay." Saihara responded immediately. It was time for him to accept his fate at this point.

"I'm not going to share it with anyone." Amami reassured him, almost like he could hear what Saihara was thinking. "I'm not the type of person to do that."

"B-but you're th-the type to s-steal out of pe-peoples bags?"

There was a moment of silence between the two.

"I-im sorry. I d-didnt mean to, to snap." Saihara apologized. "I was j-just, uh, freaking out earlier."

Amami had made another noise in response to the confession. "I'm not surprised. Look, I'll give it to you tomorrow. No one else will see it. Meet me at the store across the street in the morning okay?"

"Okay. Uhm. I just, I advise you b-before you read more. It's uh, s-some of it m-may have you in it."

"Do you not want me to read that then?"

That caught him off guard. Did Amami really care enough to skip the pages doodled in hearts about him? Or would he lie and read them anyway?

"If you really don't want me to then I won't. I haven't gotten far. Just a couple of excecution you have planned out."

Saihara thought for a moment. Amami had touched him in the library today. What if he was actually eager to read what was in there? Maybe Amami could handle it, if he felt the same way. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of Amami feeling the same way about him.

Deep down, it was also thrilling to have him read those fantasies.

"Y-you can."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes I-I don't mind. Just, d-dont hate me for some of the s-stuff in there."

"Want me to tell you when I have or keep it to myself?"

This all seemed to point towards Amami actually caring about his feelings in all of this. It reassured Saihara that perhaps things wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the outcome would be much like the movies where one person would read the love letters and fall in love with the sender.

"Please tell me. I'll b-be worried sick if I just, just don't know anything."

"Will do then. I'll text you." And with that Amami hung up.

Saihara let out a shaky breath and saved the number into his phone. Amami's name, with quite a few hearts following. He couldn't help it. This is not at all how he thought he and Amami would start talking, but he still relished in seeing that name in his contacts and felt like he was in a dream state. That night he was going to eagerly wait with his phone volume turned up.

#pregame amasai #rantaro amami #shuichi saihara #danganronpa #drv3

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goremeat · 5 years ago

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Burning Embers: A short history of fire & obsessions.

Trigger warning for mentions of self harm and discussions of it.

My mother likes to tell a story about me, and fire. It isn’t something special, like if I survived a burning house or if I learned to swallow flaming swords at the age of thirteen. The story that she likes to tell is about her forgetting the eggs on the stove, and setting the kitchen on fire. I was barely a toddler when this happened. I sat on the edge of the step that lead to the kitchen, since my mother saw no need for a baby chair, and I watched the fire curiously as it began to spread.

I did not move. Fire did not set off a fight or flight instinct. I sat there and watched, not even calling out to my mother. She had only found out that the fire had started upon seeing flames in the corner of her eye. I was still sitting there, curious and silent. She wrapped me up in a blanket, and took me out of the house, to my grandmother’s house right next door. My grandmother was the one who called the firefighters.

To be honest, I don’t remember the incident quite well, all I really remember was the charred ceiling when we went back into the house three days later. My mother told me I was really lucky to have been spared by the flames. I only know the retelling that I’ve been told, since my memory of childhood is absolutely terrible. But, I do think that the fire was significant to me, because I think that was when my morbid curiosity was triggered. I always attribute my worst decisions, not to the lack of impulse control, but more so because I dared to ask the question, what if? Knowing the answer was always more valuable to me than my life. Curiosity killed the cat, they say.

From then onward, I was more reckless than the other kids, I wanted to know how things worked and if no one would tell me the answers, I would find them out myself. This lead to a string of notably bad events, including an attempt to swallow cleaning products, drowning myself in a bathtub and falling from the stairs multiple times--it didn’t help that the floor was marble. Some of these things I was able to pass off as my sister and I goofing around, others were passed off as me being a child who didn’t know any better.

But I did, I always did.

I don’t say that to be prideful, I was a curious child for a reason: I had an infinite thirst for knowledge. I had learned the rudimentary version of scientific methods when I was six years old, and began attempting crude scientific experiments with the help of a child-friendly textbook my grandfather bought me, and my mother. I loved learning the theories behind each experiment, and it certainly helped that my father would explain things in more detail when I asked. So, my morbid curiosity was satiated for a while, which was great for my parents, because it meant I was no longer putting myself in the direct line of danger and instead was reading.

Well, mostly.

The incident with the fire, I think awakened not only curiosity in me, but also kindled my love for flames. While I didn’t burn the first time I was within proximity of fire, I had multiple almost-arson attempts where I did get hurt. By the time I was eighteen I had burned my hair twice, my eyebrow once, and my arms a few times. It was never a house fire that injured me, it was almost always a deliberate act of self harm, out of curiosity. I had set my hair alight by trying to test out how flammable my hair was, the answer is very, and my eyebrow burned because my bang touched my eyebrow. I knew what would happen, but I still screamed when my hair started burning. My sister with her quick thinking poured her drink on me to put out the fire. Somehow, I was still unharmed with no actual burns or scarring. I was curious if I could burn, so the burns on my hands were made by holding lighters and matches too close to my skin. My parents just thought my injuries were due to childhood. I was always covered in scabs anyway, and blisters weren’t too different.

Later in my life, I found out that my mother was a pyromaniac. She set papers on fire with matches, and loved the smell of burning wood. I took after her more than intended.

I find comfort in the fire, and that is because I am always burning. I feel it underneath my skin. If I could tear my flesh apart, underneath it wouldn’t be muscle and bones ; it would be magma. My body always felt like it was containing something too big for it to hold. My bones would ache like they were being used as warming logs, and my chest felt constricted all the time. I was definitely raging, I just did not know how to identify it.

When I turned eighteen, I was told that burning in my chest was actually mania.

This unhealthy relationship with my body, the fact that I was hurting myself to learn more, was only exacerbated when I turned ten. See, at that point, I was tall enough to reach the books at the top of my mother’s bookshelf. My mother was a doctor, so all her books were mostly anatomy and pharmacology. I won’t lie and say I had any idea what any of it meant, but I was intrigued by pictures of muscles and bones. I wondered if I contained any of those inside of me. Obviously, just by the laws of basic biology, I did, but I wanted to make sure. Thankfully, vivisection, especially by ten year olds, was frowned upon. My mother instead bought me a book about the human body. It was slightly above my reading level, but I finished it overnight, and began quoting it to my mom the day after. My mother then bought me an anatomical model and a skeleton which I would break down and put back together often. They’re both in my childhood bedroom, I have fond memories of them.

I was once again, satiated, if only for a little while.

I still wanted to see how far I could push myself. I was only human, but surely the human could withstand more than papercuts? I had seen the people my mother worked on, how their eyes were perfectly protected despite having a head-on collision. I couldn’t test such extremes on myself, I wasn’t particularly set on dying, however I was curious about my threshold of pain, and I began obsessively picking at my scabs and cuts. I hated band aids, and I would never put them on because I wanted the freedom to pick at my scabs whenever. This lead to my school uniform being dotted in blood. Soon I realized I could also peel off my nails and the skin at the heel of my foot, no one was going to say anything, of course. All hell broke loose when I had unlocked that door.

When I was fifteen, I was told that was my obsessive compulsive disorder.

Once I learned that no one would see the injuries I had given myself by peeling the skin off my foot, I decided to push myself to the limit. I would set time every evening, and I would just use various tools to pull the skin off. It had gotten so bad once, that my entire heel was red and raw. My mother forced me to wrap my foot in gauze and use antibiotics till the skin of my heel grew back. I, of course, found it to be a drag and unfair. She was just scared I would get an infection.

What my mother and I had both failed to recognize, was the fact that this was an early sign of what would lead me to a darker path of self-harm.

I say that I don’t understand how people work, and I say it without humor. Everyone remembers the first time they had actually took a razor or knife or whatever to their skin, but I don’t. I just woke up one day, and realized, it was part of who I am now. It was a natural reaction to my life, an extension of curiosity from a girl who’d spent years studying the body. Initially, I wasn’t depressed, I didn’t even know what a cutter was. I only remember crude gestures my schoolmates would mimic to one of my closest friends, because she wore black and was generally a quiet girl. I believe they would mimic the dragging of a knife against their wrists to make fun of her. I didn’t really understand. She did.

I was socially inept, and people loved keeping me in the dark about most things. I always had to figure everything out myself. There was a struggle when I tried catching up with other girls, I was never enough of a girl, to know what other girls liked. We listened to the same music, we ate similar foods, but why were we so different? I couldn’t understand why people didn’t like me.

It had a lot to do with the fact that I was downright weird. Everyone likes to make fun of the nerd with her head in a book and I was that girl, but I was also gross. I still picked scabs, and plucked at my hair and chewed off the skin off my lips. I didn’t learn social cues easily either, so I was isolated. Social isolation was something of my best friend in a weird sort of ironic way. I think as a kid I understood that. There was a sort of shock factor that you were allowed to have if you were weird and gross. Sure, you rarely got invited to parties and ate lunch by yourself with your legs crossed on the sand, but you got all sorts of attention when you freaked people out.

In the fifth grade, I was playing with a pair of needles and an eraser. All of a sudden I felt a dull pain in my finger, only to see that the needle had pierced through my skin and muscle. I waited a few minutes, not in shock, but curious to see who would notice. Needless to say, people noticed, and my mother ended up picking me up from the school and taking me to the hospital. She bought me icecream on my way back to school. Pain was something to be rewarded.

In between the fifth and seventh grade, I spent a year having a love affair with an eating disorder and my parent’s pain medication. I wouldn’t consider them long lasting relationships, because each of them had lasted less than a few months. They would’ve continued I suppose, had I not learned about the art of cutting. I say art because it is. Art is fifty percent intimacy and fifty percent work. Cutting had both of those things in the perfect ratios. I did create art, it wasn’t the type you could hang on the wall, it was more the type that could only be shared with those who knew your soul well.

You have to be very intimate with yourself to hurt yourself in such a fashion. Six years later, I’m still doing it when I feel alone, or when I feel grateful. I joke that I am the stereotypical cutter, that I do it all for attention, but there is a sort of relationship that you develop with yourself when you spend most of your time alone which makes pain king. Most people had their cute pinky promises with their best friends, but all I really had was a sharpener that I could take a part. Cutting can be your #selfcare moment if you’ve twisted what you thought was caring.

It turned out that I was really good at disassembling and hiding blades. I had ten in my room at any given time, and a few in my backpack when I went to school. Things were beginning to smolder once I had learned that you could cut your flesh. And for a while, I wasn’t depressed while doing it, it was just another ritual that I needed to do so that I could sleep. While other girls were beginning to learn new face-care routines; I was busy pushing myself to bleed.

I told my friends, who probably weren’t surprised, then I became sad. I had been riding the attention so hard for six months, that it all finally crashed down on me the second that people took it away from me, because I was being so weird and gross. There weren’t other ways you could describe what I did, it was freakish. I was a freak.

I was forced into a suspension from the school at that point. At that point I had finally been taken to a doctor, and my freakish behavior could finally be classified into a category: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. It ran in the family. I wasn’t told because my mother thought it wouldn’t affect me. I was such a lovely, harmless, and messy child. I had never shared the thoughts of harming others with my mother, I had never shared the thoughts of death with my mother, so she could have lived her entire life without knowing her lovely daughter had OCD.

My self harm, read cutting, was characterized as ritualistic, which, I suppose, is the reason why I can’t pinpoint when it began. Everything about the first few times were a blurry haze of figuring out weaponry and santaizing it. It left me angry, confused and humiliated when I had to stop doing it. My mother would strip me down daily and examine the skin on my body. My mother and my psychiatrist had different routes of treatment. Instead of therapy, my mother had decided to force me to quit with no help, and I was consumed with depression. That’s when my self-harm became a way of self-expression rather than a symptom of OCD. No one was listening to my words, and I had to make threats with my body.

When I wasn’t depressed, I had turned to anger to fuel me. The cycling between the anger and the depression and the relapsing of OCD, it made my teenage years harder than the should be. I was always stuck in between a rock and a hard place, and I fought tooth and nail to keep myself alive while I was being torn apart by maina and intrusive thoughts.

I wish I could say I learned how to control it or how to live with it, but I spent a day this May, after an easy day, learning I had gotten accepted into grad school, I laid bleeding in the bathtub because I couldn’t process how I felt. I couldn’t explain to people when I was younger that I was pushing my body, and I can’t explain it people today. I was overwhelmed with happiness when I had gotten accepted, and I wanted to release more of that pleasure with something that was so deeply rooted in my personality. I was on fire. I was burning. I was alive when I was bleeding.

My roommate wasn’t terribly happy when he found me.

There really isn’t anything new to say about self harm, because all of the good things that can be said about it are in textbooks and psych lectures, and I’m just a guy who bought a four dollar pack of blades and called it a day. We call cutters attention whores, and psychopaths, and for people with some sort of humor and self denial it’s okay.

But for some people, like me it goes deeper than just a symptom of a disorder, for me it was an entire disorder that was left in the dark for years because I had a history of curiosity and morbidity. I wouldn’t fault my family or missing my obsessive compulsive disorder, I would have too, if it hadn’t escalated to bleeding.

It’s hard to talk about it self harm, because it comes with the assumption that you’re an emo-girl with black hair to her waist. Most will even assume that you don’t function properly, but I lead a successful life for a Gen-Zer in their twenties. I just also have more scars than your average twenty something. It is something that is forever ingrained inside of you, a permanent flight or fight response.

