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calpops · 4 years ago

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falling facade | c.h.

part nine: falling fires

5k words

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“I told you,” Arden whispered when morning came and the storm the paparazzi brought was drowned out by filtered sunshine. “Just needed to rest it.”

Calum was relieved to find she was moving about with much more ease than the night before; her fall on the sidewalk swarmed by flashing cameras looked much worse than it really was. Calum now figured part of the problem was shock; the unexpected growing crowd and being closed in had shaken her much more than the fall or the twist of her ankle. She woke before him but Calum had to wonder if she really slept at all after the debacle. He had held her close the entire night, had drifted and woke when she shifted. Now she stood at the edge of his bed with her hair piled on top of her head and one of his sweatshirts stolen and hanging off her frame for the morning.

“Why don’t you keep resting it and I’ll get us some breakfast?” He asked and sat up, rubbed at his tired eyes then used one hand to pull her close and hoped it would coax her back into bed. “Can swing by the diner and get your favorite.”

The promise of a cinnamon roll was enough to get her to settle back in. Duke clamored his way to her from his perch at the end of the bed where he liked to keep a lookout out of the door. Calum slipped on some decent clothes and bid them both a goodbye with kisses to their foreheads and left with a smile as they snuggled back in together. The morning felt much lighter than the night though new weights hung over their heads. Calum would have to negotiate with management to make his promise to Arden come true. No more paparazzi walks. He’d propose more social media posts to even the balance. He didn’t hold his breath or his hope that they would go for it, but he had to try. He made it to the diner and relished how quiet and calm it was compared to the club. He ordered at the counter but let his gaze flicker over to their booth where a crayon drawing had been created. It was still stuck to his fridge. After ordering his phone began buzzing, notification after notification pouring in. His eyes couldn’t keep up with the flickering screen but key words and names jumped out at him.

He went stiff and silent as he pieced it together. An interview they had done during their week of promo was exploding on its online publication. His words were plastered across headlines and taken terribly out of context. They were glaring and put a pit in his stomach. The crowd last night, the article going live along with cherry picked photos of Calum “leaving Arden in the crowd” and the timing of them all put together reeked of management. With numb hands he pocketed his phone, accepted the order from the kind waitress and headed back for his car, all the while fearing what Arden would think and if she might understand his words weren’t real. They were twisted and contrived into something he would never mean. He ran for the door as soon as he was parked in the driveway. He was about to rush to the bedroom with food still in his hands but stopped short when Arden was on the couch, Duke held to her chest and a despondent look capturing hazel.

Calum tossed the breakfast on the counter and went to her. She pursed her lips and though it seemed as if she was harrowed by his words and the way they were used against them, she reached for him. Discarded her phone and was thankful to see the article disappear as it locked.

“You know I didn’t say that right? Not like that. They took it all and twisted it. I’d never—“ Calum began but Arden shook her head and cut him off.

“I know you wouldn’t. I’m not stupid. And I trust you. Fuck, I was probably even there when you said what you actually said”—she shifted up and made room for him to settle in beside her—“I know we haven’t defined what we really are but… you wouldn’t say or do that.”

At first she was certain. Voice steady and breathing even as she rationalized and talked through the words that sank low in Calum’s stomach. And then she fell into the spiral and let it sway her certainty and fray her thoughts.

“Would you?” She asked and Calum could see the regret flash across her face the moment the words left her lips.

“No,” Calum was quick to put her small doubts to bed. His fingers trailed her jaw and coaxed her to look at him. Reminded her with a gentle touch of all that they were and all that was fake. “We’re together, Arden. I’m not waiting to start touring to see how things pan out. I’m not gonna leave you behind.”

“Together?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Calum said with a soft smile and easy glide of fingertips along her soft cheek. She pressed into the touch and let out a sigh, kept questions in her gaze and begged him to further explain. “I’ve wanted to be with you since the kiss on the dance floor. I thought it was decided that afternoon at the art gallery. I guess I never officially asked though.”

“No, you didn’t,” Arden responded and twisted the fake ring around her finger. For a second it didn’t feel so fake. For just a heartbeat Calum could picture it being real.

“Will you be my real girlfriend inside of our fake engagement?”

The question got Arden to giggle and it was music to Calum’s ears. The mood was lighter as she pretended to contemplate.

“Well I don’t know about that,” she said around a laugh and silenced when Calum kissed her, reminded her of why she should know. “I think my yes is obvious. Ever since Vegas. Especially since the art gallery.”

Calum couldn’t cut back the grin that consumed him or stop himself from leaning in to steal another kiss. She was supple and sweet and calm worked its way back through them. The chaos of the past night and morning was starting to shatter and for that Calum was grateful. Arden knew the headline was contrived. And now they both understood each other and the way they were defining what was between them. A real relationship veiled by a fake engagement. There were still hurdles to surpass, still truths that needed to be told, still forces that needed to be fought. But for now they had each other unquestionably.

“Why now?” She wondered aloud as the kiss ended and another notification lit up her phone screen discarded on the coffee table in front of them. “It has to be management. They’re starting the split aren’t they? It’s only been five months. I thought we had more time, why now?”

Calum shook his head, pressed a gentle kiss to her neck and rested against her shoulder. “I don’t know.”

Her fingers found purchase in his hair and lightly ran through it, the motion calming for both of them. “They’re making it seem like you’re not interested anymore. I thought it was supposed to be mutual. I thought we had an entire year before we had to worry about it. But now that we’re real…”

“We’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Calum decided; he’d put an end to the flames, make sure paparazzi walks were a thing of the past, the truth was a fleeting thought in his mind but it was squandered by fear they may use it as ammunition against them. “We’ll get it figured out. I’m not going to let them ruin us.”

Calum felt a nod from Arden and the way she settled her chin on the top of his head. She was warm and her arms were comfortable. Rarely did Calum seek out such a form of affection and comfort; so used to being the one to hold his arms open, her embrace and hold was refreshing and reassuring. Calum remembered her whispered plea to go home during a promo day—to Calum’s place—and realized that right here, in her arms, with lips pressed to her skin, was home for him. She was his comfort; the certainty to the questions and the calm to the chaos. Two different four letter words he hadn’t felt in a long time. One was here. Home. One sat heavy on his chest and burned in the back of his throat. Love.

There was a fear that it was too soon; they were moving too fast and Calum was merely blinded by the lights and mixing realities. Then there were the years they spent coexisting. The remembrance of things past that only highlighted everything he felt in the present. Paintings in hallways and teasing initials and nicknames in melodies and nights spent in her bed. Maybe, it really was love at second first sight.

***

Once headlines were forgotten and Calum had words with management; an agreement reached to lean back on time with paparazzi and some expletives over the twisted words, Calum and Arden found alone time together once more. The diner brought back blushing memories and a sense of normalcy and ease. Hair fell in her face as she scribbled on a menu once more and words of a painting sat on the tip of Calum’s tongue but he held them back and enjoyed the subtleties of her happiness. A slight smile upturned the corners of her mouth and the backlight of the sun set her in a glow that made her a work of art.

Calum’s phone rang on the laminate table top and Arden only spared a second to glance over as he rolled his eyes at the device and silenced it.

“Anyone important?” She asked and ducked back down to her work in progress.

Calum sighed, the sound was tired and a bit exasperated. “Not really.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing.”

He rubbed at his jaw and contemplated how to tell a truth, not wanting to leave Arden in the dark or omit anything. As many lies as they lived Calum needed honesty between them to even out the balance.

“It’s just…” he began and felt trepidation dance up his spine. She looked up at him, arched eyebrow and a gentle gaze telling him he could share. “An ex. She’s texted and called a couple of times since that headline came out. I thought she’d get the memo when I ignored them all. I’ll block her.”

“You don’t have to,” Arden said around a laugh and reached for his hand. “You know you could just talk to her and tell her some form of the truth. I had to with Brett.”

“Brett?” Calum asked, the name jarring something inside of him, setting something at unease. “Your ex? Who dumped you? Married your best friend in Vegas?”

“All of the above,” she confirmed and rolled her eyes—a huff leaving her in the same second.

A sense of protectiveness and perhaps a bite of jealousy ran through Calum. “He’s married.” His tone carried messages of what does a married man want with you and stupid Brett all in one.

“Was married. Guess they called it quits a month in. Maybe he had the same idea as your ex once that headline hit,” she explained, thumb running over the back of his hand to say words she hadn’t spoken. “I told him it was taken out of context. That we’re happy. He hasn’t called again.”

Calum warmed at the happiness part, felt his heart flutter and four letter words come back full force. He bit his tongue, pocketed his phone and decided to deal with both of those situations on another day.

“Good,” he said and regretted the word as it was laced with obvious disdain for the man he only knew in passing. But Arden’s airy giggle and lit up eyes told him his distaste was funny and he could maybe get away with being so openly against him. “I’ve never liked that guy.”

Calum knew the statement was outlandish as ‘never’ didn’t have two legs to stand on. Never was only Vegas. Only a ceremony and a passing moment at the reception. But from Arden’s words he assumed never could be from the moment she and Brett met. During their relationship when she’d find places like their diner to get away and not be with him. He wondered if they’d been in touch during those lost years if he truly never would have liked him.

“You don’t even know him,” she said but kept her smile and a fondness in her tone. “It’s okay though, I’ve never liked him either.”

Her nose crinkled to show her own distaste for the defenseless man and now it was Calum’s turn to laugh.

“Then why’d you date him?” The question slipped out before Calum could think better of it.

“So he would dump me and marry my best friend, thus making me need a date to their wedding and you giving me the pity I wanted. Why else?”

“An elaborate scheme,” Calum declared and brought her hand up to kiss. “I’m impressed.”

Arden licked her lips and pushed her newest place mat drawing towards him, tapped her fingers on the tabletop and launched into a serious explanation he wasn’t expecting. “I was really lost in university. I lost touch with Michael and my parents. I guess… he was just there when I pushed everyone else away. It went on way longer than it should have, he kind of ‘encouraged’ it, kept me busy and away from them. The only times I really talked to them was through phone calls in diners when I got away from him. He dumped me when I told him I was leaving university and I might go home. But I didn’t. I guess I just couldn’t face them yet. Tried to warn Viv about him, guess she learned on her own.”

Calum felt winded. The new information about her escapes left him heartbroken. It answered questions—why she never visited, why Michael didn’t talk about her much, why there was a strong disconnect between her and her parents. He could see she was trying to mend fences, build back what they had and find herself in the process. Find her family and where she fit into it. Calum knew Michael and her parents would always leave a spot for her. She just needed to reach for it. The fear of disappointing them made more sense than ever. Calum was going to tell her that opening up to them as she did with him would be a good starting point.

“You know,” she said suddenly and broke the solemn mood that befell them at her Brett explanation and stopped Calum from voicing things he didn’t have a say in—she needed to find her own way back to them. “You haven’t told me anything about your ex.”

Calum scoffed and waved a hand through the air to try and downplay it. “It was ages ago. Hardly anything to tell.”

“Oh come on, there’s got to be something. I just spilled my heart out. Your turn.”

He shrugged. Realized he had been keeping his previous relationship bottled up; his first true heartbreak still sat heavy with him at times. But it was Arden and the light that followed her that took the weight off him, made him question if it was really even love and if it wasn’t, then how could it be heartbreak?

“Things just didn’t work out between us. I think we both tried but it wasn’t right. I had to make the choice to end things before we came to resent each other. I don’t think she understood, I probably didn’t give her enough closure. I just needed to be done. I needed to move on.”

Arden nodded and broke her hold on his hand, picked up the crayon again and mumbled, “I think you have a call to make.”

“You don’t mind?”

She shook her head and spared him a glance. “Once you give her the truth and some closure I have something to give you. It’s back at my place.”

Calum smirked and excused himself to call her back. He stepped outside and braced himself as the phone rang. It came as a surprise when she answered and understood and wanted him to be happy; whether it was with her or with Arden. He told her it was Arden. He told her they ended because things weren’t right, something was missing and moving on to try and find it was what was best. After a moment she agreed. Thanked him for the call and wished him well. Arden came out of the door when he ended the call, offered her hand and a sympathetic smile. He pulled her into his side and held onto what he knew was right, to all the missing pieces he had been searching for. Calum felt his heart ease at the closure he could give and the colliding paths that found each other.

“You said you have a gift for me at your place?” He asked with a tilted smile and arched eyebrow.

“Don’t get your expectations too high. It’s just a little something.”

***

A little something was presented to Calum under secret circumstances. Arden rushed to her room and kept him out, came back out with her hands behind her back and a bitten lip. Calum cocked his head to the side and approached her slowly as a faint blush captured her cheeks.

“It’s actually two things,” she amended and presented one to start with.

Covered in cloth and rectangular Calum had no guesses before his hands enveloped it. The first touch told him all he needed to know, a grin grew on his face as he removed the cloth and stared down at the sunset. The same sunset that was in the Clifford’s hallway. The original work of art that sprinkled renewed memories through Calum’s mind and made him realize he had always known and understood Arden, even in fleeting moments scattered through their childhoods.

“This is the real one?” He asked, just to ensure his assumption was correct and his memory was reliable.

“My mum sent it. I figured it’d be better off with you than tucked away into the guest room.”

He took a moment to admire it and relish in the memories it so vividly painted in his mind. Arden edged a bit closer to him, let her own eyes peek at the paint and quietly brought her other offering out from around her back.

“It isn’t much. I haven’t painted in years but you and your blank wall were begging for something.”