The fire I saw when I was a child was not-traumatic. It wasn’t my mother’s fault my father never paid attention. The fire I saw when I was a child gave the embers in my chest light to learn more about the world and its metaphysical limits, and indirectly how to push my own. I just hope someday it’ll all turn to ash.

#txt #personal.#essay #self harm mention #ocd #actuallyOCD #ok 2 rb #personal essay #My writing.

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ned-nerderson · 6 years ago

Text

MID FanFic

HERE IT IS. I don’t even know what to say here. Except that this is my MID fic featuring Nancy, Deirdre, and the Hardy Boys. It was basically 28 pages double spaced when it was in Google docs but I just copied and pasted it here so it lost that format. Hope you guys like it, I kind of rushed so my perfectionist self isn’t 100% happy with it but I just really wanted to get my idea out to you guys before Halloween, so I’d appreciate any feedback as well as spreading it out to the Clue Crew.

Nancy had finally gotten up to her hotel room. Technically it was Joe’s room but since ATAC had booked two rooms for the boys, Joe graciously offered his room up to the girls and moved his things into Frank’s room. Exhausted after a long afternoon picking pumpkins and an energetic car ride with Joe, she set her pumpkin down atop the “Explore Salem!” brochures on little wooden desk near the tv. Deirdre had been laying on her stomach on one of the queen sized beds, remote in one hand, a bowl of popcorn in the other, and a glass of whisky sitting dangerously on the bed.

“I ordered some popcorn and drinks, and now that you're finally back we can have a sleepover gossip session. I need some girly time even if it's with you, Drew. Frank and Joe can be such boys at times.” Nancy grabbed her pajamas and toothbrush and went into the bathroom to change, “Sleepover gossip session?” “High school rules, so you have to answer.” Deirdre said from the bed sipping some whiskey that she probably put on ATAC’s tab.

“What if I don't know the answer?” Nancy asked as she brushed her teeth.

Deirdre laughed, “Honestly Drew, were you ever in high school long enough to learn any social skills? I ask you personal questions, you ask me personal questions, straight answers are mandatory, we share gossip, stuff like that. So, let’s start with the burning question everyone is dying to know, what’s going on with you and Nedgur?”

Nancy was now struggling with the buttons on her pajama top, “What?”

“Practically a whole year without cases? And you never gave anyone a direct explanation about that ring you started wearing after you just up and dropped the mystery solving business, and I know it has to do with Ned, so tell me everything.” Nancy’s ring in question remained stuffed in her suitcase where it had been since she was on her way to the airport to catch her plane to Salem. All she wanted was to forget about her relationship issues before falling asleep, but she had a feeling that trying to evade Deirdre and the sacred rules of high school party games would not go well for her.

“Deirdre, I’d really rather not talk about it right now, everything is fine between us, and besides we have a long day tomorrow and I’m tired and-”

“You can't lie to me Drew, sleepover rules, no lying, no avoiding the questions. You said 'fine' and everyone knows that means you're not fine and even if you really are fine, you wouldn't use that word because of its negative social connotations. Even someone as socially inept as you knows that, so what gives?”

Nancy was suddenly tired both physically and emotionally. Deirdre sat up and glared at Nancy waiting for her to break as she walked out of the bathroom, now in her pjs and her hair up in a ponytail. Nancy knew Deirdre would be relentless in finding out the truth. It’s what made her a good detective. Not only was Deirdre good at what she did, she had the mental drive to push her beyond expectations. She also had knack for psychological analysis, something that Nancy apparently lacked. Nancy had been told many times by her friends that she could not read a room. Meanwhile, just yesterday Nancy had not only seen Deirdre read a room, she had seen her play the room so they could get access to town records. Nancy almost envied her for her social graces. She sighed and gave in before the mental torture began. “As you know a year ago I totally forgot about mine and Ned's anniversary because I was in another country on a case instead of at dinner with Ned, which I forgot to tell him until he called and asked if I was on my way to the restaurant. Well,” Nancy began to play with her sleeves and sat on the edge of her bed, “we promised we'd spend the next anniversary together, in person. When I got home after that case somehow I ended up promising Ned I'd take a year off cases so we could have some time to just be normal, you know? And it was hard at first,” she fought the lump in her throat that caught her by surprise, “Especially seeing you take up all my would be cases. I almost made it to a year, but then you called. Ned was upset when he found out that I wanted to leave to help you, he said that he thought I had really changed, that we could really be together now.” Nancy’s eyes suddenly began burning, she fought back tears by pinching her thigh. Something about physically pain made Nancy more of a fighter. “I told him I couldn't just stay here when you had asked for my help, not when there were others who needed my help. He said if I got on that plane I'd be throwing away everything, our relationship, the whole reason I stopped taking cases this past year…”

“And now you’re in Massachusetts on a modern day witch hunt and shacking up with me.” Deirdre smirked, “So, how did he react when you told him you were going to come up here instead?” As she waited for an answer she could practically see Nancy’s face grow redder. “You did tell him right?” Nancy shrugged, avoiding eye contact with Deirdre. Deirdre's eyes bulged, “You didn't tell him!?” She practically shouted.

“He seemed to make it pretty clear that if I left on the plane to Salem our relationship would be over. I didn’t tell him I was leaving, I just left in the middle of the night, caught a red eye flight here.” Nancy wiped her nose with her hand, “It’s been a few days and I haven’t talked to him since but I’m sure he’s figured out where I am by now.” She looked away.

Deirdre rolled her eyes and finished her last bit of whisky like a shot. “Wow, what a buzzkill. Don’t overthink it Drew. I hate to say it but you and I both know what you need is to be out solving cases, just don’t give in and backslide on your decision Nancy.” She put her glass down on the nightstand between their beds and crawled into the sheets. “Don’t worry, I’ll help Ned forget all about you…” Her words trailed off as she fell asleep.

Nancy exhaled and emotionally composed herself. As she got into her so hotel bed, she wondered just how much of this conversation Deirdre would remember in the morning.

* * * *

Deirdre had passed out around 10:30. It was now two hours later and Nancy was still awake in bed. She was restless. She wanted sleep. Until Deirdre had brought it up, she hadn’t thought about the consequences of her actions, instead she let the adrenaline of her first case in a year carry her though till now. She just couldn't stop thinking about Ned, their relationship, if it even existed anymore and if it should still exist. Ned would always be second to her cases. Was there a chance she could apologize to Ned, as forgiving as he was, would he take her back? But is that what she wanted? Did she want Ned? Or was she too afraid of how different her life would be without him, too afraid of being alone, losing a friend? She shivered at the thought.

Quietly, she climbed out of her queen sized bed and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Her reflection accurately represented how she felt on the inside. A mess. The overgrown layers of her titian hair was falling out of its loose ponytail, the dark circles under her eyes were getting worse, and her face gave away every sign that she had been crying. She was also cold. She had plenty of blankets in her hotel bed, but every part of her body was stiff with chill. It was almost 1 a.m. now, she needed sleep. She needed warmth. She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it was going to be ok. Frank. She wanted Frank.

Nancy hurried quietly out of her and Deirdre's hotel room to the elevator. The Hardy boys were on the floor just above them. Frank had always been soft with her, she could trust him to handle her emotions and she needed someone to pick her back up. Nancy got in the elevator and stood right behind the closed doors as it slowly crawled its way up. Nancy had no plan, no opening line, no idea how to bring up her current situation or explain her emotional state that she had been holding up inside her. Frank will know, Nancy thought, Frank always knows. The elevator doors opened and Nancy stumbled back, startled. “Where do you think you're going, Drew?” Leaning against the elevator door frame in the hallway was Deirdre. She casually ate some popcorn from the bowl tucked between her arm and hip. Nancy jumped back a bit but quickly regained her composure, “You brought the popcorn?” she said in a slightly annoyed sigh. Deirdre was practically doing a comical bit about how amused she was by Nancy’s hardships. Deirdre shrugged, “I heard you leave the room, wherever you were going at this hour, it had to be interesting. So what's going on?” “I need to talk to Frank.” Nancy stated trying not to choke on her words as she walked past Deirdre and into the hallway. Deirdre followed right behind her. “What? Why Frank? Nancy it's the middle of the night, why do you need Fr-No. You liiiikee him! Is he the reason you-”

Nancy cleared her throat, “are you still buzzed?” she shot back as she kept searching for the Hardy's room number. “You know it’s not safe to take the stairs when you’re inhibited.”

Deirdre gasped, “You DO like him don't you?” “No, I don't know, no, I just need to talk to him ok?”

“The only kind of guy a girl ever needs to talk to in the middle of the night is the kind of guy she needs to have sex with.” Nancy stopped in front of the hotel door she had been looking for. “This is a bad idea Nancy, as of right now,” Deirdre checked her phone, “1:07AM you are about to make a bad decision, think about this for a second, you can barely make a decent decision in the day.” Nancy knocked on the door. Deirdre whispered harshly, “What are you even going to tell Frank?” Nancy shook her head, “I don't know, I just need to see him.” Suddenly the door swung open. “What's up?” Joe asked holding the door wide open. He was sipping some Mountain Dew unaware that right behind him Frank had just stepped out of the bathroom with only a towel around his waist, still dripping wet from his shower. Clueless and completely visible to the girls Frank was looking around the floor for his pile of clothes. Deirdre shot a look at Nancy, “Well shit if I had known he looked that good shirtless I would have wanted him right now too.” Frank shot up straight immediately upon hearing Deirdre's voice and noticed the two standing in the doorway, “Joe, close the door! God, really?” “Just give us a minute here.” Joe smiled sweetly at the girls and closed the door. His sudden burst of laughter could be heard through the walls. “Well there you go, you got to see him. Happy now?” Deirdre tossed some popcorn in her mouth, “Cause I am.” She smirked and Nancy gave her a small shove just as Frank opened the door. “Sorry about that,” he let the girls in. He was now wearing some old grey sweatpants and a faded Panic! At the Disco shirt, however, his hair was still very wet. “Joe insists he ‘can't rest until every zombie has been taken the fuck out’ and I can't sleep with all the merciless slaughtering going on.” As if on cue a zombie exploded on the tv screen causing guts and blood to go everywhere as Joe triumphantly fist pumped. “What are you two doing up at this hour anyway? Do you have a new lead?” Frank asked hoping they'd have a break on the case to share, anything to distract from what had just happened. “Well, I'm out.” Deirdre threw her hands in the air, still carrying the popcorn bowl in one hand, and walked over to Joe who was sitting on the floor in front of the tv. It wasn't that hard to tell that Nancy was upset at this point. “Nance?” Frank looked at her for an explanation, "Is something wrong?" Nancy bit her lip, what was she supposed to say? That she broke up with Ned? “I broke up with Ned.” Well fuck, Nancy thought, Okay so maybe that wasn't the best opener but now it's all out there, basically.

Frank looked like he was just slapped across the face. He felt like it too. “WHAT?” Frank so desperately wanted to yell but could only find enough air to wheeze in a form of a whisper.

“Well, at least I think I did. I could have.”

“You think?” he shook his head slightly confused and taken aback. The slight shaking caused little beads of water from his dark wet hair to trickle down his neck. Joe was too busy with his game to hear what Nancy had just said, but if he had he would already be on the phone with Ned trying to get the two to work things out.

Frank led Nancy into the hotel room’s walk in closet, which unfortunately was the most private place they could talk at the moment. He pulled the string that hung down in the middle of the room and after a second’s delay a warm light illuminated them.

“What’s going on Nancy?” She was visibly distressed; it killed Frank when she looked this way. “What is it you really want to tell me? What happened with you and Ned?”

“I need some advice, or just help me figure out my life, I guess.” She sniffled, sitting down on the floor of the closet in front of Frank, he did the same. Then she told Frank everything she told Deirdre and then some. About the ring Ned gave her that he practically considered an engagement ring and that she barely wanted to consider it a promise ring, about all her doubts about a future with Ned, how awful a girlfriend she must be, about how she doesn't want to be alone but also would rather be solving cases rather than being tied down, and about how she spent another anniversary on a case instead of with Ned, but this time she had done it on purpose, and how she was worried she had made a mistake.

Once she was done spilling her emotions she held her breath looking up at Frank to see his reaction to it all. He sighed and brought her in close, hugging her firmly.

“Nancy, I’m not really sure what you want me to say, I’m still trying to process everything you just told me.”

“Honestly I think I’m just starting to process it all too, and I’m only kind of starting to freak out because I didn’t let myself think about it earlier and-” her voice hitched and Frank could feel through his shirt a small wet spot form on his shoulder from her sudden tears.

She breathed in, taking a few moments to compose herself “Well, you've alway helped me with Ned before. Remember that one time I was in Germany after Ned and I had a huge fight? You were a big help then, you always know what I need to hear, Frank.” Nancy took a deep breath in, “Should I try to fix things with Ned?”

Frank analyzed every point she brought up and calculated every possible ways to say ‘Hey, if you're not happy, with Ned anymore, your long time boyfriend, the only one you've had for years, one of your best and closest friends, you should break up with him for your sake, which you seemingly already did.’ but he couldn't think of any eloquent way of putting it. Because the fact that they had shared numerous moments between each other in the past that could be interpreted as as flirtatious, and some dangerously flirtatious, he didn’t want his opinion to sound biased.

Nancy was the kind of person that always knew what they wanted, even if they weren't aware of it. Anyone could see that in her. However, this was a bit different and more serious than other choices Nancy had made. Outside of solving mysteries, she always took the safe bet. She made reasonable purchases, always wore modest clothes, sensible shoes. Everytime she went out to get ice cream her friends all knew she'd take about 4 minutes to decide, ultimately getting the same chocolate ice cream in a sugar cone. She would always say that next time she'd try Scoop’s newest flavor, or venture into the world of toppings, but she never does. Ned was her chocolate ice cream in a sugar cone. Content enough with her decision, but always wanting something different later. And by far Frank could see that was her biggest mistake, content but never happy. In her personal life, Nancy wasn't much of a risk taker, and Ned wasn't much of a risk.

There was something different about Nancy this time though, Nancy had never spoke about the possibility of breaking up with her boyfriend of what seemed like an eternity to Frank, even when she had returned the flirtatious qupis that accidentally slipped out of his mouth now and then. “She must be tired of going in circles with Ned like this.” He thought. She pulled her head up off his shoulder and looked up at him, something in her tired red eyes begged for help.

“You don’t think I should call him, do you?”

“I-I didn’t say anything.” Frank said as if he were defending himself.

“I know that face that you were making. Besides, you didn’t tell me right away to stay with Ned, so it’s kind obvious what you think, I might not be able to read a lot of people, but I know you Frank.”

Frank rubbed the back of his neck wondering if Nancy remembered the time he almost confessed his feelings for her over a voicemail, “I guess I can’t hide anything from you, detective. But hey, you came to that conclusion, not me. Just, don't tell Joe, he'll think I-”

“Oh I won't tell Joe. But..” She paused.

“What, Nance?”

“Do you think Ned... do you think he'll be okay? Will he hate me? What about our friends? What about you and Joe?”

“Ned, well, it'd be hard to lose someone like you definitely, but he'll move on eventually, you said he wants to be married one day? That's what he'll do then. And well, you'll keep Bess and George, obviously. Joe, he'd probably be crushed too but do his best to maintain both friendships. It'll be ok Nancy, if that's what you want to do.”

“What about you?”

“Nancy,” Frank's chest nearly exploded, I’ve been in love with you for years, he thought I’m not going anywhere. “I'm sitting on the floor in a closet in Massachusetts holding you as you cry into my arms hoping that I didn't just help you make one of the biggest mistakes of your life. I'm not going anywhere.” He tucked a loose strand of Nancy’s hair behind her ear, “And what about you Nance, will you be ok?”

Nancy wiped her tears away and cupped her face in her own hands. She breathed in “Yeah. Yeah I think I’ll be ok now. I just, it’s like I jumped off a plane and I didn’t realize it until now and kind of panicked and it’s a little late to panic now.”

“Hey, you can still panic if you want, especially if it helps.” Watching Nancy suddenly look down away from him to continue to wipe away tears pained him. “Personally I like to panic at a disco.”

A strangled laugh came from Nancy’s throat as she looked from the chest of his shirt and up to his face. “You did not just..”

“Yeah, I did just.”

Nancy shook her head at him fondly, “You’re really just a dork aren’t you? All those muscles are very misleading.” She teased. She always liked to make fun of how nerdy he really was when they were together.

“And you really just need some sleep now, don’t you?” He joked with her and motioned his head toward the closet door. “You ready?” She nodded. He helped Nancy stand up but her leg gave out from sitting on it for too long. Frank saw her lose balance and leaned over to catch her. Despite Frank catching her hand, Nancy fell against the closet wall with Frank falling almost completely against her, their heads hit each other just enough to hurt.

“Ouch!”

“Ah!” Frank hissed in pain, “I’m sorry, are you ok?”

“You’re such a clutz.” Nancy laughed lightly before feeling a pain in her head.

“Hey, you’re the one who always gets knocked out during a case, Drew.” Frank retorted, he missed hanging out with her, joking with her. He smiled looking down at Nancy, she returned the smile looking up at him. She was exhausted, her face was red and puffy, her eyes glassy, her hair a total mess, but god she’s beautiful, Frank thought.

They stayed that way for a moment in silence.

“Um, Frank?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re kind of pinning one of my arms to the wall.”

“Oh, sorry.” Quickly, he stood up properly, away from Nancy. He stood there rubbing the back of his neck feeling a bit awkward and nervous as Nancy stood up in front of him.

“You ready now?” Frank walked over to the closet door and reached for the door handle. Nancy nodded, putting her hand on top of his, and pushing on the handle.

They walked out of the closet and made eye contact almost instantly with Deirdre and Joe across the room. Deirdre was sitting at the foot of Joe’s bed while Joe, standing in front of the bed shirtless, had paused mid flex.

“What? She wanted to know if abs ran in the family,” Joe stated defensively as he changed poses, “I couldn't let you upstage me, bro.”

Deirdre stood up and made her way to the door, “Well it's been quite a pleasure, Joseph,” she nodded to Joe and then to Frank, “Franklin. But it is pretty late and if we’re going to a Halloween ragger and catch the perp tomorrow night, then I need sleep.” She gave a wave of her hand and walked out the door. Nancy smiled at Frank as she walked out the door.

***

Nancy plopped down on the hotel floor spreading old newspaper around her in a circle. She placed a few pumpkins around her on top of the newspapers as if they were a clock face and she was the center. Teegan had put the girls in charge of setting up the decorations for the town halloween party later that night.

“Come on Deirdre, I can’t carve all these pumpkins by myself by 5!” Nancy pleaded with her groggy roommate who was slowly gathering her things for a shower.

“Nancy. It is 11:30 in the morning. I am barely awake,” she mumbled slipping into the bathroom and closing the door, “bring me Starbucks.”

Nancy sighed and began to pour her focus into carving the pumpkins around her. She began with a systematic process: she gutted the pumpkin in front of her and then adjusted herself to face the next pumpkin. Moving clockwise in her circle she placed the insides of the pumpkins into a plastic shopping bag. She was almost done with this process when her phone began to buzz on her hotel bed. It was an unknown number.

“Hello?” Nancy answered cautiously.

The voice on the other end was harsh with some kind of American east coast accent. “So first of all I’m going to pretend like I’m not offended that you didn’t invite me to this big halloween bash in Salem, second-”

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“What’s the matter Nancy?” The voice dropped its false accent, “You don’t recognize my melodious voice?”

Nancy gasped, ‘Sonny? Is that you?’

“Bingo.”

“But I have your number, and why did you sound so… weird?”

“I have a new job in Washington and I’m on a burner phone, that’s all I can really say right now.”

“Another Sonny Joon adventure?”

“Always another Sonny Joon adventure.”

Nancy could practically hear him winking. “So, did you look into Jenna Ravencraft for me?”

“Course I did Nancy, you know I always deliver,” digital beeping noises could be heard from Sonny’s line, “Her alibi checks out.”

“How’d you find that out? She said she was out in the middle of the woods in the dead of night when the house caught on fire.”

Sonny sighed, “Let’s just say I have some friends in Salem, some of which keep tabs on particular parts of the woods.”

“Okay... so, that ruins my working theory.” She huffed.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Oh, and Nancy? Take it from an experienced Salem tour guide, you’re going to want to stay away from those woods. They’re… not safe.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Nancy said skeptically before they said goodbye.

Nancy returned her attention to the pumpkins before she drifted off thinking about the case again. Sonny had just crossed out her only working theory and now she felt stuck. She thought about calling Bess and George but she didn’t want to distract them from their Halloween party prep. Maybe call Ned? Oh right… Ned. At that thought she began to block out the world and pour herself into the mystery at hand as she carved generic jack o'lanterns as if on autopilot.

Whoever the perpetrator was they had been leaving behind cryptic notes for Deirdre and now for Nancy to decipher in hopes that the girls would lead them to whatever valuable thing was that the notes hinted at. They were difficult to understand and still very cryptic once deciphered but with the help of Sonny and ATAC resources they were starting to make some headway. The crew was beginning to suspect that whoever was causing the strange events was hoping to let the girls do all the work leading them to the whatever treasure might be so they could swoop in and take it for themselves.

Just then Deirdre came out of the bathroom looking effortlessly perfect as usual. “Where’s my coffee?” she whined.

“Oh, I forgot I was thinking about the case.”

“Uggghhh,” fine I’ll get it myself.” Deirdre grabbed her phone and made a phone call on speaker. She carefully placed her phone on the little wooden table with the Salem brochures next to where Nancy sat on the floor. Above the table was a mirror on the wall, she began to comb out her wet hair.

“Hey Deirdre what do you want my brother for this time?” Frank’s voice suddenly filling the room through the phone caught Nancy off guard making her jump a little.

“Hey Hardy, I need coffee, bring me some.” Deirdre snarked.

“Is that Deirdre? Hi Deirdre! Is Nancy there too? HI NAN oh shi-” Joe’s distant voice was followed by a shuffle and clatter. “Oops, my bad.”

Nancy giggled, “Hi Joe.”

“Joe pay attention to what you’re doing, please.” Frank pleaded with his brother who had just dropped a few boxes of decorations on the floor. “Well, you’re in luck because we were just about to take a much needed midday coffee break. What do you want us to bring you?”

Deirdre’s tone instantly became warm and cheery, “a venti skinny vanilla latte please!” she said with a smile.

Joe took over the phone, “Consider us on our way. Oh and when we get there we’re going to go ver the plan for tonight, Frank thinks he’s onto something.”

“Great see you then, bye!” Deirdre hung up in a rush and looked over at Nancy, “since you were so busy thinking about the case, did you make any breakthroughs?”

“Well Sonny called and he said that he looked into it and Jenna Ravencraft’s alibi checks out. She was in the woods during the fire after all.”

“What was she doing in the woods?”

“Honestly I don’t know but I trust Sonny.” Nancy sighed as she leaned back looking at one of her jack o'lanterns, “hey, does this look scary to you?”

Deirdre rolled her eyes, “Oh honestly Nancy, you need to make the mouth’s more pointy, here, let me do it.”

The two girls carved jack o’lanterns in an almost comfortable silence and had just finished them up when there was a knock at the door.

“We brought pizza!” Joe’s voice sang from the other side of the door.

Deirdre got up and walked over to the door, “Did you bring coffee?” She insisted.

There was a small silence, “Yes.” Joe answered. Deirdre opened the door. “I thought we could have lunch together and go over our plan for tonight” Joe grinned and stepped inside the room. Frank followed him inside holding two Starbucks drink trays. Deirdre picked hers out and began drinking it right away.

Frank sighed, “Coffee and pizza, a weird combination, we know. But we needed to have lunch and Joe wanted to pitch his plan for tonight.” He sat down on the floor with his back leaning against the foot of one of the beds and placed the coffee trays next to him and Nancy sat down on the other side of the coffee trays.

“What’s with all the coffee?” Nancy asked Frank.

“Oh, I didn’t know if you wanted anything so I was going to bring you some but while I was ordering I realized that I don’t actually know how you like your coffee, so I got three different kinds. I can just drink whatever you don’t want anyway.” Nancy smiled and Frank began identifying what was in each coffee cup. Joe set the pizza boxes on the bed and Deirdre sat down next to them. Joe stood in front of all of them with a slice of pizza in each hand, he began to explain his plan for catching the culprit tonight.

“So,” Joe said in between bites, “Frank deciphered one of the notes that was left for Deirdre.”

“If I understand it correctly then the thing the culprit is after is a first hand account of the witch trials that historians have never found, it’s hidden somewhere on the Hathorne property.” Frank handed Nancy the cup of blonde roast espresso that she had decided on.

“And we all know the culprit is trying to use Deirdre and Nancy to find this old notebook for them, so if we can just pretend that we know where it is, we can lure the culprit into a trap during the party tonight.” Joe took another bite of his pizza.

“So what, we just spread the word that we found the book and wait for someone to knock us out?” Deirdre huffed.

“Here’s my plan, we start spreading the word that Deirdre knows where the old records are that the perpetrator is after. It’s highly likely that the perp will be at the party tonight since it’s on Hathorne property too, let’s say Deirdre goes off to get the records-”

“Then I knock out any creep who follows me.” Deirdre interjected.

Joe turned to Deirdre, “Don’t worry we’ll all be there as backup,” he motioned to himself and Frank and Nancy. “Frank and I are testing out these new smart watches for ATAC.” Joe lifted his wrist to show his watch, Frank did the same to show Nancy.

She lightly grabbed Frank by his hand and forearm to get a better look. “Oh, cool!” They looked similar to an apple watch with a touch screen face, she wondered what kind of special features ATAC equipped it with.

“We only have two so I’ll trail Deirdre around the party and Nancy can stick by Frank that way we can keep tabs on everyone. Plus we’ll all be there in costume, complete disguises, so we can be on the lookout for both you and the perp without them recognizing us. We’ll blend in perfectly at the party.”

Nancy broke away from her side conversation with Frank, “But I don’t have a costume.”

“Don’t worry Nan, I called in a little favor and your costume is actually waiting for you to pick it up down in the lobby.”

Frank looked at his brother as if he were already dreading what Joe had in mind for him, “And what about me, Joe?”

Joe grinned at his brother, “Don’t worry man, I brought you a costume too.” Frank internally started to get concerned at whatever crazy scheme his brother was pulling at his expense. “And Deirdre as for your costume-”

Deirdre smiled and winked at Joe, “Oh I brought a costume.”