Calum chuckled at her remark and took her words in jest as he swapped with her and uncovered the new painting. His breath caught in his throat and eyes fluttered back up to her as she swayed back and forth, weight from one foot to the other as she watched his reaction. The canvas was painted with what was real to them. The diner was abstract but recognizable. Silhouettes in the windows represented them and Calum lost his words in the meaning.

“If you don’t like it I could paint you another beach,” Arden murmured, a note of panic and apprehension cracking her voice at the end of her sentence. Calum quickly shook his head, wanting to put those doubts at ease as soon as possible.

“It’s perfect,” he said and felt honesty fluttering his heart, moving him to set it on the coffee table and pull her close instead. She did the same with the waves on canvas and welcomed his embrace. “Like you.”

A giggle left Arden in a breathy and unbelieving way. Calum knew his words were cheesy but he also knew if she wasn’t perfect then she was perfect for him. Those four letter words came crashing back into his being and the tip of his tongue at the taste of sugar gracing him. He’d never tire of the sweetness.

“I’m ready to tell my parents,” she said as a whisper against his lips, her soft hands gliding through his hair and down to the tops of his shoulders. “It’s my turn to give the truth, isn’t it?”

Calum minutely nodded, felt the brush of sweetness against his lips again. Let shadows dance behind closed eyelids, the low lighting creating intimate images. The day had faded and nighttime crept up on them in a full moon and one window to cast slight light through to them.

“How about in the morning?” He mumbled, eyes still closed and seeking sweetness, a want for something else lingering between them.

“Okay,” she said and lifted herself to the tops of her toes, smirked into a kiss and set out to discover more pieces of each other.

His hands found her waist with ease, hers settled feather light on his jawline and footsteps carefully backed them away from the living room and toward her bedroom door. It was a trip made many times before, one that Calum knew like the back of his hand. The small distance to her bedroom had been walked before but there were still lines that had yet to be crossed. Calum felt electric with her touch, familiar with her warmth and the way her body fit so nicely against his. Her back hit the bed and he hovered over her, kissed places he already knew and wandered to ones that were exciting and new. She was pliable in his hold and receptive to his every touch, he savored every second as the night slipped by in needy sighs and new highs they had never reached before. And in the morning when they woke between the sheets with tousled hair and purple painted skin Calum nearly let one four letter word slip out.

He bit his tongue and tasted her, held his breath as she rolled over with contentment written on her face as her eyelashes fluttered. He was met with hazel in new light, a smirk that replayed the feeling of her lips against his skin and a sigh that sounded reminiscent of his name and more wrapped around it. When her hand roamed back to his hair and her fingers brushed through his messy tresses he could almost feel the pull and reveled in the attention. He noted the marks on her skin, the way they clashed with delicate ivory and painted a retelling of the night before. Calum grinned when she pouted and leaned in to say good morning in a way he usually did.

With his lips pressed to her forehead he asked, “Breakfast?”

She made a noise of agreement and slowly sat up, the sheet covering her reminded Calum of a panicked morning in Vegas. Except this morning was calm and cloudy, hazy with leftover lust. She reached for his shirt that was sprawled out on the end of the bed. It was the only article of clothing that didn’t end up on the floor.

“Can I borrow your shirt?” She asked with wide eyes and a playful smile.

“Nope,” he laughed and sat up with her. He kissed her shoulder. “Topless breakfast.”

She turned with a fake glare and grabbed the shirt anyway. “You go topless this time. I will next time.”

“Alright, but I’m holding you to that,” he promised and reached around to help button it. “Say, tomorrow?”

Arden laughed and shook her head. “You wish.”

As she vacated the bed Calum called after her that he did and waited a second—a little too wrapped up in his own thoughts and finding his pants thrown into the corner—before chasing after her. He met her in the kitchen where his shirt hung off her smaller frame and made him glad she had asked to borrow it. Though he still felt his idea would be even better. She pulled out cereal and offered him some.

“I’m gonna call my parents today, when it’s good their time,” she said around a bite then nervously moved her spoon through the bowl. “You don’t have to tell yours at the same time but it’d probably make sense to. I’m sure they’ll be in touch with each other after anyway.”

“We’ll do it together,” Calum offered, as he had since the very beginning. He was elated she was ready. “We can Group FaceTime them. Tell them we have a secret surprise.”

Arden let out a short breath and set her spoon down to clap her hands on the countertop. “We’re not just taking our time with the engagement. It’s not even a real one. It was just a drunken joke that management made us stick with. Surprise!”

Her words were sarcastic and Calum played along. “We’re not really engaged, that’s our secret. But we are really together. That’s another secret. Don’t tell Michael. He only knows about the fake engagement.”

Arden chuckled and shook her head, hair falling into her face. “This is going to be awful.”

Calum pursed his lips and nodded. “It’ll be okay, we’ll just take care of it one set of secrets at a time.”

***

Surprise fell on Calum and Arden at the reactions their parents had to the truths they told. They decided to start with Vegas and the fake engagement; wanting to wait to reveal their true relationship a while longer, feeling they owed it to Michael to tell him first. Mali merely said “I knew it” around their parent’s sheer shock. Gasps filled their end of the line but support and understanding followed quickly thereafter. Calum kept his eyes on Arden, noted the subtleties in her responses and the way she began to get quieter as the conversation went on. She became reserved; sunk back into the couch nearly out of view of the camera and let Calum take the lead. He wrapped it up when he turned to look back and saw she was biting her lip, gazing despondently out the window and worried she wasn’t okay.

“We’ll talk to you guys later,” Calum said with finality before hanging up with one last wave and smile for his mum.

He turned to her, hand going to rest on her knee in a form of comfort for her and a reassurance for him. She came back from her state out of the window and gave him a timid smile.

“I’m really glad we got that over with,” she admitted and sighed. “And I’m sorry that I even made us lie in the first place.”

Calum softened at her apology and understood the meaning; though he didn’t agree—she hadn’t made him do anything—he didn’t argue, knowing that the apology was just as much for her as it was for him.

“They took it well. Feels much better to get that out in the open,” he agreed and dipped down to rest his head against her shoulder, the automatic reaction of her leaning into him and accepting his presence made his nerves and hurt flutter in tandem. “We’re almost done.”

All that was left was telling Michael the fake engagement had blossomed something very real between them. And then they would circle back around to their parents and Mali who would likely have another “I knew it” in store. Calum trailed his hand up her thigh and found her hand, felt the cool ring on her finger and felt a fall of pressure on his chest. Soon enough there would be no more ring. No more reason management would want or allow them to be together. It was another bridge they would have to cross.

“It was almost too easy,” she said, paused and shifted to throw her legs over his lap and have him look up at her. Her hand came up to rest against his chest and he once again wondered if she could feel his heartbeat. Someday he would have to ask her about that. “I hope Michael will take his surprise just as well as they did.”

Calum huffed out a small and sarcastic laugh and took up the game they had played in the kitchen during breakfast. His voice screamed sarcasm. “Hey Mike, you know how we’ve been pretending to be together? Well that’s not entirely fake; we’ve been sneaking around. Surprise!”

Arden also let out a sarcastic laugh and threw her head back into the plush cushioning of the couch. “You were right. He is going to kill you. Or at least try.”

“You’re worth it,” Calum assured but panic was rising, twisting his stomach and doubt inching its way in.

There was a part of him that wished it could stay the way it was just a while longer. A lingering need to have her to himself, a selfish want to postpone the problems that were still left to be faced. What Michael didn’t know wouldn’t get Calum killed, what they didn’t tell Michael couldn’t possibly get him hurt.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” she said and left the ball in his court.

His selfish desire spilled out. He couldn’t help it. He had a plan, an admission and declaration Arden needed to hear before Michael came into the equation. “Let’s wait awhile.”

“Whatever you want,” she promised, tapped her fingers lightly against his chest in a slow rhythm and brushed her lips against his cheek. “You’re worth it.”

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vannahfanfics · 3 years ago

Note

How about a RokuNami fanfic with the “Moonstone” prompt instead? I think any white gemstone can be synonymous for both Roxas and Naminé, so I’m trying to keep theme running. 😚🤍

Always here for a good RokuNami request! Moonstone symbolizes unconditional love. It’s a very pretty stone, and a good choice for both characters here. I hope you like what I came up with!

Unconditional

Roxas sunk onto a bench, draping his head over the back with his mouth hanging open in an aggravated groan. He ran his hands over his face, rubbing his tired eyes, before peering through the gaps in his fingers at the sky. The clouds moseyed along the blue expanse like sailboats drifting in the doldrums of a calm sea. The sun burned a bright white ball in the sky, sending pleasantly warm rays down to earth. It really was a nice day, or so he had thought when he’d set out that morning determined to buy a present for the girl of his dreams.

Naminé, he thought dreamily. Just the echo of her name in his head twitched his lips into a smile and sent a warm, fuzzy feeling fizzling through his body. After settling into Twilight Town, the feelings of affection he’d harbored since they met in the strange mind-link of Sora’s heart had only grown; now, he was fostering a full-blown, head-over-heels crush. It didn’t take long for his friends to pick up on his wistful sulking, nor why. Hayner had warned him the previous evening that if he didn’t confess soon, he’d do it for him. Thus, he’d resolved to buy a nice gift to give for Naminé as a pretense for professing his love.

Unfortunately, nothing in this blasted shopping district seemed worthy of the pure, beautiful girl that had Roxas absolutely smitten.

The first place he’d tried was the art shop, naturally. He’d eyed a set of professional-grade colored pencils and a lovely floral-patterned sketchbook, but then he’d recalled Naminé telling Xion how she didn’t want to replace her pencils anytime soon because slowly winding them down to little nubs had a certain charm. Then, he’d meandered next door to a store specializing in bath goods. All the scents were lovely, but… He didn’t really find anything that just screamed Naminé, so he’d left empty-handed. After perusing nearly every store in the small strip mall, he was beginning to wonder if he’d find anything suitable for her.

“If I don’t find something, though, Hayner’ll make a fool outta me,” he grumbled along. He scowled at the image of Hayner dragging him to the girl and spilling all the embarrassing fawning Roxas had done over the girl. No thanks, he thought and pushed himself to his feet, sighing. There had to be something at least halfway-decent in these shops, and if not, he’d just have to buy something that was maybe just a little less than perfect.

He ambled into the next shop: a jewelry store. Naminé didn’t possess any, as far as he knew, so he already felt a little heartened as he looked around the various displays. He pored over the glittering jewels, silver chains, and gold rings organized neatly in the glass case, perusing while the attendant helped a couple giddily picking out wedding bands. He found his mind drifting for a moment to Naminé as a blushing bride, her body framed in a flowing wedding gown clutching a bouquet and smiling in utter joy.

Whoaaaa, slow down there, Roxas. You’re venturing into creepy territory, he thought with a frown, leaning down to rest his forehead against the cool glass of the display case to calm the blush raging across his cheeks. As he turned his head, a black velvet mannequin neck caught his eye— rather, the silver pendant hanging on the slim shoulders. A perfectly round, smooth stone hung from the chain. It was bluish-white, with streams of iridescence playing over its surface. Roxas was drawn to the necklace, and the attendant— finally finished with the engaged couple— took notice.

“Ah, a gorgeous necklace, isn’t it?” the woman smiled as he walked over, heels clicking against the polished white tile. She leaned against the counter as Roxas stared intensely at the necklace, transfixed. “It’s a cabochon-cut moonstone— the perfect gift for your lucky lady.” Roxas was so entranced with the pendant that he didn’t even have the wherewithal to blush at her open teasing. The gemstone was absolutely beautiful. It reminded him of Naminé— elegant, soft, pure, bright, like a star gleaming in the night sky.

“Do you know what moonstone symbolizes?” the woman asked when he finally looked at her. He shook his head, and her smile widened, slightly mischievous. “Unconditional love.” This time, the blood did rush to his cheeks, tainting them an opaline pink. He looked back to the pendant. He couldn’t get the image out of his head of it sitting so perfectly on Naminé’s chest, of her smiling bashfully while the traced the smooth circumference of the stone with her fingertip while her pretty blue eyes fluttered demurely.

This was it. This was the one. Roxas had to have this necklace.

“How much is it?”

“Far too much for a teenager to afford,” the woman joked. Roxas felt his heart plummet in disappointment and he looked at the necklace longingly. “Buuuuut,” the attendant hummed and slid over to the mannequin, making Roxas’ heart flutter hopefully, “I can tell that you want this very badly. I’ve had it for a long time and I’ve been debating putting it on sale. I’ll give it to you for however much you have.”

“Are you sure?” Roxas gasped, unable to keep his mouth from falling open in shock. The woman smirked amusedly and slipped the pendant off the mannequin, holding it up enticingly.

Roxas immediately dove his hand in his pocket to fish out the wad of bills he’d been toting around all day and slammed it on the counter. All of his hard-earned pretzel and ice cream money, gone in a flash— but it felt so worth it when she placed the pendant in a sleek black velvet-lined box and set it in his hands. He just knew that Naminé would love it, and even more, what better way to confess his feelings than with a gemstone necklace that symbolizes the purest love there is?

He felt giddiness rush through him when he flipped the box open, admiring the moonstone pendant set in soft white cloth. He thanked the jewelry store owner, closed the box, and rushed out of the store, eager to deliver his present to Naminé. The sun had crossed the horizon to blaze at its highest point in the sky, shining down on Twilight Town and filling it with warmth. At this time of day, he didn’t have to search for the girl; he knew where she would be. He made his way to the crack in the wall leading to the woods outside the abandoned mansion, clutching the jewelry box to his chest as he ducked through the hole. The temperature dropped several degrees as he emerged on the other side, enveloped by the shade of the tall, leafy trees.