“Alright then, so we’re all set for tonight? We’ll all go into the party separately and meet up inside? I’ll have Deirdre’s back, Nancy and Frank you can keep an eye out on all our suspects?”

“It’s worth a shot.” Nancy chimed in.

“Great, we’ll leave you girls to get ready, Frank and I still have some decorations to put and we promised Mrs. Hathorne we’d have everything set up by 5. Did you guys finish the jack o’lanterns?”

“You bet!” Nancy grinned. She pointed out to Frank which one was her favorite that she had carved.

“I’ll try not to drop it then.” He said almost as if he wasn’t joking. Nancy laughed and lightly hit his shoulder causing him to break out into a grin. “I brought you three coffees remember?” He laughed trying to cover himself with his arms and bringing his knees toward his chest.

“Well then you better take these pumpkins out of here so I can start getting ready.” Deirdre stood up to hand Joe a jack o’lantern who quickly shoved his last bit of pizza in his mouth.

****

Nancy had helped the boys take some of the carved pumpkins down to their car and topped by the lobby to pick up the package Joe had mentioned. She now sat on her hotel bed, legs crossed with the package in front of her. It was almost time to leave for the party, Deirdre was sitting on the sink counter busy finishing her hair and makeup. Nancy opened the package and black material slipped out onto a pile on the bed along with a little handwritten note. Nancy picked up the piece of paper.

Don’t have too much fun without us!

Love, Bess & George

“Oh no.” Nancy groaned, realizing exactly what all the black fabric was. She picked it up and held it out in front of her. It was the black cat suit that Nancy had brought back from a case she had in Italy. Bess and George thought it was the funniest thing that Nancy had to dance in a cat suit to get extra money while on a case once and they never let her hear the end of it. Nancy sighed and got dressed, the suit was a little tighter than she remembered but it had been a few years since she had even touched it.

Deirdre walked into the room “Oh wow Drew, I didn’t think you were this into the Halloween spirit.”

“Um, it’s a long story, Bess and George sent it.” Confused, Nancy looked at Deirdre who was in underwear and a silk robe that was tied closed. “Where’s your costume?”

“Oh, your right.” Deirdre grabbed a pair of white wings out of the hotel closet. “There, now I’m ready to go.” She could see that Nancy was still confused. “I’m an Angel, you know, a Victoria’s Secret model?”

“Oh.” Nancy nodded.

About fifteen minutes later, still feeling awkward in her suit Nancy got into a cab to take her to the Hathorne house. Deirdre had left a little earlier and it was time for Nancy to slip into the party and look out for anything suspicious. Upon arrival getting dropped off at the party Nancy stood on the roadside admiring how beautiful the old house looked. There was the faint sound of music from the distant party and the warm light pouring from the windows, but the way it glowed in the moonlight around the trees was chilling. Nancy almost hated that the the city decided to throw a town party in a place with so much history, granted the party wasn’t supposed to get out of hand, but still.

Once inside Nancy quickly realized she had no idea how to find Joe or Frank because she didn’t know what they were wearing and she had left her phone at the hotel since her costume had no pockets. Great, she thought, now what? She saw people dressed as werewolves, cartoon characters, vampires, Star Wars characters, people dressed as foods, some creative costumes, and a few “sexy” variations of things Nancy couldn’t identify. After awhile of looking around she spotted Deirdre talking to Mei Parris near the tables of food and candy. Nancy walked over to one of the nearby candy tables to see what they had. She saw Moon Chunks, Auntie’s Acorns, Licky Loo lollipops, finally in s bowl at the end she saw fun sized versions of her favorite candy, Koko Kringle bars. She peeled her mask up just above her lips and ate one of the candies. Whew! She thought. It’s so much easier to breathe with the mask this way.

She walked past Deirdre who made eye contact with her and then quickly glanced across the room. Nancy followed her gaze to catch a glimpse of Teegan Parris slipping into a separate room. Nancy decided to cut through the dance floor in pursuit. A slower paced song came on and she had to squeeze through a group of girls in tutus walking off the dance floor and shove past the cast of Twilight. She nearly tripped over Jacob’s werewolf tail but was caught by someone in a Spider-man suit. Not only did he catch her, he brought her into a ballroom dancing position, and began dancing the box step with her? Nancy looked up and was about to protest against the mysterious menace.

“Watch your step Miss LaRue, you might get knocked out.” The Spider-man’s words were muffled through his mask.

Nancy quickly relaxed and fell into step with his dancing. “Frank?” she gasped. Frank was the only person who knew the name that was given to her dancer black cat suit persona in Italy. She would have told Bess and George but she knew they would just make fun of her even more. Sure Frank might make fun of it, but at least he’d keep it a secret.

He used one hand to lift his mask up from his neck just enough to show his mouth and the tip of his nose. “Hey you.” he grinned. She could recognize those lips anywhere.

“Frank!” Nancy smiled, relieved that she wasn’t so alone anymore. “Oh but Teegan Paris just went into that room, I have to go-”

“Don’t worry, Joe was already following her.” Frank continued to lead their dance.

“So, I didn’t expect you to be in such a...” Nancy hesitated to find the right word, “fitting costume.” The suit was just like the kinds you see in the movies, no fake muscle padding, just the stretchy breathable material fitting just right in all places, making him look taller and his shoulders broader. It reminded her just how muscular he actually was.

“Yeah well, apparently Joe bought it for me when he saw how I was really into the new Spider-man PS4 game. And it is Halloween so, why not. It is kind of fun.” He spun her. “As for you, I guess I am a little surprised to see you dawning the infamous cat suit that you swore you’d never wear again.”

Nancy was pulled back in close to Frank after the spin. “I guess Joe asked Bess and George to send up one of my old costumes for the party,” she sighed, “I’m going to kill them when I get home.”

“You don’t look bad.” Frank offered. What he wanted to say was that she looked good because she did, but he didn’t want it to come across the wrong way.

“Thanks,” Nancy felt her ears get a little red under her mask, “You don’t look to bad yourself, tiger.”

The song changed to a slightly more upbeat one to which Frank adjusted his lead to. “Remember that case we had in Michigan when we could have won that state dancing competition.” He remarked as he looked around the room behind her.

“If only we were actually from Michigan.” Nancy knew he was recalling how during the case they had a system for watching their suspects while they seemed to rehearse their dance routines, and they did get surprisingly good at dancing too. She surveyed the room and saw Deirdre looking over her shoulder as she quickly went downstairs toward the basement. Lauren Corey seemed to sneak down the stairs shortly after her, giving Nancy a bad feeling.

Nancy leaned closer into Frank, “At your six, a target spotted in pursuit headed down the west stairs.” She would have said something normal like ‘Behind you I saw Lauren following Deirdre down to the basement’ but she remembered how Joe’s love for ‘making things sound cool while on a case’ had rubbed off on Frank.

He led them into a spin so that he could look in the direction she had noted.

“Over there.” She said quietly looking at the stairs. They both saw someone in a Stormtrooper costume walk down the stairs.

Frank chuckled a bit and his watch buzzed once, “Looks like Joe is on it.” Frank brought Nancy in even more, closing up the space between them as they danced, “But I love it when you talk espionage to me.” he said hushly to her, their cheeks touching.

Nancy playfully lifted her right leg and hooked it around Frank’s left leg like a dramatic salsa dancer, “How could I forget?” The tip of her nose touched his, she could just barely see his green eyes through the mask lenses. Their lips had come dangerously close to touching… It was as if the world slowed down, almost standing still.

They were interrupted by a Frank’s watch that was violently buzzing and flashing. He pulled away from Nancy. He sounded breathless, “Joe needs help.” He wiped his head around toward the staircase to the basement. Just then a high pitched screeching rang throughout the whole house. Nancy and Frank both flinched, bracing themselves from the auditory impact. Sounding almost like a banshee screaming it causing the party goers to scream and rush the exits in a panic. Nancy watched as Frank grabbed the back of his mask and pull it off in one swift motion. She did the same.

“The fire alarm!” Nancy shouted over to Frank.

“We need to find Joe and Deirdre!” Frank shouted back to her. He fought through the crowds of people trying to go the opposite direction. He used one arm to shove past people and the other arm he kept behind him against his back so that Nancy could hold and follow behind him. Once they got to the stairs they were able to run freely. Nancy reached the door at the bottom of the stairs first. She grabbed the door handle letting out a yelp and quickly drawing her hand back. The door handle was hot but it wasn’t locked. They both rushed inside.

“Don’t let the door close!” Deirdre’s voice yelled over the crackling fire. Frank and Nancy turned around but it was too late to catch the door. Nancy tried to open the door but it was locked on this side.

“Deirdre?” Nancy shouted, “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Deirdre’s voice came to the left corner of the room near the door. She was kneeling on the floor next to Joe. She had taken his helmet off and was using it to elevate his legs. “Lauren figured out our plan! And this idiot got knocked out.” Although she sounded like she was starting to panic, Deirdre seemed to still be annoyed despite the situation.

“Did she get the journal?” Nancy asked, kneeling down next to Joe and Deirdre.

“Not on my life.” Deirdre reached behind her and pulled a small old notebook that she had kept tucked under the back of her bra strap. “Lauren took a fake.”

Nancy looked around the room. As the fire spread up the right side she noticed rope on the floor next to Deirdre and the fresh red bruises around her arms and legs. It didn’t look too good, how well could Deirdre walk after that?

Joe started to gain consciousness. “Joe!” Relieved, Frank started helping his brother stand up.

Joe instinctively grabbed his helmet. “Did I miss something?” Joe mumbled.

Deirdre stood up, using the wall to lean against. Nancy walked over and put Deirdre’s arm around her shoulders to help her walk.

Frank had helped Joe walk toward the door in hopes of knocking the door down but the fire had caught onto the door. Frank’s eyes darted around the room. He spotted a window near the top of the left wall, it’d be a tight fit for Joe and his costume but they could fit, if they made it in time.

“Over there!” Frank coughed as he pointed to the window. They all walked over to the wall. Frank let go of his brother.

“Up you go.” He said to Nancy as he knelt down against the wall cupping his hands together. Nancy quickly understood and put one foot up into his hands as he pushed her up toward the window. Nancy struggled to move the latch but she finally got it and slipped through the window. Frank hoisted Deirdre up next, she shimmied through the window and Nancy helped pull her through. Next was Joe. Frank helped his brother up to the window in the same fashion but also had to help push him through the window as the girls pulled him due to the bulkiness of Joe’s costume.

Now for Frank to get out the window. He hadn’t thought this far. He looked around for something to help him.

“Get the rope!” Nancy coughed pointing at it on the floor.

Frank ran over to it. The rope was laying dangerously close to the fire. The heat was strong and it felt like he burned himself trying to grab it, but at least it wasn't on fire. He ran over to the wall and threw the rope up to Nancy. Joe and Deirdre grabbed some of the slack behind Nancy to be an anchor while Frank started to climb his way up the rope. The others pulled. He made it through the window. They all collapsed on the grass next to each other.

***

Although it felt longer, the fire department and an ambulance arrived moments later. Deirdre had a blanket around her and was explaining what happened to the police. Joe was laying in a gurney outside of the ambulance getting checked out by nurses. Frank and Nancy sat shoulder to shoulder on the grass under a tree nearby waiting to give their statements to the police. They were sharing a blanket they had gotten from the EMTs.

“Are you sure you’re ok? I could go ask for an oxygen mask for you.” Frank put a hand on Nancy’s back as she coughed.

“No, no. I’m fine.” Nancy managed to say though her coughs.

“You know,” Frank sighed “it’s kind of funny how this is our first shared near death experience.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice not to face death alone for once.” Nancy had stopped coughing.

“We could do it again sometime if you want.”

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” Nancy joked sarcastically, shoving him with her shoulder. “Hey Frank?” Nancy looked up at him. He had ash smeared on his face and his hair was messy and standing up a bit from his mask. “Speaking of near death experiences,” Nancy said lightly, “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“What are you talking about?” Frank looked puzzled.

“You know, when I was in Colorado, you and Joe left me a voicemail,”

Oh no.

“You said there was something you always wanted to tell me?”

Frank’s heart rate increased suddenly. “Um-” He laughed nervously. “I-”

Nancy leaned her head against his shoulder and snuggled closer to him. “It’s ok, you can tell me. Joe told Bess and Bess told me.”

Maybe she could solve mysteries without having to be alone.

Nancy grabbed one of Frank's hands and held it in hers.

“I just want to hear you say it.” She closed her eyes and felt the tension leave Frank’s body as his chest let out a sigh of relief

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cherry-valentine · 6 years ago

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Winter 2019 Anime Season, What I’m Watching:

My Roommate is a Cat is easily the cutest series this season, possibly the cutest in the past several seasons. Your mileage may vary, depending on how much you like cats, but for me the show is a delight. Following a reclusive young author who recently lost his parents (the only people he interacted with on a regular basis) as he bonds with a stray cat he decided to take in on a whim, the show cleverly splits its time between the viewpoints of the human protagonist and the cat. The smartest thing the series does is show both viewpoints of the same events, first from the human, Subaru, and then from the cat, Haru. And somehow, even though we’re viewing the events for the second time, Haru’s view is more compelling. The show is by turns genuinely funny and genuinely touching. Subaru reminds me of a less extreme version of Handa (from Handa-kun and Barakamon) in that he’s socially inept and usually assumes the worst intentions from those around him. Haru is a somewhat feisty young cat who thinks she’s protecting her strange, hopeless human. Haru is a bit rough around the edges after spending much of her life as a stray, and her tough attitude keeps the show from getting too saccharine. As it stands, the show is just the right amount of cute, sweet, awkward, sad, and funny. Very high on my watch list.