He walked the dirt path winding through the woods. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, blocking out the usual melody of twittering birds and rustling leaves and lightly crunching earth. The grass tickled the fabric of his pants as the wind blew it along the edge of the trail, like the blades were wishing him luck. He came to a bend in the path where a knoll overlooked it, cool earth raining down from the jagged hill as the tree roots of the massive oak sprouting from the knoll dug through it. In the shade of its broad, leafy branches was a half-decayed log, brown, moist mushrooms sprouting from the moss-covered flesh— and upon this log sat Naminé.

She didn’t notice his slow ascent onto the knoll, too engrossed with the wild cosmos flowers growing in a patch of sunlight. Her fingers glided across the paper to bring the delicate pink petals and spring-green stems to life on the smooth page. Every so often, she would pause to sweep her platinum blonde hair out of her face and inspect her sketch, looking for any places that needed improvement or color adjustments. Roxas always thought her drawings were perfect, but Naminé’s trained eyes always found something she could do better, adjusting and adding until she finally decided that the piece was finished. Her drive to excel in her art was one of the many things he loved about her.

He watched her for a few moments, entranced by the gentle motions of her sketching. However, the necklace box burned in his hands, eager to be slipped around Naminé’s neck. He coughed politely to make himself known, and she looked over her shoulder with a light, cute gasp and an inquisitive look that made his heart flutter.

“Oh! Hello, Roxas,” she smiled. Ugh, that smile always did him in; it was so sweet, so pure, so welcoming. She turned on the log as he approached, patting the spot beside her invitingly. Roxas kept the box out of sight, tucking it in his hand next to his thigh, as he eased down on the log. The half-decayed wood bent a little under his weight and the moisture clinging to the mossy surface seeped into the seat of his pants. When he gestured with his chin at her sketchbook, she smiled bashfully but tilted it so he could admire the cosmos blooming in hues of pink and red and green and blue on the white paper.

“Great work as always,” he praised. Naminé blushed and retracted the sketchbook, using her free hand to tuck a swathe of her pretty hair behind her ear. Her blue eyes fluttered shyly as she peered at him through her lashes.

“Thank you… What brings you out here, Roxas? N-not that you aren’t welcome, I just… It’s not often you come out to see me while I’m drawing.”

Roxas shifted on the log, heat rising to his face. His palm sweated around the velvet lining of the box. Come on, Roxas! You worked so hard to get this… Just get it over with! He took a deep breath, then exhaled. Eyes still closed, he held out the necklace box. He cracked his eyes open, though, when Naminé inhaled sharply. Her hand had drifted up to her heart while the other hovered over the box, her eyes wide with wonder and surprise.

“This… this is for me?”

“Yes,” he nodded and, with a trembling hand, opened the box to reveal the moonstone pendant. Naminé inhaled sharply again and brushed her fingertips over the smooth blue-white stone. “When I saw it, I thought of you.”

“It’s beautiful…” she murmured appreciatively and looked up at him, her cheeks flushing rose. Roxas removed the necklace and motioned for her to turn; she did as bid and swept her hair away from her neck. Roxas draped the pendant over her, fingertips barely ghosting over her pale skin when he clasped it. He pulled her hair back into place as she cupped the moonstone with both hands, admiring it like the most precious jewel. Her blue eyes reflected the pretty white stone as she stared down at it, her lips stretching into a joyful smile. “Thank you, Roxas… It’s absolutely stunning. Tell me, what kind of stone is this?”

“Moonstone.”

She echoed the word in wonder, rolling it over her tongue as she stroked the circumference of the stone. Roxas swallowed thickly, blush darkening, and continued, “It… It symbolizes unconditional love.”

She looked at him with wide eyes. He almost flinched, but he didn’t see fear or rebuke in her eyes— mostly shock, with a flicker of hope within the blue depths that allowed him to push through the rest of his confession.

“Naminé, ever since we met, you’ve been someone special to me. I was perfectly content fading from existence because I knew that we’d be together forever somehow… But when we were given a second chance at life and came here to Twilight Town, I was so overjoyed that we’d be together for real.” He scooted a little closer to her, swallowing again; Naminé was just gaping at him, her cheeks flooding an opaline pink. “Naminé… I’ve loved you since the moment we met in the digital Twilight Town, even though I knew deep down that it meant I would be going away. Maybe then, that was just because we were linked to Sora and Kairi… But I know now that I love you, Naminé, because you’re you.”

“Oh, Roxas,” she breathed, tears beading on her lashes and dripping down onto her shining cheeks. He gently thumbed them away with a wan smile, and she leaned into his touch, inhaling shakily and squeezing her eyes shut. She clutched the moonstone like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. Hiccuping happily as he cupped her cheek, she opened her watery eyes to smile brightly at him.

“I love you too, Roxas. You and you only.”

Roxas smiled in relief, all the nervousness finally melting from his body now that his feelings were reciprocated. He cupped her other cheek to cradle her face, absolutely entranced with her flushed, teary face. Even crying and hiccuping and bashful, she was still so beautiful. Roxas found himself leaning in without even realizing it, overwhelmed with the desire to kiss her. Naminé’s eyes fluttered closed and she tilted her head welcomingly, offering no resistance when his lips smoothed over hers. He inhaled deeply at the absolutely euphoric sensation of her soft lips, and her scent of vanilla and paper and pencil shavings flooded into his nose. It soothed him like a drug, filling his head with cottony intoxication.

He slid his hand between their bodies to wrap his hand around her own which was still clutching the pendant. They kissed for several minutes, and though he’d love to kiss her until the end of time, he forced himself back. He didn’t go far, resting his forehead against her own and smiling serenely. He could almost feel the moonstone pulsing between their hands, empowered by the love shared by the two teenagers.

Simple, pure, unconditional love.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#rokunami #namixas #namine x roxas #roxas x namine #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts iii #khiii

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shouldntcryoverit · 4 years ago

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the art of discordance

captain rex x jedi fic during clones wars era...

CHAPTER TWO

Pure chaos resonated as the small team fought to overcome the controls. The panic bubbling over from the separatist attack didn’t diminish as the smaller ship shot through lightspeed, leaving three half crazed jedi, a few clones, and one injured general.

“Turn the power back on! Turn it on!” Jaida yelled into the cockpit. The victory of avoiding the burning sun they were previously on course to crash straight into was short lived as they swerved dangerously close to another planet.

“I’m... trying!” Aayla groaned, hand outstretched to the lever. It clunked downwards and Jaida, Rex and Aayla fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

The ship plummeted towards the ground, having lost all control over the engines. Smoke encased them through a straight course at least an inch into the growth, leaving a scorched dent in their path. The clones and jedi scrambled to get out the burning wreckage of the ship, though when they all collapsed in relief, they found their situation to be no better.

Anakin was in a bad condition, one that looked to be deteriorating quickly. Ahsoka and Jaida carried him to rest under a makeshift tent, but the young padawan didn’t move as he lay unconscious. Jaida watched with concerned eyes, for her friend yes, but also for the young togruta that shuffled anxiously. The pair hadn’t spoken much; Ahsoka had spent her time training or at the temple whereas Jaida remained very much rooted in battle rooms, but the times they did spend with each other Jaida found the kid’s attitude refreshing. She knew why Anakin spoke so highly of her.

“he’ll be okay kid” Rex reassured. Ahsoka nodded solemnly and sighed, walking forward to talk over her master.

“Jaida and Rex will watch over you, be strong master” the togruta uttered, before resuming her position beside the knights.

The two watched as the rest of the group ran off into the tall grass, leaving them to stand in silence.

Jaida let out a shaky breath as she folded onto the ground, Anakins feet in front of her.

Rex spoke first “he will be okay, sir” it was an attempt to reassure her, though she had not admitted she was worried.

Her response was another huff of breath, followed by a hand running through her hair.

“Anakin has always had the ability to bounce back from injuries, it seems even his body is too stubborn to stop fighting” her words fell heavy as she watched her friend’s chest rise and fall slowly.

Rex’s smile settled “you care more than you let on, don’t you?”

Her eyes lifted from Anakin’s form and met his in a rigid glare. Rex regretted his boldness instantly, but her eyes softened in admission.

“i saw your order” he continued bravely “the men wondered were it all came from” he was referring to the extra order of cotten blankets she had placed a week previously. Rex assumed it was out of compassion as she realised the coldness of the Resolute.

“good, men work better if they actually manage a decent night sleep” She got up and brushed herself down, peaking her head around the corner to check for any signs. Rex felt a twinge in his stomach of her disregard; her kind act now seemed tainted as nothing more than a battle strategy, and it left a bad taste on his tongue.

Rex took a moment actually size up the new general. Her robes were similar to Skywalker’s, but they fitted her form more. She wore black boots and gloves up to her elbow, her collarbone hidden with the same material. Her hair was lighter in the sun, but Rex could still see the way it framed her face and fell loosely from its plaited hold. Her face was still set in that expression of neutrality, though it broke slightly as the hint of serenity curved her alluring lips. Her eyes were young and bright, full of a mixture of gold and blue.

Before she could say anything else, a roar broke the silence, followed by the pounding footsteps of two animals.

Rex shot up, blasters ready, and Jaida ignited her duel blade. They shared a look of panic, before they each dove away to block or attack whatever strike came at them.

After quite some struggle, the pair had overcome their attackers, and the two animals lay dead on the ground. Before the interruption, Jaida had felt a new sense of gratitude towards the captain. That maybe she had misjudged his professionalisms and could enjoy his company further than what protocol dictated. It was when Rex propped himself up that Anakin groaned awake. At the noise, Jaida hurried to his aid.

“Anakin! You okay?” she helped him sit up. He groaned once more and faultered against his injuries.

“this mission- sucks” he managed. As he came to, the surroundings became clearer. “you look like hell”

“always a charmer” she grinned as he helped him up.

“what happened to the others?” Skywalker quizzed

“the went to look for help, actually they should be back soon.”

“so we don’t have a ship, communication or supplies, great” Anakin grumbled

“negativity doesn’t suit you”

“you got a better outlook?” before Jaida could reply to his question, the rest of their team stumbled out of the grass, along with a new companion.

By the time it took to take Anakin back to the village, his condition had deteriorated. Jaida couldn’t budge the irrational feeling in her stomach, but held face as Ahsoka trudged next to her.

“I understand staying neutral, but really? i mean you gotta have an opinion at least!” she ranted

“some people just don’t care about what doesn’t involve them” Jaida countered absentmindedly

“selfish”

“perhaps”

They made it to the village, and despite the old chief’s disgruntled disagreement they were allowed to seek refuge. It was no retreat, that was for certain, but Ahsoka for one felt entirely more secure knowing that her master was getting the medical attention he so desperately needed.

He was whisked away by the village medic almost as soon as they arrived, and the three Jedi left remained cautious of theyre situation.

Time passed, with Ahsoka helping a few villagers carry out daily tasks, and Jaida scouting the near area; it actually felt like time had stopped. There was a peacefulness that none of the visitors had experience in such a long time, for clones maybe never. Rex had never been able to sit and watch as children laughed and played, without thinking about how he should escape if need be. It was tranquil and calm, and it made Rex think.

When Jaida returned, she returned quickly.

“Ahsoka! Tell Aayla we’re gonna have company!” her shouted alerted the relaxed captain into a far more rigid standing.

“who is it?” Bly questioned with furrowed brows

“seppies”

—————————————————-

Everytime she looked his way there was something that sparked, or snapped maybe - he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t anything good, but he doubted that it was hate. Rex just couldn’t stand the feeling he gave her. So he figured he couldn’t stand her.

It was no different now as the pair waited behind the stacks of nut pods for the enemy to near. A plan had been formulated after they left the village so quickly, and by seeing the extent ifthe seperatist forces it was no wonder they had scrambled to do so. Jaida had already irked him today, by seeming so unbothered by the idea of a new ion canon, one that was able to wipe out all organic matter.

His distractions dissipated when the first shot flew past his head. That was certainly enough to wipe his mind. He ducked behind a pod and began shooting, knocking droids down like a pin ball game at 79s.

The disctractions, those that humanised into the form of a woman standing of few metres to his left, seemed to have a mind of their own. Jaida slunked away from her position, and walked straight out into the battlefield. Rex grinded his teeth as she put away her lightsaber. He had to remind himself that yes she was putting herself in unecessary danger, and that no, that wasn’t what he was angry about.

“im sure your a smart man” Jaida called out, hands calmly behind her back “there’s certainly a more pleasant way to deal with situations” the words fell fruitlessly off her tongue.

“what’s she doing?” Bly muttered with spite, though Aayla dismissed his question with a wave of her hand.

“don’t try to trick me, jedi”

“there is no trick. You are the one with canon of course” she smiled coldly at the separatist, patronism seeping through her tone “although, if we do manage to reach an agreement, your day might just turn out swell”

“was that a threat?!” the hast in his voice caused a loud clunk to be heard as the droids aimed they’re guns once more.

“nope” Jaida said, popping the ‘p’, just before a clankers took a shot, and she dodged it. Perfectly.

It looked like some sort of game on the holonet, Jaida avoiding each bullet carelessly and without struggle, as if they bent around her path instead. She reached a safe distance, and smiled pleasantly, reaching into a pocket behind her back and drawing a small explosive. She threw it into the canon opening, and the problem was solved with a rattling boom.

Her solution did work, but Rex still kept a stern look. Even when the support ships finally rescued them.

He kept it until she rested beside him, both standing against a wall bored and tired.

“you look tired” he commented

“hm” Jaida’s eyes never left the datapad she was staring at. “you should get some rest too, it’s been a long few days” she deliberated carelessly. When the captain didn’t reply she turned her head to face him.

“what is it?”