Meiji Tokyo Renka is yet another historical otome series (seriously why do so many otome anime have historical settings?) featuring a high school girl being sent back in time to the Meiji period. This is, of course, one of my favorite time periods just for the clothing alone. The character designs are varied enough to make all the guys stand out from each other and the colors and backgrounds are lovely. The heroine, Mei, is much more comical than the standard otome heroine and is refreshingly proactive in her own story. She’s surprisingly independent in a time period when that was probably frowned upon. There’s a strong supernatural element to the story, not even counting the time travel aspect. There are spirits in this series that only certain people can see, Mei being one of them (and it’s nice that there are several others in the main cast who can as well, preventing her from seeming too conveniently special). It seems like these spirits can come in many forms, from cute animal spirits to literal ghosts to characters in novels springing to life and escaping the books to run amok. The show is certainly not dull. The romance is almost shoved to the background to make room for spirit shenanigans, but I’m not complaining. One of the more fun otome series in recent memory.

The Promised Neverland is easily my pick for best show of the season. It has a fantastic setup, with a first episode twist that I did not see coming (I knew something was going on, but my guess was way off the mark). It has a unique art style that makes it stand out, fluid animation, awesome opening and ending themes, a kickass heroine, and some heart-stopping cliff hangers. It’s the show I look forward to most each week. There’s only one minor quibble I have with this series, and that’s the weird way faces are drawn. The mouths seem too high on the faces, to the point that I kept thinking their mouths were their noses. I’ve gotten used to it as the episodes rolled by, but every now and then I still notice it. It’s just... irritating. Still, that’s a super nitpicky complaint for a show that’s otherwise excellent on every level with consistently high quality art and writing. At the very tippy top of my watch list.

Boogiepop and Others is a sequel (I guess?) to a much older series called Boogiepop Phantom that I watched many years ago. To be honest, it’s been so long that I don’t remember most of the details about the original anime. I just remember that it was a somewhat gloomy show that focused on supernatural mysteries and was episodic in nature. This newer series has an updated art style with more modern character designs. It’s also easier to follow, and has a stronger focus on action, whereas the original focused more on atmosphere. Special mention should go to Aoi Yuki’s phenomenal voice acting. She really brings Boogiepop to life and carries the show, much like she did as Kino in the recent Kino’s Journey anime. The show has great music, with my favorite ending theme of the season. Has a secure spot on my watch list.

B Project Season 2, an otome series about cute male idol groups, has seemingly decided to dial back the focus on the whole otome thing and instead showcase the borderline BL relationships between the boys. Seriously, there are several episodes in which the heroine, Tsubasa, is barely there at all, and even when she is, the series gives no real indication that any of the boys like her as more than a friend. Instead, the boys seem to be in love with each other (which is fine by me). This season adds a new boy band to the three we already had, which I felt was a little unnecessary. The new group really doesn’t add anything to the story. The music is nice, especially the ending theme, and the character designs are attractive. The series seems to have taken a page out of Tsukiuta’s book and now uses CG for the more elaborate dance numbers. The problem is that they don’t look nearly as good as Tsukiuta’s and definitely don’t blend well with the 2D animation around them. Overall, the series is cute but I still think of it as “less fun UtaPri”.

Fukigen no Mononokean Season 2 was a bit of a surprise for me, since I didn’t realize it was being made. I enjoyed season one very much with its pastel, candy-colored art and sweet, mostly light-hearted stories. And of course, the main draw of the series was the budding friendship between our two leads, Abeno and Ashiya. Season two keeps all of those elements and adds a very interesting mystery concerning Ashiya’s father, as well as an overarching plot and an actual recurring “villain” type character. The stakes are raised considerably, but the overall tone of the show is still fairly light and gentle. Seeing the cute mascot character Fuzzy (a white, furry youkai) makes me a little sad though, since it reminded me so very much of my cat (also a white furry creature named Fuzzy) while watching season one, and Fuzzy has since disappeared. Which reminds me, the youkai in this series are so adorable, varied, and charming. Very high on my watch list.

Kaguya-sama: Love is War is a comedy about two overachieving high school students who are secretly in love with each other but are too prideful to admit it, so they set traps for each other to try to force the other to confess first. It sounds like a dumb setup, to be honest, but it actually works surprisingly well. The two leads are likable despite being petty and stubborn. Even though they’re extremely talented, they have tons of quirks and they’re both completely clueless when it comes to love. There are a few fun side characters as well. The show is hilarious, with three skits per episode. There’s also a touch of sweetness as their affection for each other comes across as genuine. Anyone who’s ever been in love can relate to some of these moments, of going to great lengths just to increase your chances of being near the person you like, or making little changes to your appearance just to see if you get a reaction from them. Or, of course, the disappointment you feel when your carefully laid plans get ruined. The series uses humor and extreme reactions and hilarious facial expressions to convey these feelings, resulting in a highly entertaining show.

Carry Over Shows From Previous Seasons: Black Clover Run With the Wind Hinomaru Sumo Best of Season: Best New Show: The Promised Neverland Best Opening Theme: The Promised Neverland Best Ending Theme: Boogiepop and Others Best Male Character: Subaru (My Roommate is a Cat) Best Female Character: Emma (The Promised Neverland)

#Anime #Seasonal Anime #Anime Reviews #Anime Recommendations #Winter 2019 Anime #Text

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theteej · 6 years ago

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2018 #twosentencehorrorstory compilation

Here we go, beauties.

1 October: I wondered why my barista kept smiling strangely at me after handing me my pumpkin spice latte. It was only after I felt the coarsely ground spices begin to move in my mouth that I realized that she'd topped it with insects instead. #twosentencehorrorstory #itsback #PSLin90degrees

2 October: Grinning, he flexed one more time in front of the mirror, being sure to show his abs as perfectly as possible. It'd taken years of practice, but with the right angle you could actually capture your reflection in the mirror, making it easier to catch prey. #twosentencehorrorstory #vampiregrindr

3 October: SDChillDude: Did you mean send nudes, bro? ProfTeej: nah, i meant NEWTS; This death potion isn't going to make itself. #twosentencehorrorstory #witchgrindr

4 October: I'm so excited about how fast this venus flytrap is growing! I do wonder what i'm going to tell my neighbor about her cat, however. #twosentencehorrorstory

5 October: "All men are garbage," thought Kim, as she admired her thriving rosebushes. Still, some of them made for decent compost. #twosentencehorrorstory

6 October: I wasn't worried that someone with my name added my friends on Facebook. I was, however, when this other T.J. showed up in my bedroom last night. #twosentencehorrorstory

7 October: I hate when leg my falls asleep. I hate it more when I feel it on the floor a few feet away. #twosentencehorrorstory

8 October: "This bed is so comfortable and cozy that I never want to leave it," I mumbled out loud this morning. As the thick comforter started tightening and the sheets started winding more closely around me, I realized with a shudder that I perhaps should have been a bit quieter about my wish. #twosentencehorrorstory

9 October: The screen flashed bright red with ::Driver's Test Failed:: in bold letters. "You know what that means," said the humourless woman at the front desk, as pairs of strong hands grabbed me and chained me to the desk next to her for all of eternity. #twosentencehorrorstory #dmv

10 October: "Professor Tallie, when you grade, there's so much red it's like you bled on my paper!" "You have no idea, " i said, quickly rolling down my sleeves and hiding the evidence. #twosentencehorrorstory

11 October: "Anxiety is just another way that you keep trying to anticipate and control all potential disasters coming your way," offered my therapist. "Sure," I nodded, unaware of the deadly virus slowly blooming within me like a malicious flower, tendrils outstretched. #twosentencehorrorstory

12 October: "It's so great to have all the black faculty here at this meeting!" I shouted. And then we heard all the doors lock from the outside. #twosentencehorrorstory

13 October: They say the average person swallows eight spiders a year in their sleep. But what about the ones that squeeze into your ears in night, leaving countless eggs to hatch in the soft tissues behind your eyes? #twosentencehorrorstory

14 October: One of the best parts about being in San Diego is that all of the nonsense and the stupid heritage clinging and the existential black nightmare that is Virginia is so far away. That is, until the South literally began to rise again and Confederate hordes started preying on the living. #twosentencehorrorstory #zombieconfederates

15 October: Bench pressing your personal max first thing in the morning is difficult but rewarding. That is, until you hear that wet popping sound and feel your arms go limp, bringing three hundred and seventy-five pounds crashing, Icarus-like, onto your chest. #twosentencehorrorstory

16 October: Regular dumpster pickup for our twelve unit apartment complex is Fridays. It's Tuesday and I was just legit followed for half a block by a swarm of near-sentient, trash-engorged flies. #twosentencehorrorstory #thisisreal #thisjusthappenedtho

17 October: I really hate ice skating. Especially when you fall and someone skates over your outstretched fingers, severing them. #twosentencehorrorstory

18 October: As a naturally anxious person, I spend all of my time wondering what new thing is wrong with my body or how I might be somehow sick. It's too bad the zombie virus initially feels like a flu at the onset. #twosentencehorrorstory 19 October: "I can always tell when you haven't flossed," my hygienist said disapprovingly this morning. A second later I felt the floss cut through my weakened gums all the way down to the jawbone. #twosentencehorrorstory

20 October: I foolishly tried to recreate a Virginia autumn by carving a pumpkin on October 20th in San Diego. Five days of eighty degree weather should've warned me, but it was the first maggot crawling out of the sun-bleached gourd that really showed my mistake. #twosentencehorrorstory

21 October: The Blue Wave never materialized; voter suppression saw to that. And the government knows you've been public with your dissent on the internet. #twosentencehorrorstory

22 October: I drink far, far too much coffee daily, but otherwise I can't function for my evening classes. Today as I felt the hot beverages finally burn a hole through the weakened walls of my stomach lining, I realised being awake might not be worth it. #twosentencehorrorstory

23 October: "Forty burpees?" I said, panting slightly. "Not as bad i thought they'd--" i thought, before i started vomiting, bile, then blood, then organs. #twosentencehorrorstory

24 October: I hate the soreness in your arm immediately after a flu shot. Even worse is the strange hot rash, the chills, and finally the thick sheen of green scales. #twosentencehorrorstory

25 October: The knock at my office door was loud and disconcerting. "Sir, this is the FBI and we're here to discuss the anti-government links you seem to keep posting on social media." #twosentencehorrorstory

26 October: My doctor told me that the irritating pink patch on my right shin was eczema. She didn't tell me it required regular blood sacrifices to keep from spreading; I found that out on my own. #twosentencehorrorstory

27 October: The United States of America. 2018. #twosentencehorrorstory

28 October: I frequently get annoyed with people while driving, but only rarely flip them off when they're assholes. Too bad that guy was an undercover policeman, who people will believe no matter what. #twosentencehorrorstory #theygetdarkernow

29 October: Boulevard Fitness has the most comically inept relationship with their giant industrial fans; over half are broken. Unfortunately for my now severed right hand, the one I was trying to fix manually was just on a time delay. #twosentencehorrorstory

30 October: I am in the middle of grading midterms. This coffee shop's espresso machine just broke down. #twosentencehorrorstory

31 October: Writing these little stories has been a really fun exercise in my own creativity and a chance to turn quotidian anxieties into outlandish fears. If only I could do the same for the political situation all around us and for the intense vulnerability I and so many other people fear is growing every day. #twosentencehorrorstory

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eagle-eyez · 3 years ago

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Shortly after the COVID-19 lockdown began, I found myself all alone in my Mumbai apartment. My roommates had all left, for some reason or the other, and it was just me. The first couple of weeks were easy, I was living my best life and channeling my inner Kevin McAllister with gleeful abandon, eating ice-cream in the middle of the day with not a care in the world. The next couple of weeks, however, were... difficult. There was a point at which my little 2BHK abode, which, on usual days, felt stifling and small, started to seem infinite. The walls began to loom over me, and the walk from the front door to my kitchen felt like a marathon.

I was slowly beginning to succumb to a strange brand of melancholy, the kind that only something like a global pandemic can bring about. In my desperation to exit this sinking quicksand feeling, I tried all sorts of distractions. I watched films that everyone had raved about, television shows that frequently featured on "Top 10 shows to watch if you're not an uncultured swine" lists, even going so far as to — and I shudder to say this out loud — listen to a podcast or two. None of that really worked, and my salvation would finally come whilst trawling through the bargain bin offers on the PlayStation store, in the shape of F1 2019.

Prior to this point, I'd never played an F1 game before, despite being an on-again, off-again fan of the actual sport. Also, my utter incompetence when it comes to racing games might have something to do with why I'd never dipped my toes into Codemasters' decades-long series. In fact, just minutes after booting up F1 2019, I was ready to quit. I was expecting a light, carefree racing experience, but instead, what I got was an ultra-serious, simulator-esque ordeal, with all manners of strange buttons and technical jargon being thrown my way. Despite this initial reluctance, I persevered, and over the next month or so, I obsessively played my way through pretty much everything the game had to offer, and in the process, somehow managed to stave off the lockdown blues (Just to make it clear, I'm not advocating for F1 2019 to replace any of the tools you would use to improve your mental health, please try therapy, it works wonders).