The captain tittered antagonisingly “why is it that you always have to go off script?”

Jaida looked at him with a more confused look than anger.

“i saved those villagers, you know that was my only intention?” her tone was clear, informative.

“you do never fail to keep battles interesting” Rex quipped

“i think i’ll take that as a compliment” she grimaced

“perhaps you should”

She spoke after a moment of pregnant silence. “captain if there’s something you have to say i suggest you say it”

“with all due respect, you ought to realise that you have a responsibility to your men, to yourself even” he began after a beat.

“it isn’t something i’ve failed to notice”

“you brash, careless- you act like you have nothing to loose”

“we’re fighting a war” Jaida countered

“and we don’t need anymore casualties than we already have” Rex’s voice was no longer as angry as it began, now growing colder as exasperation clawed at his tired mind.

Rex paused, taking a deep breath of his own and trying to rid himself of his own irrational and unprofessional nags.

“i am not a liability, you need to trust me” she was stern now. It wasn’t that the captain had irked her, his anger came from a very real place, but she was just annoyed that she couldn’t find the words to calm it.

“and you need to trust that we know what we’re doing, even without your last minute strategies”

Silence. Jaida clicked her tongue, acceptance though Rex didn’t know to recognise it.

“goodnight general”

She locked eyes with him once more. A second passed, before he left her in silence.

He didn’t hate her. That he knew for sure.

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

hope you liked this let me know if you want to be tagged in next chapters! :))

Taglist -

@pinkiemme

#captain rex x reader #rex x reader #captain rex #501stlegion #the clone wars #clone wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano

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weaselbeaselpants · 4 years ago

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I have a lot to say and not enough time to say it. It hurts, but ya’ll know what this is about so if you want my full fandom retrospective opinion thing guys, here.

I’ve been following Vivienne’s art and career since I found her on dA in 2009. I’ve basically grown up with her and have a wide range of opinions up and down her collective work. I must stress that I do not know her as a person and no matter how critical I get in my personal time if I somehow met her in real life or converse with her online again (like, back in the day we went back and forth. She was pretty nice to me), I’d be humble and congratulate her for her success.

Critique does not, EVER equate to attacking people.

But

the reason I don’t call myself a VivziePopVivzmind-fan is the exact same as to why I don’t like the proud use of ‘anti’. Let me try and explain -

The vast majority of Viv fans are just that: fans. Viv’s one of their favorite artists and they’re happy for her and obviously defensive when some mouth breather pops into their fan discussion calling her and all of them trash. Quite a lot of the Hazbin fans I know in my circle of friends are all pretty accepting and agree on the problematic notions and implications of her work.

HOWEVER, there’s a vocal minority in the VivziePop fandom that were and still are toxic. Their specific interest in Viv back in the day was toxic...and now that she’s moved on into a successful career I doubt they’ve gone away, considering the things I’ve heard. These people - they’d flood Viv’s comments sections and stuff with messages like they were talking to her when they weren’t and they’d unironically call her a god in a way that feels like gaslighting, ex: “I’ll NEVER be as good as you Viv! My art is just sooooo unpopular oh god you are incredible no one will ever like you as much as meeeee”. It made me uncomfortable. It made me not want to be around her because these people took Viv’s role in their lives so seriously and their demand for her attention...it struck a nerve.

These same fans have been around long enough to see actual shitlords - the likes of Kiwifarms and tapatalk wikis - come in and actually harass Viv. Viv’s been sent revenge porn by sick freaks who think they’re funny and believe she deserves it. No. In my non-name fan bystander opinion, Viv’s got some shit to work on, but no one deserves raperevenge porn. EVER. It was genuinely bad and yes Viv and her base have every reason to NOT TRUST these communities. Unfortunately, when these incidents happened, these particular fans took it upon themselves to gatekeep the fandom and act like Viv’s unofficial guard against any kind of decenting opinion of her, all without her say so.

((to the critics who will be all “but Viv or Faust said THIS to their fans-”, like I said, Viv’s far from perfect but regardless of how much she prolly wanted people to side with her I’m gonna guess that she didn’t want people sending transphobic death threats to DollCreep. Again, and this is coming from a bystander here, I have a feeling Viv knows about some of the toxicity but doesn’t know how/want to address it - which is a conversation all it’s own.))

This particular breed of VivziePop “fan” holds so much toxicity in her fandom(s). They aren’t the only cause, but they’re there. They feel entitled to her attention and her approval. They creep me out. Having spoken to other much-less critical admitted fans of Viv around me, these fans appear to creep everyone else out and put the rest of the fandom on edge. They’re gatekeepers. They’re creeps. Like the bronies and SU fans of yestertodayyears, they know harassment exists and that people have crossed the line - so they think any means is necessary to prevent that is automatically good. I could pile together all the incidents and folks who’ve had bad runs ins with this aftershock of Viv-obsession, but I do have a life of my own and this post is already stupid long so I’ll just list out the biggest examples and provide receipts when asked.

Critical blogs have gotten RAPE and death threats because they don’t like Viv’s art. HonestZoophobiaCriticisms, a blog I interracted with back in the day, def got one. Now Viv’s opinion of crit-blogs is that they’re “bad takes” but I can assure you she doesn’t want that shit being said on her behalf.

I’ve seen young artists get blacklisted from sites and forums cause they so much as post a redesign. Viv and co get told through the grapevine that someone’s making hatespeech and so preemptively block said person (prolly cause they’re in the middle of WORKING and can’t deal right now) only to find out after the fact that no, it was just a kid drawing their version of her characters. There’s serious miscommunication issues within the fandom about who’s ‘good’ or ‘bad’ and once you get the actual staff involved in this game of telephone you’re begging for trouble. The problem acknowledged, however, it’s souly from the “Viv never did anything wrong camp”. No word is said about how ugly the fandom is under the surface it’s all one type of person’s fault and not complicated’. Blah

I’ve only ever had ONE obsessive ‘fan’ who’d stalk me, mock me, and then redraw my art just to get attention from me. That shit fucked with my head. As a follower hundreds of miles away from Viv who’s agreed/disagreed with her through the years - I absolutely believe her when she says she hates ‘creeps’ and that she doesn’t want anyone in her fandom spreading hate on her behalf. It’s the one thing about her I’m POSITIVELY sure of. Whether she believes that said underlying harassment exists and/or is even a problem within her fandoms is anyone’s guess. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to write stupid blog entries like this, talk about fandoms and media and how they and the real world affect one another, and rb fan art I like. I’m cautiously optimistic fan with a side of salt.

Mixed opinions and critique within a fandom CAN and SHOULD exist. Hazbin Hotel has been greenlit by a studio! It has a product line of merchandise you buy. Helluva Boss is getting eight more episodes this coming year (yeeee:3yeeee). Two of Viv’s properties are now products. Nothing is immune from critique. And in critique you will find a lot of people who are not ‘nice’. Critique or analysis doesn’t have to be nice. There will be, in Viv’s words’ ‘bad takes’ on her writing. Maybe they will be actual CinemaSins-styled bad takes or maybe Viv is just mad that people don’t love and feel inspired by her characters the way she wants them to - it’s a fact she’s going to have to get used to.

((TBH, I’m pretty sure she’s already realized that criticism of all types need to exist. It’s just that, again, her and the SpindleHorse staff are kind of overwhelmed by all matter of takes and opinions coming their way they kinda can’t deal weeding out the fair ones from the assholes, so she lumps them all together.))

Shitposters, ironic fans, unironic fans, critical fans, just critics of Hazbin and Helluva CAN and WILL exist. They should exist and not feel threatened by the megafandom. There are people out there who are one step further and rightfully bothered by Hazbin/Helluva’s use of incorrect symbols, portrayal of certain topics, and the response by creators. These people have strong opinions and are actually disgusted by Viv. They deserve to exist too and should not be vilified because, like me, they’re commentary doesn’t consist of anything personal towards the people at Spindlehorse or the fans of her works. They can rant, they can be professional, they can be petty and they can be fair. But they will exist. You have to deal with it.

I am an ADD/OCD ridden autistic woman with serious anxiety issues who has no one to talk to half the time and so only HAS my fandom to communicate with. But that’s just it - it’s a fandom. A community. You have to learn to not think souly of yourself and of others in a community. A fandom doesn’t exist just for you or any one person. You have the right to be angry and defend or be offended. And it’s in the spirit of that that I ask, prrraaaaaay even, that I please

NOT BE CALLED AN “ANTI-ANTI” for not liking the moniker?!

I DON’T TO BE AN “ANTI”. Not ironically, not unironically. ‘Anti’ should be for politics and shit like pedophiles, necrophiles, nazis, serial killer stans, Trump, racists, antisemites, terfs, animal abusers, rapists, and antivaxxers. Anti should only come into critical media analysis when these ethical issues follow suit IN TO fandom discussion. ((EX: Anime and MLP proudly waving their cp and non-con into the public eye; Hazbin appropriating cultural symbols which are not satanic; Basically anything that concerns John K or Butch Hartman.))

If your DNI list unironically consists of the entirety of one fandom: CONGLATURATIONS! You have done the exact same thing these particular creepy Viv fans have done: monopolize the conversation. And yes, people I’m referring to, IT’S STILL A PROBLEM EVEN IF YOU’RE FIGHTING RACISM/SEXISM/HOMOTRANSPHOBIA.

There are hundreds of Vivziefans who ARE more critical, accepting of faults, interested in discussion and especially rewrite and redesign stuff who would LOVE to engage with you and give you a follow. There’s hundreds of people who no doubt agree with you!

But the thing I’ve seen these very proud AntiHazbinVivzieHelluvaWhatever blogs do is lash out at fans for continuing to like Viv and consume Viv’s art in a healthy way. What the actual fuck is your problem?

I get it. Say a crazy Hazbin fan gets on your case for even SUGGESTING Viv could be homophobic ((”SHE’SBIANDWORKSWITHGAYPPLblahablahblah”)). They get in your face, make some callouts, try to rile up support against you, leave disgusting harassment throughout your social media? Absolutely ban worthy. After that it’s perfectly understandable why you don’t want to engage with anything HHHBZPVivzierelated because you’re so fucking tired of being labeled an abuser or “just jealous” for having an opinion on a show you don’t like. I’m with you!

But,

A fan agrees that something in the canon is bad or that Viv did something they don’t like?

A fan likes your silly shitpost meme?

A fan asks if they can like Hazbin and follow you at the same time?

A fan does fan art of something you don’t like?

If your response to any of these ^^^ things is to get LOUD and accusatory, Vivsplain them about how they’re an absolutely awful person to ever question YOUR opinion, or just block them without a second thought? You’re a petty, vendictive shit and you also need to learn to let things go. I’m sorry but you do. As I already said, Viv’s work is a brand at this point, not just the work of a singular person. As such, there are gonna be mixed opinions and you can’t judge every single one of these people by what they like. You’re a shitty critic with a shitty attitude and yes that will demean the value of what you’re saying. This is bad because, if you’re trying to point out how Angel Dust’s abuse IS handled terribly; gay rep in Viv’s work is weak and terrible; the show appropriates closed practices; the fandom makes excuses for predatory artists and creepy behavior and individuals who have sketchy pasts - I’M WITH YOU. WE NEED TO BE TALKING ABOUT THIS SHIT. JUST BECAUSE THESE ARE ADULT CARTOONS SET IN HELL MEANS THERE SHOULD BE ANYTHING CLOSE TO 2013 PONY-TUMBLR. <<<---- this shit is as important to me as it is to you and I really don’t like being called an abuser or apologist for saying “hey maybe blowing up at ppl for the shows they like ISN’T the way to go about this”.

But I have, just like the good old days of 2015 Zoophobia of yore, been blocked because I admit to being tired of ‘Anti’ being equated to ‘critical’. Same with hater.

Critical DOES NOT = Anti+Hater. I’m fucking tired of people saying it does and I’m tired of people taking up the term as some weird form of fandom reappropriation. It’s stupid.

Tl;dr: Once upon a time, I was in a budding fandom for something I liked made by an indie artist I watched on dA. I wanted to be a bigger fan than I was already, but was told by toxic people within said fandom that I couldn’t be part of it for reasons they’d made up in their head about my ‘motives’ against Viv. My admiration for Viv or what I liked about Zoophobia didn’t matter because I thought the story was really rushed and people weren’t being truthful with how they really felt about it - ergo, I HAD TO GO.

Flash forward 8 years later- My opinion of Viv’s body of work has changed but I still find myself in love with her style and some of her characters. I want to be on a forum or service that gives a healthy look at the problems there are with this series and fandom...and I’m met repeatedly by petty bs where people are again at each other’s throats. And yes, I do think it’s causing more harm than good especially when you insist there’s a “x person shouldn’t be trusted” mentality when fighting actual fucking racist, xenophobic, predatory bullshit.

#vivziepop #vivziepop critical #vivziepop drama #hazbin hotel #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel critical #critical hazbin hotel #anti anti #antis #anti hazbin hotel #cause I want both sides of this debaucle to see this and I'm tired #K?

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ramblesanddragons · 5 years ago

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I Want To Learn To Fight

Needed a small break from A Man Made of Stone and here’s a little late entry or week four of @stanuary while I play with writing style. The theme was fight.

Warnings: Some violence but nothing graphic.

AO3 link!!

“Grunkle Stan, will you teach me how to box?” Dipper says after a few days back in the shack.

“I mean I can sure but why do you want to?” Stan peers over his paper at the kid, he’s grown since last summer but he’s still not built like a fighter. Of course, Ford wasn’t either.

“It looked like good exercise?”

“Nah, if I’m doing it, I need to know why,” Stan folds the paper and looks the kid in the eye, “I’m not gonna judge you. What’s up?”

“You’re not going to judge me huh?”

“With this? Nah.”

“Okay fine,” Dipper gets closer to whisper to his grunkle, “It’s my noodle arms. I’m just tired of being so I don’t know...noodley.”

Okay Stan can buy that. He stands and heads upstairs. “Is that a yes?”

“Come on kid we’re headed to the mall.”

Stan knows that his gloves are still way too big for the kid so he buys him some gloves (and pockets a bit of new tape for their hands.) When they get back home, they find some sort of decent space to learn. Between the elder twins, the younger twins, Soos, Melody, and Soos’ Abuelita the shack was pretty full. Soos’ renovations have done a great job of giving everyone a space (and got rid of a lot of the triangles) but they end up having to set up shop in a part of the lab. If Ford minds, he doesn’t say and goes upstairs to find Mabel with a pat on Dipper’s head.

Dipper pulls on the gloves and swings wildly. “Alright I’m ready!”

“No, you’re not. Come here and I’ll teach you to wrap your hands.” Stan starts by doing his own and then has Dipper try and copy. The kid is sharp and has it right by his second hand.

“When you get into a random fight you don’t have time to wrap your hands. What’s the point of it now?” Dipper asks trying to get used to the feel of the wraps.

“To make sure your hands are in one piece when you don’t have the time. You mess up your hands and wrists here you’re screwed out there. Why are you worried about random fights anyway?”

“Just an observation. Anyway, I’m ready to hit things!” He says with a fire behind his eyes.

Stan laughs, “Not the way you’re standing.”

A gentle shove immediately puts Dipper off balance so they start with lessons on a grounded fighting stance and footwork. As to not disappoint the boy too much Stan does let him take swings at his gloved hands before they call it a night. Dipper’s out of breath by the end.

“Look kid, I know this isn’t what you were expecting but I’m tryin’ to teach ya right. If you want to stop, I’ll understand. If you want to keep going though, I think you could throw a decent punch.” Stan expects Dipper to be frustrated, which he is, but is surprised by the boy’s smile.

“I should have figured I need to know the basics first. It’s okay I want to keep going. This was fun and I want to learn.”

Stan smiles back.

Over the next few weeks, the lessons continue. Foot drills, hand drills, basic punches. The kid has always been bright and he may not get the practice of it right at first, he gets the theory down. Stan changes up his teaching a bit, does some reading and tries things out with the kid. What worked for him doesn’t always work for Dipper and he tries to figure out a way that does. Dipper really starts to shine when Stan starts talking about reading a situation and analyzing an opponent.

One day after a good session the boys head back upstairs to find kitchen the same way it has been during these sessions, covered in papers of art. Ford and Mabel spend most boxing times drawing together. Dipper talks about the lesson while she shows off her art (Dipper and Stan fighting a giant robot) and they head to bed.

“Sounds like it’s going well.” Ford’s smile is soft. He’s adding details to his drawing (Him and Mabel as cats per her request) and stops to observe his twin.

“It is. He’s good. He’s ready to start sparing but I’ve got 200 pounds and a couple of feet on the kid. I know how to pull my punches but I don’t want to hurt him by accident. By the way I’ve been meaning to ask ya if you ever figured what got this boxing thing in his head?” Stan unwraps his hands and leans back in the chair.

“Well he does admire you and I believe he wishes to strengthen his body for his own reasons.” Ford starts to talk while beginning a new sketch as Stan starts snoozing, missing most of what his brother says. Ford manages to talk his brother into actually going to bed and, afterwards, walks down to the lab inspired.

“What the hell is this Sixer?” Stan gawks the next morning while Dipper laughs at it. In the lab is a 13-year-old sized robot made of gears and pillows.

“I made Dipper an adequate sparring partner. Programed with what I recall from our boxing lessons and it has an interface you can run much like one of Soos’ video games. After calling up Fiddleford for some input it should be ready.”

“AWESOME!” Dipper immediately goes to wrap his hands.

“Heh. Thanks Ford.”

“You’re welcome.” Ford begins to walk up the stairs and chuckles as he hears Dipper say, “Hey, not the first time I’m fought a robot!”

A few more weeks go by. Its Gravity Falls so the supernatural is everywhere and the Pines family is right there in it all. There hasn’t been that many repeats of last summer’s nightmares and Stan is thankful for that. With his brother around it’s easy to keep the kids out of trouble or at least help fight it off. Of course, one night everything goes to hell and it had to be Pioneer day.

Stan and Ford find themselves at one end of the town square when the screaming starts. People run off or jump into their covered wagons. A horde of shambling zombies our pouring out of the graveyard.

“Ahh Dipper I hope this one ain’t on you.” Stan mumbles as he pulls on the familiar brass knuckles. Ford pulls out his pistol.

“I don’t believe he would do this twice, he told me how badly things went last year. Something else is wrong.” Ford fires and takes the heads off of three zombies while Stan crushes a fourth.

(They’d later discover that a small rift had opened in the grave yard and was leaking out necrotic energy from a dying dimension. Rifts that came out of nowhere were as annoying and common place in Gravity Falls as deer causing problems in the roads after the events of the summer before. Easly fixed but annoying as hell.)

“It’s fine,” Stan says as he bashes two zombie heads together, “We’ll just sing them dead again although you’re singing this time. I hope you still have that zombie bite cure somewhere Sixer!”

“I do but the victims of the bites still need to be in one piece for it to work Stanley. We must find the kids before they’re torn apart!” Stan’s punching becomes a little more desperate and wilder as they make their way through the town. Ford has a theory and Stan thanks God his brother is right as they round a corner and see that all of the kids made their way to the local karaoke bar.

It’s a hell of a site. Melody and Soos are trying to break down the door, Pacifica is trying to break a window with her heels while Mabel uses a knitting needle, Wendy has he axe to keep one half of the zombies away, and (to Stan’s utter horror and pride) Dipper is holding the other half off on his own. His stance is flawless and he’s using his smaller, quicker size to his advantage. The elder Pines twins reach the kids just as Dipper knocks the jaw off of one of the monsters. These things are mindless though and it’s hard to read an opponent that doesn’t think. Dipper almost takes a bite to the ear as a zombie lunges low but Stan catches it and tosses the thing across the road. Dipper and Stan stand back to back as Ford ushers Pacifica out of the way and blasts the window open with his fancy space gun. He crawls in with Mabel and pulls Pacifica in too. Soos halfway tosses Melody in the window screaming, “Sing for our lives my songbird!”

“Okay?!” Melody yells back.

It takes agonizing seconds for Ford to get the power to the bar going as the rest fight off the zombies. Stan’s about to toss the rest of the kids into the window and block the way before one gets on his back.

“Get off my Grunkle!” Dipper screams and drags it off of Stan. He tosses the thing and manages to get it almost as far as Stan’s zombie.

Suddenly the music starts behind the fighters and it takes a few verses for Stan to recognize it. “Big boat keep on burnin’! Proud Cary keep on turnin! Swimming! Swimming! Swimming down the river!” Melody, Mabel, and Ford are having the most terrifyingly fun time of their lives as the zombies start to explode.

By sunset the town is doing clean up and the “Never Mind All That” law will be in full effect by tomorrow. The Pines have found themselves back home. Everyone else gets cleaned up while Ford orders a ton of pizza. Dipper makes as far as the porch before flopping onto the couch. Stan joins him.

“Look Grunkle Stan it wasn’t me this time,” Dipper starts.

“Yeah I know,” Stan pats Dipper’s head, “You were incredible out there today by the way. I know I’m still tough on ya...”

“You’ve taught me how to fight back,” Dipper says as he pulls himself to a sitting position.

“Last summer after the first zombie attack, I wanted to learn how to do what you did but I was so caught up in... well a lot of things and I kept meaning to ask you but things kept getting crazier.”

Dipper kind of smiles and looks at his slime covered hands, “I realized that maybe I could be smart and strong and if anything bad like last summer happened ever again I wanted to be able to fight it.”

“It’s best to out think than outfight most of the time kid if you can but I get that. But why me? Ford’s become some sort of nerd outlaw in the past 30 years. You could learn from him?” Stan knows the kids love him. (That was one of the first facts he knew after waking up from the memory wipe.) He doesn’t know if he deserves it but he’s happy that they do. Oh, he knows that Dipper relates more to his nerdy brother, which doesn’t hurt Stan’s feeling. It’s important for kids to have someone to relate too doesn’t matter who. He loves Dipper always.

Dipper lets out a small tired laugh, “I’ve always admired how hard you fight for us and I want to be like that. To be able to fight for my family.”

Stan beams.

“It’s totally not because I want to spend time with you too. No not at all,” Dipper finishes with a study but not hurtful jab to Stan’s stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I just figure I can teach ya something useful while I’m stuck with you little gremlins. Now come on get cleaned up. You gotta eat and then get some rest. You’ve proven you’re past all the baby stuff. Lessons are about to get a whole lot harder starting tomorrow. Ya up for it?”

“Bring it on.”

#Gravity Falls #Gravity Falls Fanfiction #Stanurary 2020 #my writing #I am still terrible at grammer #Man Made of Stone is still happening but I hit a block #It's getting worked though though #this was fun #Family bonding #fluff #violence against the undead

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sonofsallyjackson · 4 years ago

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Family Never Truly Leaves Us: Chapter 1 featuring Baby Lost Trio

AO3

Summary: Thalia Grace was very good at finding her family. Keeping that family together was a completely different story. Her first family collapsed when her brother’s disappearance became too much to bear. She died for her second family, only to wake up years later and not recognize them anymore. Her third family is literally twenty-odd teenagers and an immortal virgin goddess, but she’s never been one for traditional.

AN: Basically this is a three part story that was inspired by @silima’s incredible art of the lost trio together as kids. I mean just look at it. Baby Piper, Leo and Jason are absolutely adorable and deserved to be celebrated. However, this turned into a Thalia piece and the three different families she’s made for herself. As I initially planned to have this chapter out by Jason’s birthday and it’s now the last hours of Leo’s, I cannot hope to have the next section up by Annabeth’s birthday even if that’s my unofficial deadline.

Thalia Grace was very good at finding her family. Keeping that family together was a completely different story.

Her first family was one pulled together just as much biologically as it had been by circumstance. Beryl Grace lacked the maternal instinct necessary to be a good mother, but she did have a strong ability for finding people who might be useful to her. Of course, her definition of useful was particularly fickle. Some days useful meant the literal king of the gods, who she would beg to make her queen of his dominion, to revere her above all others. Other days it meant the personal assistant, all too willing to fill their mansion with a never-ending supply of alcohol. On the best days, it brought Tristan Mclean, Esperanza Valdez and their children into their lives.

Beryl had mocked her agent at first. You really couldn’t get me anything better? The Oscar committee hates fantasy. But she had wanted to dive back into the world of Hollywood elite where she belonged. She wanted to prove that her second child didn’t mean she had let herself go or was less worthy of the public’s adoration. If anything Beryl claimed to six-year-old Thalia, I’m more worthy. Who can say they’ve attracted a god twice?

They met in the middle, as Beryl Grace’s fame was crashing, and Tristan Mclean's was preparing for a meteoric rise. He'd worked with the director on a few minor projects, but it was his first starring role in such a big-budget film. Regardless, it had taken a little convincing. After all, he was a single father with a daughter under the age of two, and his closest family was halfway across the country. But the director was insistent, sending scripts, pictures of the prototype animatronic dragons, and finally, a pretty young woman from the special effects department who also had a little kid. Esperanza Valdez and her honest approach to how she was handling her "tornado with legs" did more to calm his fears than anything else did. Tristan signed on enthusiastically after making sure childcare was handled.

Beryl Grace didn’t bother to consider something as bland as childcare. After all, she accumulated a list of nannies over the years. No one stuck around very long. The latest, Mrs. Costa, thought their house was haunted. She didn’t like the way wind danced through the house or the lightning that flashed even when the sky was completely clear. One day Mrs. Costa ran out of the house, screaming that the baby was floating and needed to be exorcised.

"I don't have time to be dealing with this, Thalia." Beryl snapped as if this was all Thalia’s fault. “I’m calling the studio.”

It turned out the studio had no problem with adding two more children to their makeshift daycare. Beryl Grace dropped them off at Tristan Mclean’s trailer, apologizing all the way as she runs to makeup. The trailer was a mess of children’s toys and storybooks. Thalia was not impressed, but Jason squealed excitedly at the other children already on the floor. The girl definitely dressed herself, decked out as she was in a rainbow tutu, a camo t-shirt and rainboots despite the fact they’re in the middle of a drought. The boy didn’t say anything but offered Jason the red block he’d previously been playing with. He’s smaller than Jason, with dark curly hair and an infectious smile. Thalia’s never felt more out of place as she watches the three of them play. She’s used to being Jason’s whole world, the one who always keeps him entertained and safe. The blond intern boredly watching them, jumped to her feet as the door opened again. A woman slightly younger than her mother with dark skin and twinkling brown eyes smiled at her easily.

"Thanks so much for covering for me, Sarah. We should be good to go. I only had to explain the controls about six times to Pat.”

"Really, Esperanza? They're letting Pat handle it." There's clear annoyance in her voice, but she also seems resigned to the fact.

"It turns out being the producer's son has its perks." Esperanza patted Sarah's shoulder encouragingly. "If it were up to me, you'd be the one running it.”

“I’ll come get you if we run into problems, but I think you’re good to stay with the kids.” Sarah glanced in Thaila’s direction as if to remind her boss of their unusual charges.

“Well, you’ll know where to find me.”