So of course, a year later, when the opportunity came to review the successor to the game that got me through the first few months of the pandemic, I lunged at it with both hands. After having played it for a week or so, I've come to the realisation that despite having sunk many, many hours of my life into this game, I have somehow not gotten any better. I might actually be worse at it than I was a year ago. The game, on the other hand, has improved significantly.

Gameplay and Graphics

While the gameplay of F1 2021 is not massively different from its predecessors, there are a few noteworthy additions that make it a more appealing and polished game than those that came before it. Chief among those is the addition of Braking Point, a "Drive to Survive"-inspired game mode that attempts to throw back the curtain and expose the seedy underbelly of a sport that features 20 millionaires driving around in circles really fast. We'll talk about Braking Point in detail a little later, but F1 2021 is not all about huge updates and big overhauls.

There have also been a number of smaller, more subtle improvements. For an inept hand like myself, the assists, in particular, were one improvement that stood out to me almost immediately. Having little green and red arrows to tell you when to brake and when to accelerate away is really useful, and while these features have been a part of the F1 series for a while now, you do have a slightly larger degree of control over them now.

The game also integrates the DualSense controller's ability to adjust the tension in the trigger buttons, but if you didn't know that before you started playing, you might not realise it at all. In fact, I only remembered that the game was supposed to use adaptive triggers when I was re-watching a teaser trailer that had come out in the build-up to the game's release. Turns out, there are different levels of sensitivity that you can apply to the triggers, and the effects of the default level are not very noticeable. Once I had amped it up a little, I really felt a lot of feedback from the controls, and it made racing a lot more enjoyable by adding a heightened level of tactile interaction.

When it comes to the graphics, there's been a marked improvement in quality, though I suspect that might have more to do with the capabilities of the PlayStation 5 than it has to do with the game itself. Opting to race in rainy conditions will dramatically transform the visuals, with the almost photorealistic soaked asphalt, crunchy gravel and overcast skies really adding to the immersive quality of the experience. In contrast, when racing on circuits like Bahrain, the swirling sand and bright, oppressive sunlight really replicate what it's like to be at that particular track, so much so that while playing the game, I was overcome with nostalgia, thinking back to when a 10-year-old me got a chance to watch the F1 at the Bahrain International Circuit.

Braking Point - The Star Attraction

In Braking Point, F1's new story-focused mode, you're given the opportunity to relive the experience of being a pimply lad in your 20s, trying to make it in a big bad world, through the lens of one Aiden Jackson. Jackson is a strong favourite to win the F2 title, and your first race as Aiden Jackson is the championship-winning season finale that propels you to a seat in Formula 1. Soon after, you're forced to come to grips with the fact that it's not all stars and sunshine in the big leagues, and that underneath the bells and whistles, there's a viciously competitive system that's out to get you.

Among the chief antagonists of this story are your vaguely older teammate Casper Akkerman (really, he could be either 28 or 50) who despises you for being a young hotshot talent, and a very charismatic rival Devon Butler, who just seems to appear out of thin air at the very worst moments possible to sow seeds of doubt in your mind.

Now, there's nothing particularly new or interesting about this storyline in and of itself. It does seem like a slightly plagiarised reincarnation of the Alex Hunter story from FIFA games of the past, even featuring almost identical motivations for the primary character and the antagonists. How it does improve on that, though, is in the execution.

Each character is fleshed out to just the right point, where we neither skim over their reasons for doing what they do, nor dive into their past in exhaustive detail. The interactions between characters, especially those told through the cutscenes, are all paced well, and at no point does the story feel like it's dragging. The only character whose backstory I wasn't fully satisfied with was Akkerman, whose past exploits on the circuit are mentioned only in passing, but it's not something that hampered my enjoyment of the story.

Speaking of Akkerman, another gameplay feature that I really enjoyed was that Braking Point allowed you to race as Akkerman in some races that had were more meaningful to his storyline than they perhaps were to the protagonist. This truly gives players an ability to walk a mile in someone else's shoes, and adds a further level of nuance to this story. It gives a sense of authenticity to the world that the game is trying to bring to your television screens.

This world is also expanded upon by little touches like the mails you get in your inbox, as well as a social media feed of sorts that you can view on your virtual phone. Some of these are quite intriguing, and often form little side stories of their own, over the course of several emails. A significant portion of the story is also told through the medium of telephones, with Aiden being constantly plagued by his mum and team liaison/mediator Brian Doyle.

I do have a couple of gripes about Braking Point. To begin with, since the cutscenes are so visually appealing and well-written, there are occasions outside the cutscenes in which the characters look a little like they've been possessed by a demon, with deadpan expressions and eyes that are cold and calculating. Now, if there's a murder mystery side plot in the pipeline, this is more than acceptable, but otherwise, it just takes away from the overall polish of the game. Secondly, Braking Point is short, even for a novice like me who needs four or five attempts to complete every race.

Career

The career mode allows you to play either as a racer (Driver mode), or as a racer/owner/manager (My Team mode) who juggles the responsibilities of being the man in charge in addition to having to race every weekend. You can play the career mode all by yourself, or, if you have a very, very patient friend, which I do not, you can play it in CO-OP mode, which allows you and your friend to play as teammates or rivals.

When you play the "My Team" version of career mode, you're given a much larger degree of control over the team, and you can dictate proceedings according to your wishes. I found it quite entertaining, both in terms of story and gameplay, and I got a real kick out of acting like the big boss man. It was a little daunting, however, and required a fair bit of googling on my part to understand the progression systems involved in levelling up your engines and gearboxes. Of course, I admittedly have a very superficial knowledge of such things, and someone who is more aware of the inner workings of the sport will likely love the technical side of it.

That's not me though. I'm no geek. I'm fast, I'm furious, and I live to race baby. Hmm, I feel like the 'baby' was a bit too much, but my point stands. I wasn't interested in the makeup of the car or in having to decide what gearbox I was going to use, I just want to smoke fools on the track, and playing the "Driver" mode is perfect for that. You can pick from any team on the F1 and F2 grids, and then compete over the course of a season, or even half a season, if you want. I started out with an F2 side, and found that the journey towards qualifying for the Formula 1 was pretty engaging.

Multiplayer

There are a number of ways in which you can experience the joy of multiplayer racing, from online sessions to local split-screen races. The online races work well enough, but it took me very long to find players to race against, with wait times of over five minutes on some occasions. Perhaps some of that can be attributed to this still being a very new game, and it will likely improve in due time. I also prefer racing with collisions turned off so that other racers are not tangible entities that can make physical contact with me. I personally feel like it's much less chaotic, and ensures you don't fly off the tracks/have your front wing fall off every time you hit someone, but it does also make the race a teeny tiny bit less entertaining.

The multiplayer mode in which I had the most fun, however, was the local split-screen multiplayer, in which you can face off against someone sitting right next to you. Over the course of the past week, my brother and I have waged war on several occasions, and I have emerged victorious on almost every occasion (I let him win one time out of the goodness of my heart).

Grand Prix/Time Trial

These two modes are essentially the most barebones modes available, and they allow players to quickly jump into action whenever they so desire, cutting out any and all semblance of story or plot. They're great for learning how the game works, and challenging yourself to better your previous performances time and time again, should you be so inclined. With the time trial mode, you can also experience every track that the game has to offer without having to complete all of them first.

TL;DR: F1 2021 is a must-have for fans of the genre, as it builds upon an already robust series with numerous upgrades. If you're looking for a more fun, light-hearted racing experience, however, this is probably not for you.

Game reviewed on PlayStation 5. Review code provided by the publisher.

source https://www.firstpost.com/tech/gaming/f1-2021-review-a-near-perfect-blend-of-significant-innovation-and-subtle-improvement-9828141.html

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onceabluemoonwrites · 7 years ago

Text

How To Stay Together Outside the Mafia (Thanks, Mukuro)

Summary: There was nothing wrong with needing reassurance, but it had been blowing up lately with all his guardians, and Tsuna hadn’t been able to figure out why. Now, however, it was all crystal clear.

This was a Code Red situation. His angst babies were insecure and he would have to make sure their run-away-with-the-dark-thoughts-because-that’s-a-fun-road-to-go-down brains would once again understand the situation as it was.

He might be dame, but he had learned. There was only ONE thing to do in a situation like this: Call your mom!

And the rest of his family, because he wasn’t that hopeless.

FF.net | AO3

You can find my fic master list here.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn

‘’BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE DECIMO!’’

Tsuna’s voice shook the very foundations of the house.

Mukuro sighed and pushed another cookie cutter into the dough.

When he moved in with the Sawada’s, he’d narrowed his eyes at Mama- as this woman insisted he call her- who’s flowery aura of… Surprisingly not death, though he had the idea that the woman that birthed Tsunayoshi must have the same strange dual qualities. He was certain it could turn murderous any moment, and yet still smell like fresh laundry and lavender.

…She seemed like the type that would scent her victims with her personal brand of perfume.

‘’What do you want for our boarding?’’

She’d blinked, tapped her lips and beamed. ‘’Well, if you insist, I’d love to have some help with baking! Making treats for the whole family is a lot of work! But don’t worry, I do it with love and I’m sure you will too!’’

Mukuro had flinched away from the disgustingly bright woman, but had accepted the apron she handed him. Frowning, he’d unfolded it. It was a frilly, purple garment. The upper part was shaped like the top-half of a heart, with the lower half having the likeliness of a ruffled skirt. It would have been adorable on Chrome, but this was apparently Mukuro’s apron, and he was going to rock it.

Sure, cute was a no-go, but that was Chrome’s area. Mukuro was the drop dead sexy half of the twin act. He would work Lolita like no man had worked it before!

Cackling to himself, he swung his narrow hips to let the ruffles bounce properly and set out to help his Mama.

…Calling her that was just practice for when he took over Tsunayoshi’s body. Yeah. That was it.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was devil spawn. Literally.

‘’Welcome to THE Sawada Household, Mukuro. Welcome to Hell.’’ He had murmured when he’d come home on Mukuro’s arrival day, before falling over the table in exhaustion.

Mukuro had not believed him. He’d even joked about it! “I’ve already been to hell six times. Not to this particular Hell, no.’’ Sarcasm, so lovely, applicable in every situation.

By now, however, reality had sunk in. The Sawada Household was the seventh Hell Mukuro had landed in, and he wasn’t all that eager to leave. This one taught the deadliest tricks, mind you. Sawada Nana was the greatest Satan he had ever seen.

Top techniques included: The Flowery Aura of Death, Set-the-Table, Mama’s Disappointment, the Guilttrip, Religion inducing Cooking, Yes-You-Must-Go-Bathe and the most deadly of all: Love Makes the World Go Round (Fly, you fools!).

So here he was, a few weeks into his stay at the Sawada household, making little cat-shaped cookies for Chrome, yoyo’s for Chikusa and paws for Ken. The only ones he owned up to making specifically for someone were the paws, of course. He couldn’t help but snigger as he pushed the mini-paw out of the cookie cutter with a fork. Comparing Ken to a dog in any way was guaranteed to get great reactions. Teasing him was just too much fun!

The door slid closed behind him, and an arm reached past him, snatching up part of the dough. Nobody touched the dough.

Mukuro’s fork missed the hand by a hair’s breadth.

‘’God fucking damn it, Rokudo! Let a man have his cookie dough!’’

Whirling around (ruffles rushing, to his eternal pleasure), Mukuro smiled at Gokudera. ‘’Well, well, well, Ha-ya-to~~ Have a little argument with the boss?’’

Gokudera shivered.

Popping a chocolate chip into his mouth, Mukuro smirked. Gokudera’s insecurities were just too easy to play into and those flowery aura of death lessons were paying off. Mama was awesome (No, not a personal meaning, it was a general opinion.

…

Okay, maybe not just a general opinion, but Sawada Nana’s food was Worthy of Worship and Mukuro was pretty sure she somehow managed to enslave him through it, the devilish woman!)

‘’He’s still refusing to talk about the future. Any attempt to talk to him about being Decimo, our future together… It just fails,’’ Gokudera stared morosely at his empty hand as if he were seeing the bottom of a whiskey glass (if Chrome asked, Mukuro had no idea how that might look) instead of a cookie dough-free hand. The way his eyes widened reminded Mukuro of a mutt. This was probably what people meant when they talked about ‘’puppy dog eyes,’’.

Mukuro handed the white-haired adolescent more dough. A technique to keep him talking. Sympathy was for the weak.

…Tsunayoshi not becoming Decimo was a problem if Mukuro wanted to possess his body and destroy the mafia. Then again, Tsunayoshi being in a relationship with Tsunayoshi 2.0 (the red-headed one) and Cherry-blossom-chan (even just thinking about calling Hibari that made him cackle in glee) meant Cherry-blossom-chan had touched that body. Tsunayoshi was tainted now and possessing his body might result in cooties.

Letting Chrome join the Vongola might be an option after all. She deserved to be happy and being one of Sawada’s guardians certainly seemed to do the job!

Mukuro wanted to wash his mouth out with soap, the sugar was too much.