After Sarah had left, Esperanza set her walkie talkie on the table before kneeling down, so she was eye to eye with Thalia. "Hello Mija, you must be Thalia. I don't know what your mother told you, but my name is Esperanza. I’m going to be looking after you and your brother today.”

Thalia nodded uncertainly. She was used to new people coming into their lives, but that didn't mean she liked it. And she knew all too well, that even the people with the brightest smiles could bring trouble.

"The other little munchkins are Piper and Leo." Piper didn't even react to her name as she was too busy building a tower, so a giggling Jason could knock it over. Leo, on the other hand, gave his Mama a curious glance before promptly shoving a block in his mouth.

“Jason tries to eat everything too!” Thalia said with a slight laugh.

“They tend to do that at this age. It helps them explore their world better.” Esperanza gently encouraged Leo to take it out only to have her son holding tightly to her like a spider monkey.

Thalia sort of understood that. She didn’t understand the world either, but she didn’t think knowing how blocks tasted really made Jason any more of an expert.

“Most of the toys we have are meant for someone their age, but I’m sure we can find something for you to play with.”

In the end, Thalia settled down with a stack of paper and crayons. She sat as close to Jason as possible, just on the outside of the trio’s little circle. Even though she already felt like Esperanza was better at keeping an eye on Jason than Mrs. Costa, Thalia continually checked in on her brother, although her glances slowly subside from one for every new line she added to her drawing to only when she grabbed a new crayon or when one of the kids let out an indignant squawk or a giggle.

When Piper requested a song for naptime, it’s easy to slip into a gentle sleep until the trailer door opened, and Thalia heard her mother's voice.

Beryl fluttered her eyelashes at Tristan as she leaves exaggerated kisses on her children’s heads. “I really can’t thank you enough for helping today.”

He let out the hearty genuine laugh that he’ll be known for one day. “It was all Esperanza, really.” He said as he offered the other woman a smile. “In this industry, single parents need to stick together. Helping out for the week is the least we can do.”

It ended up being much more than a week.

Many days on set are often the same as their first, although a collection of toy cars, a robot, and a pair of lightsabers are added to the more toddler-friendly options. There are days when the kids are so full of energy there’s no possible way to stay in the trailer. The trio ran laps around the trailer or race between wherever Thalia and Esperanza are standing.

Sometimes if they promise to be good, they even go on adventures to see different parts of the studio lot. The women in the hair and makeup department dote on Piper. Leo is happiest in his mother’s workshop. Jason proclaimed he wants to be exactly like the stunt actors, which made Thalia’s heart skip a beat. Despite all of the cool things she’s seen on set, Thalia loved the days they watch their parents act the most. When Thalia watched her mother, she felt like she understands why Beryl is so determined to make it here. She thrived in front of the lights and camera. There's an ease to her smiles that Thalia hasn’t seen since her father left.

After one late-night shoot where the children all slept over in the Mclean house, the families traded the trailer for their homes. Esperanza's schedule barely overlapped with the other two. She got to set early to set up her machines, or she went later for the nightly repairs. In the hours where makeup calls overlapped with set-up, a tired production assistant lazily watched the kids in Tristan’s trailer. There are days where Beryl filmed, and Tristan didn't, and vice versa. Days when Tristan took all four children because Esperanza needed to get some decent sleep. They look out for each other. While Beryl was not thrilled about the idea of two additional kids in her house, it’s a lot easier to keep a babysitter than a nanny.

Undoubtedly, this strategy would have been completely impossible if the three toddlers hadn't been friends. Luckily, the kids got along almost too well. Even if they saw each other nearly every day, separating them was a nightmare. They also were more than willing to help out in each other's schemes. Jason’s determination to put absolutely everything in his mouth had only grown as he got older. Sure things kept falling off of high shelves as if pushed by some invisible force, but Thalia thought she’d probably be able to handle that if it hadn’t been for Leo. He was a week younger, but when he got the occasional look of mischief on his chubby face, Thalia knew it was over. She’d walked in from school twice now to find Jason chewing on something she knew was in one of the locked cabinets and Leo proudly smiling on the counter.

Of course all good things come to an end. Thalia worried that with no movie bonding the three families together, everything would fall apart, that she and Jason would be left to their own devices. She realized she shouldn’t have worried when Beryl mentioned they’re spending the Premiere night at the Valdez’s. Three assistants needed to sew Beryl into a form-fitting dress with embroidery that looks like the night stars. Her mother may have looked radiant on the red carpet, but Thalia preferred Esperanza’s mismatched pajamas and the genuine smiles she gave as she tucks the four of them in.

In the end, the film flopped. The only things critics deemed worthy of any praise are Esperanza’s mechanical dragons. The fans seem to prefer the shirtless Tristan Mclean scenes. It had the potential to be a cult classic one day, but Beryl Grace didn’t care about being famous someday. She wanted the world now when she’s young and beautiful. She already deserved the world.

It was probably for the best that Beryl misses most of the party. It's the easy sort of affair that she would hate. She's always been one for spectacle, and three kids sitting in highchairs flinging red frosting at each other was not a spectacle. She chose her career over her son’s third birthday. It didn’t even surprise Thalia anymore.

“You know I can’t Thalia. My agent says this is a big opportunity we’ve been waiting for. I just know it’s the one.” Beryl said as she pulled up to the Valdez’s apartment building.

Thalia didn’t mention that every audition, every lunch, every cocktail hour seemed to be the one lately. Her mother is frazzled in a way she’s never seen her before. She hasn’t accepted that there is no new movie coming. A new blonde-haired, blue-eyed ingenue showed up in Hollywood every day, and they’re almost all younger and easier to work with than Beryl Grace.

“I’ll be there later, Sweetie.” She handed Thalia a disposable camera. “You’ll just have to show me what I miss.”

It’s almost funny how their birthdays align so perfectly. Piper’s is in June and Leo and Jason’s a week apart. They held the party together since the kids wouldn't know differently anyway. Unlike Beryl, Tristan took the day off from auditions. Esperanza had already spent the entire night before making enough food for an army.

Thalia blew up a hundred silver balloons, never realizing that an eight-year-old should have been out of breath much sooner and that without helium, her balloons should stay firmly on the ground. Some of them do, but most float easily around the apartment. Piper and Leo bounced one back and forth to each other, giggling the entire time. Jason practically pounced on one and tries to eat it. It pops beneath him, which seemed to be enough to convince him not to put this strange thing in his mouth. He joined the other two, although he took great pleasure in hitting the balloon as hard as he can at Thalia to convince her to join them.

There’s easy laughter, homemade tamales, and little shouts of “Tree! Tree! Tree!” as the birthday kids marched around the room, announcing their age proudly for everyone to hear despite not mastering the sound an h makes. The pictures Thalia took are more for herself then Beryl, to remind herself of how happy she was. This is probably for the best as Beryl never asks to look at the pictures.

Maybe in another world, Thalia would feel like it was impossible to go to school, to leave Jason alone with their mother or the nanny of the month for the day. But in this world, Thalia has other adults in her corner. The three children stayed together in a play-pin in Esperanza’s workshop or Tristan’s office as he looked for his next big role. It wasn’t an ideal scenario since by the time they were three and a half, they were more than capable of making a break for it. But they’d learned early not to touch anything besides their toys, that masterful escapes were meant for playing in the yard or for grabbing extra crayons and that if necessary the parents could find other arrangements, potentially separate arrangements. Personal assistants and nannies filled in where the parents couldn’t, but these had been hired by parents who actually cared about their children.

School was hard enough in this world where the letters floated off the page, and Thalia couldn't sit still, so Thalia truly couldn’t imagine a worse one. But after school, when there were no glowering teachers or odd children with one eye, Thalia relaxed. She sat at the short wooden table in whoever’s living room they were staying at for the day and stubbornly work on her homework as Leo put together puzzles, and Piper roped Jason into creating larger than life storylines for her Barbies.

Piper seemed to know when her homework made her want to scream because she would ask in her sweetest voice, “Tally, play now?”

“Who am I today, Pipes?”

Jason might try to hand her the doll he'd previously been sucking on, but usually, Piper had something very specific in mind. There’s Sofia, the redheaded murder suspect complete with purple crayon scars. Or Ama, the princess in disguise that Jason attacked with a pair of safety scissors, so she's almost bald. Or a million other characters with intricate backstories.

Piper occasionally needed to pause their play because “Jason was doing it all wrong” or because she needed to ask Leo to build their characters a castle out of Legos. But overall, Thalia could play with the kiddos for hours after school.

Occasionally things were bad. Beryl would be sent home from a shoot early, alcohol heavy on her breath. Daytime soap actresses were a dime a dozen, and no one had the patience for a woman past her prime who could barely remember her lines and couldn't even stand without swaying. (Beryl’s character was given a brain tumor to explain her behavior and allow the writers time to get rid of the fan favorite.) Those days featured doors slamming and screaming. If they’re at the Grace Mansion, Thalia made sure the kiddos were safely out of sight and occupied, before ducking behind the kitchen counter so she can call for reinforcements. Mostly though, she found about these sorts of days after the fact, when Tristan’s assistant drove the two of them home, and there would be broken glasses and picture frames with their mother passed out in her bedroom.

Despite this, Thalia grew up loved, even if that love didn’t come from her biological parents. Tristan tried to entice her to read even though it's hard. He pretended he needed someone to run lines with and encouraged Thalia to be as dramatic as possible. Somehow it didn’t matter that the words are swimming in front of her, she’s only nine, and the idea of collapsing dramatically into fake tears is so much more powerful than her fear of getting something wrong. It certainly helped that her captive audience of toddlers seems to love everything she did. Piper and Jason always seemed to giggle when she reads the lines in a sing-song voice, so Thalia goes out of her way to do it, even when the part didn’t call for it. Esperanza played rock music that allowed Thalia to scream out her frustration and dance around the kitchen in the Valdez apartment. It's a wild mass of limbs, and she doesn’t even know which language Leo is yelling in half the time. But it feels right. She has a family that loves her.

When they moved out of the mansion into a cramped apartment, Thalia told herself it didn't matter. This cold house with its glass walls and minimalist furnishings never really felt like home. The new apartment sort of did after Thalia covered her side of the room in scotch tape and pictures. She's collected evidence of everything her mother missed during her auditions, her soap operas, and eventually her hours as a waitress. There's Tristan playing ring-around-the-Rosie, and Piper refusing to wear anything not dinosaur themed. Jason smiling despite his stitches because he tried to eat a stapler. Leo stands proudly in front of his first project, little wrench still in hand. There's a slightly blurry picture of Esperanza teaching her how to make enchiladas. Thalia captured everything. Maybe someday her mother would see them and be sorry she missed this.

On Thalia’s 10th birthday, her mother didn’t give her a gift. It’s almost like she can’t see her anymore. Beryl spent the entire day reminiscing about Zeus. Thalia is not her own person. She’s her father’s black hair and startling blue eyes. She has Zeus’ determined face and his chin. Thalia is proof that in the long scheme of things, Beryl has won, won the affection of a god, and that no matter how much further they fall, no one can take that prize away from her.

Thalia didn’t particularly like the idea of being the child of a god, especially since she hasn’t seen her father since Jason was born. She wasn’t sure she truly believed it either. It seemed like just another fantasy Beryl latched onto the idea in a drunken haze. Thalia barely saw her mother sober anymore. If she was a child of a god, Thalia should feel powerful and important. Instead, she's just alone with her baby brother on her birthday.

She got birthday phone calls from both the Mcleans and the Valdezs, but they’re not here. It’s three days before Christmas after all. Esperanza’s extended family in Texas took the holiday very seriously, and Tristan finally had a long enough break from shooting to go home to Oklahoma. She smiled brightly when they gave her presents later, a leather jacket and extra cameras, and doesn’t tell them the truth that even thinking about her birthday made her heart ache.

In the weeks leading up to Jason’s fifth birthday, Beryl got worse. She didn’t acknowledge her children, wandering the house in a daze, muttering under her breath.

Thalia put on a brave face and told Jason, “Mom’s just practicing for a new role,” but she was terrified.

Thalia saw her arguing with people who aren’t there, her mother’s eyes wide and tortured. None of her pleas made any sense. "No, you can't have him. I need more time." “He’s my son, not hers! You didn’t even let me name him.” “Why can’t you protect us?”

Jason nearly threw a tantrum when Beryl suggested they have a birthday picnic. “No! We always celebrate with Piper and Leo!”

Thalia glared at her mother before kneeling to face her brother. "We'll see them tomorrow, Jay. But for now, we'll go see the woods and the stars. You'll be able to run around as much as you want."

“Really? As much as I want?”

Thalia almost groaned, knowing she'll regret those words later. She’ll have to chase him down, and Jason runs like he's practically flying.

Beryl gave her a grateful look, but Thalia didn’t return it. Sure her mother was making an effort, but they both deserve so much more after everything she has put them through.

Jason was the only one to speak the entire drive to the state park. He sang the alphabet about six times and twinkle-twinkle little star twice. But he never stopped talking, not even as Thalia unbuckled him from his car seat, and the three of them walked through the state park.

Beryl’s hands shook as she set their picnic basket by the pond. “Sweetheart, I think we forgot the blanket. Why don’t you run back to the car and grab it?”

“Sure,” Thalia shrugged. “Jason, why don’t you come with me?”

He looked ready to shout that he’ll “race her back” when Beryl put an arm around his shoulder, a sickly-sweet smile on her face. “Really, Thalia. I can watch my own son for two minutes.”

Thalia swallowed. She seemed more put together today, but her mother is an actress, and appearances can be misleading. Thalia practically ran from their spot near the ruins to the car.

It took a few minutes to realize there was no picnic blanket. Thalia wanted to think it's a coincidence that Beryl actually thought they brought the blanket, but the sinking feeling in her stomach let her know it was likely always a distraction, a wild goose chase to get her away from Jason.

Thalia slammed the trunk of the car closed. Ten minutes. How much trouble could her mother cause in ten minutes? She ran until her lungs hurt, her heart throbbing in her chest. The path was uneven under her worn-out sneakers. Thalia tripped over a tree root and barely noticed her scraped knee as she set off again. It felt hard to breathe, but Thalia isn't sure if that's coming from her worry or her running.

Upon first glance, the meadow with the ruins of the old house was empty. As Thalia got closer, she saw her mother hunched over on the ground. Beryl was sobbing like she would never run out of tears. She’s alone.

Thalia couldn’t help but shake her mother desperately, “What’d you do? Where is he? How could you?” The questions rolled out of her uncontrollably.

She was barely gone ten minutes, but it felt like something has drastically changed.

“Hera claimed him. He’s as good as dead.” Beryl was able to manage between sobs.

Her mother had no right to cry. She didn’t know Jason, not really, not the way Thalia did. She didn’t know that Jason liked to pretend he can fly and preferred the Buzz Lightyear band-aids when he inevitably scrapes himself up jumping from furniture or the playground equipment to demonstrate. She didn’t know that Jason liked to build block towers just as much as Piper did, but he liked knocking them over more because he got to roar like a dinosaur or howl like a wolf. She didn’t know about the bird’s nest Jason decided to camp outside protecting because he was worried the mama bird wouldn’t come back. Thalia knows those things. She thinks he’s the most important person in the universe and now he’s gone.

They stayed for two hours. Thalia combed every inch of the area, looked behind every tree, in every bush. She screamed Jason’s name until she can’t anymore. When Beryl dragged her away from the site, Thalia didn’t even have the energy to fight her.

The drive home was oddly silent without Jason’s chatter.

Beryl disappeared into the confines of her bedroom as soon as they got home. She would wallow in her own grief away from her remaining child. Beryl knew Thalia deserved to be comforted, but she also knew that people seldom got what they deserved.

Thalia ran to her spot behind the kitchen counter. She wished it was a normal day as she picked up the phone. She wanted to just be able to call Esmeralda and tell her that her mother was having a rough day, to ask that someone come pick up Jason and her. But this time was different. This time Thalia calls 911.

The police cars pulled up to their apartment in a flurry of sound and lights. Thalia can’t move from her spot behind the counter even when they demanded someone open the door. She hugged herself tightly as her mother opened the door.

"Really, Officer, I don't understand what the problem is," Beryl said earnestly but firmly kept them outside.

“We have a report of a missing child from a Miss Thalia Grace.”

Thalia can’t see her mother’s face, but her mask must not firmly be in place. They knew something was wrong, even as Beryl attempted to push them away. "Oh, that's just my daughter. What a frightful imagination she has. I'm sure it's nothing, Officers. I'm sorry for bothering-.”

A female officer cut off Beryl's apology. "Even If it's just a simple mistake, it's still best that we talk to her. We'll even let her know that this isn't the sort of thing to joke about."

Thalia felt her tears grow heavier at that. There is no way she could ever joke about this, not with a memory of her baby brother singing twinkle twinkle little star running through her head.

The officer walked past a reluctant Beryl into the apartment. Her partner, a Hispanic man with greying hair, stayed with her mother as she sought out Thalia. The blonde woman didn't need to look far before she found her curled in a ball in the corner against the lower cabinets. Thalia was a mess, covered in scrapes and dirt from her time spent searching for her brother. The officer gingerly sat down across from her.

“You must be Thalia. I’m Officer Joan. You did a really good job calling us tonight. I know you told the person on the phone a little bit of what happened, but can you tell me everything please?”

Thalia’s words spilled out of her, a desperate flood of information on the off chance that literally anything is even the slightest bit helpful in finding Jason. She didn’t know if these people even can help. This felt strange, like her one-eyed classmates or her mother begging people who aren’t there, but Thalia needed them to be able to do the impossible anyway. She won’t ever forgive herself if the police could have done something and they didn’t

When she finished, Officer Joan nodded to her partner before helping Thalia to her feet. "Now, I know this isn't going to be fun, but we need to take your mom to the station so we can ask her more questions.

Thalia nodded, slightly unsure. She understood, but every second that someone wasn’t looking for her brother was time he could spend hurt. Why weren’t they moving faster?

“Do you have someone you can stay with while we do that? A relative?”

When the police car pulled up to the Valdez apartment, it is seven hours since she last saw her brother. Thalia thinks it isn’t possible to cry anymore. She’s done almost nothing but cry since Jason disappeared. She used up all her tears.

Esperanza answered the door with a look of confusion on her face. Her curls were already wrapped in a purple headscarf. Her fingers kept her thin robe closed over her nightdress. The look of confusion turned to one of worry when she saw Thalia. Officer Joan briefly explained the situation, but Esperanza never truly took her eyes off Thalia’s face.

“Tally!” Leo exclaimed as he saw the people at the front door. He peered around their legs eagerly before the smile fell from his face. “Where’s Jay?”

Thalia broke down into a fresh set of tears.

“Leo, why don’t you go pick out another book to read while I get Thalia settled?” The little boy looked confused. Thalia and Jason were a package set. If Thalia was here, his best friend should be too.

Esperanza pulled Thalia into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, everything's going to be alright. You just let it out. I know it's been a hard day."

Esperanza maneuvered the two of them, so they're sitting on the sagging couch, all the while clutching her tightly. Esperanza wrapped her in a blanket and fixed some hot chocolate before she finally left to put Leo to bed.

After Leo’s safely asleep, Esperanza came back with a washcloth and a glass of water. She doesn’t force Thalia to say anything. She merely wiped away the grime of the day from her face before gently helping the girl lay down with her head in Esperanza’s lap. She ran her fingers through Thalia’s short hair until the girl settled into an uneasy sleep.

The police come back the next day. She remembered getting frustrated that they were here again, asking her the same questions instead of being out there finding her brother, but the rest of the interview is a blur. She sat on the couch, watching the rain pound harshly against the glass. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and Thalia prayed to whoever may be listening that Jason is somewhere safe and dry. The thunder didn’t stop all day.

Her mother must have been sober enough to give the performance of her life because she wasn't charged for Jason's disappearance. There is no body. It's Thalia's word against hers, and Thalia was just a kid. Still, the papers had a field day. “Who is Beryl Grace’s super-secret custody agreement with?” “Did Disgraced Soap Opera Star Kill Her Own Son?” “Where is Jason Grace?” Her brother’s face smiled at her on the cover of tabloids for weeks, and it just felt like too much.

Thalia tried to stay. She really did. She barely entered the apartment that she shared with her mother, instead crashing on Esperanza’s couch or the guest room in the Mclean house. These people seem to understand, at least. They’ve seen Beryl Grace at her worst. They believe Thalia without question. Although after Tristan gets reprimanded for drawing negative attention to himself, they don’t press the issue publicly anymore. No one says it, but the odds are Jason is dead already.

Thalia pretends she doesn’t hear Esperanza and Tristan’s frantic whispers late at night, knowing they’re talking about what to do with her. She ripped down every photo she ever put on her bedroom wall the one time she can bring herself to go back inside the room she shared with her brother. She can’t look at them, can’t see Jason grinning back at her with a red party hat holding up three fingers proudly or Jason making funny faces with Piper and Leo, without wanting to scream. Thalia tried to avoid looking at Piper and Leo’s disappointed faces. They don’t understand what’s happening, but their best friend is gone. Their little questions of “But is Jay coming back tomorrow?” break her heart. She can’t bear to stay here, but she also has nowhere else to go.

In the end, Thalia didn’t make the decision to leave so much as the monsters did.

She noticed the looming shadows before she saw them. Thalia ducked behind a mailbox to get a better look at them. They're over double her size, with wild eyes, pointy teeth, and hairy arms covered in tattoos. Their clothes wouldn’t look too out of place at a rock concert if it weren’t for their necklaces. The giants proudly wore chains with everything from beaded necklaces to gleaming weapons attached to it. Souvenirs, Thalia thought to herself. The spoils of war from the people who they killed before. She would not let herself be next.

“The hero is close. Their scent is strong.”

Thalia did not feel like a hero, especially as she studied the swords and spears that rattle against their chests. She’s only ten years old, but no one else on the street seemed to notice them.

"You better be right, brother. Halfblood is a treat, but I'm hungry now." Scraps of blood-soaked denim clung to the ogre's face.

Would they just eat whoever they come across if she didn’t come forward? This is a busy road, only a few blocks from the school. They could grab anyone; her classmates are at risk the longer she stays hidden. She knows in her bones that she’s the person they’re looking for. She may not know the word “Halfblood," but it felt right to her. Thalia wished she was in a position where she could fight, where she could leap up and just fight them. But all she has is a backpack, and as scary as math is, she didn’t think her textbook can do much damage.

Thalia was so absorbed in trying to think of an escape plan, something that both didn't draw attention to herself and minimized the casualties, that she didn't notice the hand inching toward the mailbox until it was too late. She jumped back.

The giants leered at her. “Little hero. I see we won’t have to wait long for dinner.”

She’s not an especially fast runner, but she is small enough to maneuver quickly, to change paths even as they lumbered toward her. They recognized that they could not win on speed alone. They use the very features of the street as projectiles. The giants lift cars as if they weigh nothing. Shop awnings fall in their grasp. Thalia did everything she could to avoid them.

Still, it was not enough. The stoplight may not have hit her, but she needed extra time to jump around it to avoid the sparks flying off it. It was time she did not have to lose.

Thalia can’t explain why she did it. Her back was against the rough concrete wall. She was out of options. So Thalia raised her right hand and directed it toward the closer giant. She just wanted a way out of here, any way. The lightning flashed until there was nothing left of the giant but the smell of burning flesh and his spoils of war.

“Child of Zeus, you shall pay for that.” He lunged for her, but missed, his hand impeding deep into the wall behind her.

Thalia swallowed, surprised despite the absurdity of her current situation that her mother was telling the truth. A god. Her father really had been a god. After Jason had disappeared, Thalia had completely dismissed the notion. What sort of god didn’t even protect his own son?

"I will have revenge, godling." The remaining giant ripped one of the streetlamps up from the base. It flew to her left, even if the miss was a little too close for comfort.

Thalia tried to recreate the feeling, the tug in her stomach, but no matter what she did, she could not summon more lightning. She had another option, though. The giant may have disappeared, but his necklace of souvenirs had not.

Thalia tugged a spear loose from the chain. It feels right in her hand.

“There is no escape, little hero. I will feast on your bones.”

Thalia didn’t have any time to think as the monster stalked forward. There was no time to worry about all the ways this can go wrong, that she's never held a spear, let alone thrown one. She flung the spear with all her might, hoping it would go straight.

Amazingly it did, and the Laistrygonian howled as he disappeared.

Even as the ogre crumbled into dust, Thalia kept panicking. He said her scent was strong, which meant more monsters would be coming. What would happen if she was with Piper and Leo next time? They were just little kids. Plus, Tristan and Esperanza had gone out of their way since they’d met to make sure that she was safe and loved. It wasn’t fair to involve them or put them at risk.

Thalia couldn't be here the next time a monster attacked. She wasn't going to let them get hurt. Thalia couldn't watch someone else she loved die and know she could have prevented it. She had to gather some supplies first, but then she was leaving. If the price to pay for her family’s safety was never seeing them again, she’d gladly pay it.

#pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo/hoo #hoo #thalia grace #jason grace #leo valdez #piper mclean #my fic #Esperanza Valdez #because she's an icon in this #silima #moh tag #because I think you told people it was alright to tag you in content we hoped people would see #my writing

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chaniters · 6 years ago

Text

The friend-zone.

This took me infinitely longer than usual to write. Mostly because Discord is so addictive. But I think the time paid off, re-reading it several times improved it so much. I generally fumble the middle of these stories in a rush to get to the sweet finales. So I guess I’m learning? I kind of feel somewhat more confident about the end result.

Enjoy!

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THE FRIEND ZONE

You walk carefully through the large dark room, trying not to drop anything.

Hollow Ground, looms ahead of you, larger than life and ready for battle.

You keep walking towards him... until you find the right spot, sliding into your seat on the left row. You pass on the popcorn and sodas to Elyse and Anathema.

Now more relaxed, you lay back, taking your seat, as you watch rapid clips from many of the Ranger’s previous movies cycling through the screen until the Producer's logo comes out from a collage of them.

Anathema Is still watching some video about kittens in his phone, while Elyise still talks to her girlfriend, giggling in a way more befitting of a young teenager.

"Hey," you say "It's about to start!"

"Oh.. right," Anathema says putting her's in airplane mode. Elyise finally hangs up and smiles to you.

And then, the movie starts...

------Some seventh art magic later--------

You walk out, feeling bit sick. Maybe you ate too much sweet popcorn... Why do they make the buckets so large?

"Well, I'll go first... I didn't like it much..." Anathema starts. "...it's just not a very good follow-up to the Eldritch movie"

"Well duh, Eldritch was... Eldritch. A great and interesting villain makes a better movie than an ensemble of random evil guys. Eldritch took all of us to defeat in the end, remember?”. And it could have killed us all, you say to yourself. We were lucky.

"You think so?" Elsyise asks. "I kind of enjoyed it. Seeing all the different powers and abilities facing off against each other."

"I guess it's subject to debate" Anathema concedes.

They go ahead while discussing the movie. Your thoughts lie elsewhere.