But, in the interest of Chrome’s future happiness, Mukuro couldn’t let Tsunayoshi go on about not becoming Decimo. Because if he wasn’t Decimo, then what use would he have for a tool like Muku- Chrome?

Chrome would be all alone again, without heating! No more cookies to bake for a house full of people, no more ruffled aprons to wear, no Fran to antagonize about his crush on Le Petit Prince (Squealing? Mukuro? No, that was Chrome! Honestly, you people!) and most of all: No one to love an asshole like- he meant cutie- Chrome.

Leaving the fork stuck in the counter and Gokudera with more cookie dough, Mukuro stalked out of the kitchen. Tying his apron strings tighter, Mukuro clenched his jaw. He was going to do something selfless for the first time in years.

Protect his adorable Chrome’s future and defend Gokudera’s hurt feelings so he could snigger about it later.

No self-interest at all! The things Mukuro did for his subordinates!

Now, on to make Sawada Tsunayoshi cease his attempts to abandon his post as heir!

‘’Sawada Tsunayoshi!’’

A disembodied voice resonated through the room. Mist drifted, engulfing the bed, kotatsu and desk with little effort. The door creaked, the curtains skid closed, the sound of metal against metal.

An eerie silence settled.

‘’If you’re just here to spy on me, get out or be more subtle.’’ Tsunayoshi looked up from his attempts to straighten his tie, completely ignoring the fact that only his upper half was completely covered.

‘’My, my, my, Tsunayoshi, so forward!’’

The brunette didn’t even bother to wave him away. ‘’I’m too used to you guys storming my room at all hours.’’ A tired sigh.

The room darkened. ‘’I heard your fight with Gokudera. As the Socially Inept Person in this household, I must say-‘’

‘’Isn’t Kyouya the Socially Inept Person?’’ Tsunayoshi continued to struggle with his tie. Honestly, the guy was a fashion disaster. How a respectable Madame Murder like Sawada Nana had birthed him… Mukuro had no idea.

Before he could answer, the brunette opened his mouth again. ‘’Oh, wait, Kyouya’s the Social-Skills-Nonexistent-Get-Tetsuya-To-Translate Person.’’

If even Tsunayoshi thought so, then how did their relationship even work? Did Kusakabe just… sit there all the time? Next to them?

…Then again, Tsunayoshi 2.0. doubtlessly had that woman (Adel, the one with the Murder Maniac tendencies) hovering over him, so maybe she and Kusakabe just did well in company.

Mukuro would have to look into that later- the greatest blackmail material ever.

‘’But what were you saying about Hayato?’’

Mukuro’s fist clenched. Tsunayoshi said it so casually, as if nothing had happened. And that was, as even he could admit, absolutely awful in the face of all Gokudera’s work. Mukuro hated do-gooders, but the bomber spent a lot of time with the Sawada’s, and there was no way the illusionist couldn’t notice all the effort the man put into becoming a better righthand man. And this reaction? It was utterly unfair to him.

Damn it. Mukuro had picked up a stray again. Just don’t feed them, and it will be alright, was the golden rule, but he kept breaking it, and the minute he fed them, he was gone! …Let’s just bury that underneath a mountain of denial, ne?

Curse the heavens for creating the Mist with a pinch of Sky flame-alignment! Mukuro pouted.

Appearing from thin air in front of Tsunayoshi’s nose, Mukuro jabbed a finger into his chest and hissed: ‘’Stop saying you don’t want to be Decimo. The fool is trying so hard to do better and you just keep throwing that back in his face every time. How do you think that makes him feel?’’

Tsuna sighed. ‘’You can’t force me into a career just because you want me to be, Mukuro.’’

‘’I said Gokudera wanted it,’’ Mukuro crossed his arms, ‘’He’s never had a safe family before- you can’t take that from him!’’

Tsuna’s mouth fell open. ‘’That is what this is all about?’’

‘’What else would it be about? The cookies? Because there’s sure a hell nothing wrong with those, I assure you!’’

‘’I know, I know, go put them in the oven- we’re going to need them in a bit.’’

‘’I wasn’t making any!’’ Mukuro yelled as Tsuna pushed him through the door opening. ‘’I wasn’t!’’

Slumping against the door, Tsuna rubbed his temples. God. Mukuro was insecure and had a Small and Breakable Heart (…and would probably slit your throat with the pieces left of it but that wasn’t the point in case). He was one of the most reassurance-needing guardians, and Tsuna’s storm was Gokudera.

There was nothing wrong with needing reassurance, but it had been blowing up lately with all his guardians, and Tsuna hadn’t been able to figure out why. Now, however, it was all crystal clear.

He might be dame, but he had learned. There was only ONE thing to do in a situation like this: Call your mom!

And the rest of his family, because he wasn’t that hopeless.

Sitting on a chair in the circle, Tsuna stapled his hands against each other. ‘’’We’re here today because it has come to my attention that we have a communication problem.’’

Gokudera almost choked on his drink. ‘’What?! How has this not come to my attention before?!’’

Yamamoto patted him on the back.

‘’It has come to your attention. We’ve been fighting about this since forever and I’m done.’’

‘’’Giving up is EXTREMELY not right, Sawada!’’ The rest of the room’s occupants began to talk too.

‘’You have to be Decimo, Juudaime!’’

‘’…Kufufufu, making my dear Chrome cry? She’s Murder Moe, Tsunayoshi, she knows where to find you!’’

‘’LAMBO WANTS TO STAY WITH MAMA!’’

Tsuna slammed his hand down on the table. ‘’This is exactly what I mean! If you would shut up for a second, I could tell you-‘’

‘’Shut up, dame-Tsuna.’’ Reborn jumped down from the ceiling fan, but before his mallet could connect with Tsuna’s skull, the brunet’s eyes flashed a deep orange and he threw Reborn aside. Landing on the table, Reborn opened his mouth, but Tsuna had enough.

"GOD FUCKING DAMMNIT, WOULD YOU ALL LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY WHEN I FUCKING SPEAK?! Not you Chrome, you’re a sweetheart.”

Taking off the ring, he threw it on the ground and stomped on it a couple times. It hurt his feet more than it did the ring harm, but god, that felt good. ‘’I’m NOT becoming Decimo, and if you all would just listen, you’d know this DOES NOT mean the end of us as a family.’’

Gokudera deflated like he was a balloon and Tsuna just stuck a pin in him. ‘’Oh.’’

‘’Yes, oh.’’ Tsuna sat back down. ‘’Though, to be honest, I could’ve handled this better too. I should’ve known this was the problem and just taken it out at the root. I’m sorry.’’

Ken scoffed. ‘’Pretty words, Sawada, but how do you wanna keep us together then? I sure as hell ain’t seeing results here!’’

Tsuna shrugged. ‘’No offence, but you guys were born into the mafia. You might want to destroy it, but it’s hard for you to think in terms of life outside of it. I thought we might be able to come up with something else together.’’

‘’Besides, this house will always be a home for all of you.’’ Nana smiled, hugging Lambo to her chest. The little boy melted into the embrace.

‘’Mama’s the best.’’

Nobody protested. Unanimous agreement there.

It was silent for a moment, the only sound to be heard was Kyouya munching on a tonfa cookie. …Tsuna was pretty sure Mukuro had put poison in there. He clearly was nowhere near Bianchi’s level, though, because Kyouya hadn’t kicked the bucket yet.

Then again, maybe he was trying to give him diabetes. Death by sugary goodness. Mukuro’s evil knew no bounds (according to the boy himself, that was. Though the corner of Kyouya’s mouth creeping up while he was happily munching on the cookies was definitely creeping Tsuna out).

‘’…So,’’ Bianchi murmured, ‘’Just because the mafia threw us together, it doesn’t mean we have to stay in it together. We can go be together somewhere else. That’s what you wanted to say, right? But what’s the next step?’’

Tsuna cleared his throat. ‘’I have a four-step plan and it’s guaranteed to work. This is how it’s going down…’’

‘’Sawada, that plan EXTREMELY sucks.’’

Yamamoto laughed, rubbing his neck. ‘’Sorry, Tsuna, but Ryohei’s right.’’

‘’Of course it sucks!’’ Haru rummaged through her bag and threw keys, pads and a crowbar onto the table, before she found the magazines she’d apparently been searching for. The glossy covers gleamed in the light. ‘’Us, opening up a food factory? Please, we’d sell poisoned goods and be back in the crime business before the day was over- and that is if we didn’t get bored and destroy the whole place! No, I have the perfect solution!’’ Kyoko did jazz hands behind Haru before the effect. Together, they struck a pose. ‘’A fashion house!’’

‘’…Wut?’’

‘’Oh, come on, Tsuna-kun! Don’t be like that!’’ Kyoko bounced up and down. ‘’We have the perfect skillset for it! Hana, we have a chart, right?’’

‘’I thought the chart was going to stay a secret,’’ Hana hissed into Kyoko’s ear, but she did pull an enormous chart out of her handbag.

‘’Mary Poppins,’’ I-Pin breathed, eyes big and starry, looking like Christmas had come early. Lambo squealed, making grabby hands at the older girl.

Hana stared at her for a moment. ‘’Okay, never doing that again. It attracts kids.’’

Lambo pouted, but Nana kept him quiet.

The rest of the room was staring at the charts. Putting on her glasses, Hana began using her laser pointer. ‘’As you can see here, we have thought about the finances. There are several people who would definitely invest in our ventures, especially with young, talented designers like Haru and Mukuro-san.’’

‘’Runway shows wouldn’t be a problem either,’’ Kyoko pointed out, ‘’I know you’ve done a couple of runway shows before, Hibari-san, and distinctive walks like Ken and Chikusa’s would do very well! They’d be able to establish a brand right away!’’

‘’Sasawaga -kun’s energy could also work,’’ Chrome said quietly, ‘’Plus, his athletic abilities give him options other models wouldn’t have. He could easily maintain his boxing on the side.’’

‘’Ooooh! Good idea!’’ Haru fished a pen from underneath the pads and the crowbar and scribbled it down on the chart right away- ignoring Hana’s grimace at her neat work being messed up.

‘’Also, Reborn-san likes suits and Tsuna-san is the perfect watch model!’’ Haru elbowed Hana, ‘’I mean, have you seen his wrists?! Holy objects, I’m telling you!’’

Kyoko giggled. Tsuna gaped.

‘’Hmmm…’’ Mukuro tapped his lips, ‘’My dear Chrome, you would do VERY well with perfume spots, don’t you think?’’

Chrome hid a laugh behind her hand. ‘’Only if it’s called ‘Murder Moe’.’’

Bianchi cocked her head. ‘’Hmm… Bit of a silly name, but I could definitely cook something up for a fragrance with an atmosphere like that!’’

‘’Hey!’’ Ken shouted, ‘’No making fun of Mukuro-sama’s nicknames!’’

‘’Shut up, Ken!’’ Mukuro threw his trident at him like a mother hen curbing her ducklings by pecking at them until they stood in line. ‘’Anyway,’’ he flicked his hair out of his eyes, ‘’I would only agree to such proposal if I got my own shoe line.’’

Gokudera’s mouth dropped. ‘’Are you mad?! Wait- don’t answer that. Of course you’re getting your own shoe line. I mean, have you seen your shoes? If I knew where to buy boots like that spiky pair you wore yesterday, I’d have gone bankrupt already!’’ He bit his lip, ‘’Um. If we’re doing this, that is.’’

‘’Of course we’re doing it,’’ Bianchi rolled her eyes, ‘’I’m tired of you stealing my crop tops. If we have a fashion house, we might actually be able to satisfy your clothing addiction.’’

Gokudera narrowed his eyes. ‘’Pot calling the kettle black!’’

Nana laughed. ‘’That’s family to you!’’

‘’…Now we’re on the topic anyway, Yamamoto-san, would you be willing to model? We’d love some more eye-candy.’’

‘’Eye-candy, huh?’’ Yamamoto’s eyes narrowed.

Haru smiled like the cat got the canary. ‘’Why, yes, we need someone to dress up like a giant grape so Lambo will sit still during the onesie shoots!’’

Yamamoto’s jaw dropped.

Kyoko appeared behind Haru, tucking a lock behind her ear. ‘’That’s not what you said last night, sweetheart!’’

She winked at Yamamoto. ‘’Don’t worry, Takeshi-kun! Byakuran-san sure won’t be the only one who will enjoy all those shirtless photoshoots!’’

Never mind Flame Fashion™, who the hell let Byakuran talk to Kyoko-chan and how much time did they have left before the world imploded?!

In the end, it all came down to this: No matter what Mukuro said about Tsuna’s fashion sense, Vongola was the final boss, and they defeated it together.

Author’s Note

Xanxus became Decimo and buys Flame Fashion in bulk. Dino is eternally grateful to Mukuro for designing the sexiest heels in existence because Xanxus rocks them.

Interviewer: “Where did your brand name come from?”

Haru: “Funny story, actually! We kept saying our people were flaming!”

Kyoko: *beams and the world falls in love,” So we called it “Flame Fashion” because we’re on fire!’’

Tsuna: *looks at the camera with dead eyes* They set everything on fire. Everything. There is no escape.

I might write some more about the Flame Fashion house, so if anyone has suggestions, don’t hesitate to tell me! Maybe I’ll get inspired because I know you lot- you’re enablers! Also, a fun experiment: send some KHR fashion headcanons through my ask! I’m curious what you guys think what kind of high fashion the KHR characters would wear! For an example of what I’m talking about, I’ve got a post here.

Thanks a LOT to @i-w-p-chan for squealing with me! The line “GOD FUCKING DAMMNIT, WOULD YOU ALL LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY WHEN I FUCKING SPEAK?! Not you Chrome, you’re a sweetheart.” was her first reaction when I told her what I was writing and she gave me permission to use it! :D

Other than that, the moment between Bianchi and Gokudera was inspired by this post by @incorrectkhr !

The ‘’Mist with a pinch of sky’’ was inspired by @nightmare-aoife ’s Mukuro from the Cradle ‘verse!

And also thanks to @operaeagleicelynlacelett for asking me about Mukuro doing chores and Tsuna one-upping Reborn which reminded me of this, and got me writing again!

#sawada tsunayoshi #khr #fic #rokudo mukuro #gokudera hayato #fanfic #onceabluemoonwrites fic #fanfiction #my posts #how to stay together

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secretgiftsforshaman · 4 years ago

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I wrote 2826 entire words before I collapsed last night

I have been seriously struggling this academic quarter. And I seriously struggled last academic quarter. As I did in undergrad, and in high school, junior high, and elementary. But I do not have any learning disabilities. And you have some idea of how smart I am in general, but I’ll share one specific example about just how very academically intelligent I am. On the SAT, I scored 700 in reading, 730 in writing, and 780 in math and I did not study for it. I spent most of the test bored and waiting for the allotted time to run out because I finished nearly every section way early. Early enough that at one point I had enough time to leisurely leave and use the restroom and came back before everyone else had finished. The only reason I did not score a perfect 800 in math because I missed *exactly* one question. I can still remember and visualize exactly which one it was – and only I missed it because it was the second to last one of the last math section and my brain read the word ‘diameter’ and was tired enough that my brain went ‘oh cool, radius’ even though I could have easily solved that problem when I was 11 or 12 (if you haven’t already gone “wow, she’s got some serious perfectionism issues” then now would be a good time for you to do so).

All of this to say: it has never been a question of not being able to understand the content. Very, very rarely in my entire scholastic lifetime have I ever not understood what was being taught to me. It is – and always has been – a matter of not being able to sit down and do the work.

One of the rubs of being so smart (especially when also socially inept – I don’t think I’ve ever had a formal diagnosis, but I would be astonished to learn if I wasn’t somewhere on the autism spectrum) is that your sense of self-worth is all too easily conflated with your intelligence and academic performance, placing massive pressure on yourself to be good at school, ‘cause that’s one of the few things I was reliably good at.

Most of my school-age bullies, particularly the loudest ones, were just as smart as I was: all enrolled in the same accelerated classes, but they didn’t struggle the way I did, and they definitely saw it, and made sure I knew they did. They could all do their homework and turn things in on time, but I just couldn’t sit down and do even the simplest assignments sometimes – let alone the big projects and reports, not without crippling deadline pressure. My parents and teachers also tended to view the situation as if there was some kind of issue with me, too: that I was lazy/disorganized/not ‘applying myself’/needed discipline and punishment and then I’d be fine – alllll of that unhelpful bullshit.

Nobody thought that I wasn’t smart enough, though. Clearly, I was always great on tests: sit me down and ask me what I know and if there’s a definitive correct answer then odds are good that I knew what it was, so I excelled in math and science, and I took great comfort from knowing what I was doing and working familiar problems over and over. But having to go find sources for research and report on something or answer essay style questions – anything subjective or humanities-ish – was my kryptonite. I couldn’t ever say “this is enough information, this is complete and I’m done now” – once I started searching I’d drown in all of the information available and not be able to pull myself out with just enough to get the job done. I would become paralyzed simply by the thought of needing to sit down and do schoolwork, so I’d avoid it and distract myself with reading or anything else BUT schoolwork. And if I ever fell behind (which ALWAYS happened because that’s what happens when your avoidant coping is your default), then it was like pouring anti-napalm on everything: I’d be even more frozen and unable to function, like cold terrified acid licking through my veins. I have been a student most of my life – 21 and a half years to date – and the entire fucking time I’ve been limping along like this, always hoping at the start of each new term that This Time, somehow, I could Just Do It Already The Way I Should Be Able To, but over and over that optimism has crumbled to ashes in that undying flame of fear, paralysis, self-disgust, and despair.

I am able, now, to identify and name what I have suffered from my entire life, the condition that I was made to carry so much crippling SHAME for, that I learned to hide almost completely from all of my loved ones for over a decade so nobody would see that shame and decide to think less of me.

I have anxiety and complex PTSD.

Where one ends and the other begins isn’t worth the effort of trying to tease them apart. The DSM-5 is an imperfect tool and no diagnosis is a uniform monolith – anxiety, PTSD, depression, and every other name of every other illness is merely a professional shorthand for “all/most of these symptoms are present.” It makes much more sense to treat my anxiety and PTSD as a single condition. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that my endocrine disorder, PCOS, was triggered by the chronic stress/elevated cortisol and insulin (because one of the most socially acceptable ways for our nervous systems to regulate and soothe themselves when under stress is with food), and if it isn’t completely just part of the same thing, then it’s LARGELY overlapping with the anxiety/PTSD (I know that my mother and grandmother suffered in a very similar way in school, and I know that the PCOS is tied to inherited/ancestral trauma, so it makes every kind of sense if the anxiety/PTSD that we all have is related as well).

I have had a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis on my chart for years, and I’ve known, in my rational brain, that I’ve needed to get it under control to feel better and function in school (and to be honest, with almost all other professional/adulting things too). But thinking about what I need and actually DOING something about it are such utterly different things. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have been able to admit to myself that I need real, professional help to overcome this condition – and to ask for and start receiving that help. There is a big culture in my family, especially us women, about ignoring our own issues and focusing on helping other people first (I know I must have written to you about this before), so this has been a massive step for me.

For a while I’ve been struggling to stay on top of my classes, and have fallen behind in all four of them, and the feeling of being overwhelmed has only increased exponentially. I’ve wanted, desperately, to go to an emotional ER so many times the past month, so much so that I found myself wanting (and knowing on a deep level that my body needs) some kind of pharmaceutical support to get me through the fucking day and allow me to do some of the massive, teetering pile of backlogged work. Upon hearing about my experiences of paralysis and dysfunction, and scoring very high on the anxiety diagnosis questionnaire she used, my doc, who rarely reaches for her Rx pad off the bat, suggested putting me on Clonidine (non-addictive, originally developed for hypertension) especially after my double-checked at-home blood pressure reading was 154/80 (which is consistent with STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION in an otherwise healthy and young TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD for fucks sake)(insert emojis denoting ABJECT PANIC here).

I am comforted by the fact that my doctor, who I’ve seen since I was a tweenager, has shifted in the past few years to specialize in treating addiction and substance dependency, so if there’s anybody who I can trust to medicate me without causing a chemical dependence it’s her (thank GODDESS). Dr. M agrees with my perspective that the meds are just a temporary measure to alleviate my symptoms enough to function, and that the true treatment is the therapy work that I’ve been trying to do for myself, but there’s only so much you can do all by your lonesome, no matter how many self-help books you read (and goodness knows I’ve read a TON).

So I also finally started seeing a therapist (!), and just admitting some of this out loud to another person has been so profoundly healing. Our second session was this past Wednesday, and I was able to start opening up and telling her that I think my anxiety traces back to ancestral trauma and how I feel called to use a bottom-up, somatic approach (hence my recent interest in shamanism, ritual, soul retrieval, transpersonal psychology, etc., which she’s totally accepting of; again, THANK GODDESS).

One of the many many many self-help books that I’ve had my nose in is “The Instinct to Heal: Curing Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Without Drugs and Without Talk Therapy” by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD (which I started reading like a day before I finally admitted that I needed to take drugs and do talk therapy *laughing at myself emoji here*). Servan-Schreiber beautifully articulated the relationship between our neocortex: the newly, highly developed, outer portions of the brain where our logic, reason, cognition, and consciousness arise from, and our limbic system: the older, more primitive inner section of our brains that controls our unconscious, autonomic physiological processes (like breathing, digestion, heart rate, etc.), trauma, instinct, intuition, and emotion, and is therefore far more deeply and intensely connected to the body (and bodily held memories) than the neocortex.

I’ve been running around in my rational, conscious, neocortex mind *thinking* about all of my issues and traumas and everything for ages, and I understand so much about these things on that rational level – but that is miles away from the irrational, unconscious, limbic bodymind where all of those traumas actually ARE and continue to play out over and over as if they’re still happening. This is something that my therapist helped me understand – our neocortex understands that this is a different time and the thing that happened in the past is over and done and we’re safe now, but the limbic system has no sense of time. In our irrational reptile brains, everything still exists the same as it did all those years ago as if it never stopped happening. THIS is where our inner wounded child lives, where a soul fragment likely fled from for safety in the midst of the unendurable whatever-it-was that precipitated the trauma response, and where the empty spot is where it needs to be called back to still resides, open and waiting and longing.

THIS is why I’ve felt called towards the irrational, mystical, shamanic modes of healing: I’ve done as much as I can with my rational mind, which cannot be used to solve an irrational problem or heal an irrational wound, which is what all trauma is. A couple of weeks ago, when I asked you for your help as a shaman with conducting a soul retrieval, this is the kind of work that I was starting to realize that I need to do. The crazy Thing That I Did that I told you about (and meant to describe for you more at the time but I was exhausted and desperately needed the rest instead) was a small and beautiful spontaneous retrieval of a part of me when I was seven, a part that was thirteen, and a part of me as a young infant that I brought to my own breast in recognition that I was both deserving of my own love, nourishment, and care, and capable of being a loving, heart-centered parent to myself. I felt all of the past, younger versions of me that I’ve already been gathered in concentric circles within me, and all of the older versions of me that I’ve not yet been spiraling around me, and my ancestors and guides and spirits and all of the love and kindness that anyone has ever directed towards me gathered around all of me like a compassionate embrace, and I think that it was that experience that gave me just enough of my soul back, just enough juice and magic that I could start digging my teeth in and taking the steps I needed to take to seek treatment and get my legs back underneath me.

As amazing and beautiful as that experience was, it wasn’t everything that I need in order to heal. I want to do a soul retrieval/healing ritual to unfreeze the part of me (and the part of my mother, grandmother, and other ancestors) that is stuck in that root trauma – where the anxiety, complex PTSD, PCOS - where all of that junk stems from. I don’t yet have much sense at all what that’s gonna look like, but I know that it’s gonna be the biggest damn spell I’ve ever cast, and that I don’t think I can cast it alone. Watch this space.

I do think, though, that preparing for that is the thing to do for now, by accumulating small things on multiple fronts – growing my strength, calling back small parts of me, telling more and more loved ones about my truth, chipping away at the stack of things to do, continuing with meds and therapy, contacting my professors and possibly the department/program admin (with a letter from Dr. M in hand documenting my diagnosis and treatment) to let them know that I need help I’m figuring out how to make up for assignments that I haven’t turned in and make sure that I can continue next quarter and not get kicked out of the program. I’m still carrying a lot of fear of failure/expulsion around this (and anxiety = paralysis = inaction for me, even though I desperately want to fix it) – especially after handling myself so badly in a similar situation at the end of last quarter. When you’ve got a minute, I’d appreciate a pep talk about broaching the subject with them.

All in all, I’m doing well and things are looking up in a way I’ve NEEDED them to start looking up for literal decades. I’ve even been able to start telling my mother about how badly I’ve been doing (she knows I’ve seen my doctor and started therapy and meds) and allowing her to see that pain and struggle after years of hiding it from her out of shame has been scary but such a relief. But Goddess Knows I’ve got A LOT to do still. Just cause I’ve finally struck a match and can navigate a little better doesn’t mean I’m out of the dungeon yet.

I began the meds just yesterday, and I’ve spent the day decompressing (never been a better time for me to have a few days all to myself kitten-sitting for some friends while they go to a tiny, COVID-regulation compliant thanksgiving visit with their family in Portland). Drowsiness is a listed side effect of Clonidine, and I was really worried that my prescribed dose was too high after being soooooo tired yesterday and today after I took the pills, but my increasing suspicion is that I’ve just been so high-strung and hypervigilant (hello super premature hypertension!) that the anti-anxiety/BP-lowering drug just uncovered the chronic e x h a u s t I o n that was already (always) there, rather than them making me drowsy when I wasn’t. So I’ve spent the day eating my friend’s leftovers (she’s an AMAZING cook) and cat napping with the two sweetest little troublemakers you ever did see (I’ll send pics!).

I think that FINALLY being able to relax like this was what helped me to begin to be receptive and start opening up (and connecting with you!) again. Anxiety = I clam up, my libido nosedives, and my pelvic tightness/vaginal armoring gets painful and rigid – all bad prospects for wild, sexy, blooming Love-Lust-and-Light fun. I was so glad to reconnect with you – and that you reminded me that I need to get this out and I can process it and heal it by sharing it with you – that our Sacred Space is still there for me to use and pour my pain and magic and consciousness out into.

I think that’s all the most important developments. I’m excited to hear all about all of your new developments, processing, perspectives too.

And now I’m gonna go to bed. One nap today was NOT enough to recover from goddess-knows-how-long-I’ve-had-this chronic fatigue. I’ll talk to you soon

I love you, Άδης

Your Εκάτε <3

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