You always watch movies like this along with Ortega and Themie... And now you've kind of replaced him with Elyise. You fucking miss him.

She turns at you.

Oh shit.

You let your shields slip for a moment and she noticed you're thinking about her and Ortega.

She says nothing and goes back to talking to Anathema.

You walk him off to his bike and say goodbye as he sets off through the streets.

"So" Elyise finally asks.

"Sorry" you begin before she does. "I keep thinking about Ortega and that fight..."

"I'm intrigued. Steel had a point. Why didn't you join the Rangers already? You and Ortega are very close... Even after that fight"

"I... " you look at her. What lie can you possibly tell her? "I don't... trust the government enough to join them" you say at last. That's not really a lie.

Her eyes widen for a second at your honest response, and then she smiles.

"That's wise," She says with a bitter smile. "No telepath ever should trust them," she says walking onwards.

"W...why?" You ask, your shields raised into impenetrable barriers.

"You're too young to know about it... Back in the day when the first of us... telepaths ... gained our powers... there was a big scare in the media. They demonized us. Some of us had gone public... and suffered for it. The government just rounded us up. And took us to camps and labs... there were... experiments."

Fuck. You know all too well about it.

"That's terrible!" you say "What... happened then?"

"I was lucky. My parents had money... they sued big time. They had to release me in the end, but most who take the hero drugs are desperate, and they had no one outside. There was never any record of them being taken either." She looks much older, tired and sad as she speaks about this. "You know... I still look for some of them... In social media. I haven't been able to find a single one yet." Her eyes are bit tearful."

"It's.. over," you say "They can't hurt you now" You are not very good with words... but you have other means. You can't help it. Your shields open and you brush your mind against her... offering her some comforting thoughts.

You used to do this... when they weren't looking. And so did your brothers and sisters. It's how you survived.

She gasps as she realizes what you're doing. Blocking and negating her fears and terrors... "THat's... that...." She takes your wrist "I don't know how you can do those things. I thought I was a strong telepath... I've had these powers for 20 years and I can't manage something like that"

"It's not so hard..." you smile. "Just... follow my lead" It's tricky teaching her these things. But you're good enough to play the game and hide your cards at the same time.

Her mind observes as you do it a few times... brushing thoughts against people around you. Leaving them with a sense of peace and stupid nonsensical smiles. Sometimes you wish you could do that to yourself...

And then... she attempts it herself. Slowly at first... until she manages to reach the superficial layers of a woman passing by, causing her to smile briefly.

"What the... I did it!" she is overjoyed.

"Told you it wasn't hard!"

"What? That was the hardest thing I've ever done!"

She’s not wrong... without someone showing you how to do it beforehand, you’d probably fry people’s brains and hurt yourself in the process if you tried.

You roll your eyes. "I think Jupiter would beg to differ."

"Telepathy is the hard part you smartass."

"Hey, I can't toss motorboats at enemies!"

"Sure can... you just ask me!"

A couple passes looking at you and laughs.

“Oh fuck. More people thinking I’m your cougar mamma... Let’s go already”

You just chuckle. She jokes about it, but she’s quite self-conscious. Oh well... you're not one to judge her.

Your phone rings, startling you. Anathema made you buy it some time ago, but you almost never use it.

You fidget with it, trying to turn it on

It's Ortega.

You let it ring a few more times, while your mind decides what to do. Elyise stands patiently.

"Hello there" you say in the end

"Hey Cyrus" his voice sounds a bit hesitant. "I was wondering... can I meet you somewhere?"

You doubt for a moment.

Fuck.

"ah... sorry... If you're busy then maybe..." He starts again.

You take a deep breath.

"No. I'm not busy. It's ok. Let's meet"

You agree to meet in a bar, not far from where you're standing. Just a few blocks.

"Ooohh... you are meeting him tonight?" Elyise is guessing who he is... but it's not that hard to guess. She knows how hard it is to get your number.

"Yes... we are meeting. Not far from here actually"

"Well, what are you waiting for? I'll walk you there!" she grins. "I was wondering when were you two going to make peace."

You sigh. "Yeah... we are friends... it's about time we make out" She just snorts walking ahead as you realize what you just said.

"Make up! Make up i mean! We're not going to make out!" you try to correct but it's no use

"Of course!" she says laughing as you reach your destination. She turns to you, and gives you a strong patt on both of your shoulders "You go in there tiger... and you make out with that man, you hear me?"

"I didn't..." you start

And she turns dramatically looking at you over her shoulder

"French-style" is the last thing she says as she walks away laughing towards her own ride.

You smile. She knows how to make you laugh.

THere's no loud music inside, and several pool tables. It's decent and has some good food.

He shows up a moment later.

"Hey," you say a bit awkwardly.

"Hey, you" he answers. You stand apart...

"About the other day..." he starts. He’s also feeling the awkwardness, grabbing his elbow across his body tightly with his right hand.

"Yeah... that was... bad..." you say looking down

"I mean... I'm so..."

"No... I am." You say it first. Let’s make this painless

"Hey, that was my line!"

"Yeah... but... I'm not happy about that argument...either"

"Well... I'm sorry too. We shouldn't have let you out of the loop, you were part of the mission too. Sometimes Steel gets too muddled up in the rules."

"I know... but still I shouldn't have asked you to go against him. You're the Marshall"

"So... we forget about it?" He asks extending his hand

"Yes. Forgotten already, Ricardo" you shake hands, and he draws you into a hug.

"Darn. Should have called you sooner. We could have seen the movie together"

"It sucked. And I should have called you first"

"It's in the past. Let's go in!" he says, his bright smile flashing again. You avoid it like the plague.

You talk. You play pool. You have some drinks. You're being careful not to activate any of his or your triggers, and thus he doesn't make another move on you this time. He's just grateful you're hanging out again. And you are as well.

Now if you can just manage to maintain this chemistry... he'll hook up with someone else soon enough and you'll be in the clear. It's all about knowing how to keep the balance.

A few hours later, you are leaving together. He had a few more drinks than he should, so you agree to drive him home. You can take a bus there.

"Put on your seatbelt, safety first," you say as you adjust the mirrors. "We should invite you to one of that safety on the road campaigns they make us do" he chuckles “You’d look swell in the posters!” "Well, if it pays, I'll do it," you say. "But the mask stays on" "Not sure if they can send you a check if they don't know your true name" "So we're not doing that then" you grin. "I have to tell you... you're the most paranoid, neurotic, unreasonably suspicious person I know..." "Oh, I just know what's best for me" you smile as you take a turn.

Odd... your mind feels there are several bugs around. Did some insects get inside the car? You feel them flying towards you. You look around but don't see them.

He bumps your arm lightly "You sir, are a loon. But you're my kind of loon!" "You're a crazy maniac yourself" you chuckle. You are happy. Success. You're plot worked, and you’re back in the friend zone. You just need to remember to never overstep the boundary again. Ricardo’s your best friend, after all you’d be lost without him.

You can't help it... you swat at the air around you.

"Is there a bee in the car?" you ask out of the blue. He looks around, a bit bewildered. If there is, Drunk Ortega won't be able to see it. "I don't think so?" he says in the end.

You stop at a traffic light. This is getting weird. You focus your thoughts, looking for the bee. Bees. Eight bees. All focused on you. And then you realize... they aren't inside your car. You look at the car next to you.

"Ortega.. what the fuck is that?" you look in disbelief.

The driver on the car next to you wears a trenchcoat and a hat... and its eyes glow burning yellow. IT's face isn't human... but robotic.

He turns. "Wha...” he takes a brief look before almost jumping in his seat “START THE ENGINE RIGHT NOW!" Ortega utters you.

"But the traffic light is...."

"Forget about the stupid traffic light! Get us out of here!"

You start the car, accelerating as fast as you can.

And then you hear the shots. The things in the car behind you are shooting.

"Just keep going, this car is bulletproof!" You take a turn, trying to avoid them.

"What are those things?"

"It's HIVE" he says as if that explained it all. "I mean they are HIVE."

"Wait... are those the bees?"

"Yes. HIVE always attacks in numbers! Keep going!"

You ignore the following two traffic lights. Another car joins the one already pursuing you, shooting energy weapons and bullets at Ortega's car.

You keep trying to outrun them...

And you don't notice the car coming from your left and right. They drive forward, ahead of you, trying to force you to slow down.

"They are going to catch us!"

"Not if I can... help it!" Ortega opens his window and you notice a discharge from him. The driver on your left explodes in a rain of sparks, overcharged, and its car goes out of control, crashing into a small flower shop. You take the chance to turn left now that it's not blocking you.

"What the fuck are they? I only sense bees inside them!"

"Rogue robot network, controlled by Bee's brains! It's my Nemesis!"

"What?! How come I’ve never fucking ever heard of it??!"

"It's a secret government project... and it was destroyed! Hood And I defeated Hive back in the day!"

"It seems pretty Healthy to me!"

And then you sense it... bees... so many bee brains.

"Fuck they have us surrounded! they're coming from all sides!"

"Can you evade them?"

"I'll try,” You say with little confidence. Fuck. Ortega is the better drive... if only he hadn’t had so many drinks...

More cars full of robots come into view.

You try to get in between them... but they turn at the last moment causing a crash. The airbags burst in your face, leaving you winded.

Something tears down the door on your side and a robotic arm struggle to pull you off, but the seatbelt gets in the way. You shoot at it with your energy gun, sending it into the ground. Another one inmediately takes it’s place, pulling the gun from your hand. It then unbuckles the belt and pulls you down onto the pavement, face-first.

You stand up with difficulty. They approach with their glowing yellow eyes. All of them wearing the creepy trenchcoats and hats, disguising their metallic bodies. You see Ortega fighting them off, he's good enough to do it even while drunk. And his electrical arcs are good excellent weapons against them. Several are already broken on the floor.

One of them charges.. and you try to block his fist, but the kick to your gut takes you unprepared, sending you down on your back.

You have no idea how to predict a or read a bee's brain. You try to stand up again, but another one sends a metallic fist to your face that makes you see dotted colors.

Two of them take you by your arms and drag you away, your arms and legs refusing to cooperate.

"Cyrus! I'm coming to you, Cyrus! Hang on!!" you hear Ortega's voice in the distance, as the robots toss you at the back of a ban and start the engine.

Someone runs a hand through your face... what...? You look at them and immediately regret it.

"Oh hello, again you sweet sweet funny man!" The CandyMaster greets you. "We're going to play so many games together. It will be so much fun!!"

What. The. Fuck.

You open your mouth to scream.

His hand covers it before any coherent sound can come out of it.

"HHMMHGGFFRHFFHG!!" You scream for someone to help you. Anyone. This one gives you the fucking creeps.

He widens his gaze as he activates his power. You feel the crystal candy expanding inside your mouth. Sealing it shut. You can’t even spit it out.

One of the HIVE robots takes hold of your hands and locks them with handcuffs.

"Now now, don't be rude! Eat your candy or there will be a ...punishment!" he chuckles giving you a smile with his shining white teeth that is just the stuff of nightmares.

The overwhelming sweetness in your mouth wants to make you throw up. But you can’t even do that.

You try to enter his mind... but It’s so warped... It will take a while to get to know how it works.

The ban drives off through the dark streets of Los Diablos' suburbs.

-----------------------------

My fanfiction: https://chaniters.tumblr.com/post/181692759294/my-fanfiction-for-fallen-hero

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fan fiction using characters and the setting of the Fallen Hero: Rebirth and upcoming Fallen Hero: Retribution games written by Malin Riden. I do not claim ownership of any characters from the Fallen Hero wold. These stories are a work of my imagination, and I do not ascribe them to the official story canon. These works are intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by the author. I am not profiting financially from the creation of these stories, and thank the author for her wonderful game/s, without which these works would not exist.

#fallen hero: rebirth #fallen hero spoilers #Chargestep #Anathema

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childofthenight2035 · 7 years ago

Text

Portrait Mode

A/N: i dont know where this idea came from tbh

Pairing: Kim Junmyeon x g!Reader

Summary/Prompt: A stranger asks for a portrait, but you didn’t see this coming.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: None

I fanned my face with my paint covered hands, squinting in the bright sunlight. I sat down wearily in the flimsy plastic chair near the stall. Being an art student at the local college, I’d decided to set up a little stall on the streets near the marketplace, where several other artists and craftsmen set up theirs every day. Since I had nothing better to do during summer vacation, I was here and it was a decent way to earn a little money.

It was afternoon and the heat was no less. It had been a rather busy day; I’d gotten several customers. My back really hurt and my wrist felt like knives were being stabbed into it.

I was considering packing up for the day, when a shadow fell over the blank canvas I’d set up, blocking the sunlight. I looked up into the eyes of one of the most beautiful faces I’d ever seen in my life. I stood up slowly, not taking my eyes off the person.

“Hello,” he said, smiling.

“Oh…hello,” I replied feebly, having forgotten how to speak.

“Would you paint something for me?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle. I took in what was happening. An incredibly handsome man whom I’d never seen before- and that shade of blue looked absolutely wonderful on him, those ripped jeans too- is asking me, of all the artists here, to paint him a picture. I don’t care how tired I am, I thought. I’m going to paint. I sat back down.

“Umm…” I cleared my throat. “Of course. What would you like me to paint?”

“It’s a portrait,” he said slowly. “A girl’s.”

I nodded, taking my pencil and testing its darkness on the canvas. “Could you describe her, please?”

He hesitated. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with the shape of her face.”

“Um, it’s…” he seemed unable to describe it.

“Round? Thin? Pointed? Square?” I prompted.

“Round, I suppose.” He scratched the back of his head.

I sketched on the canvas. “Like this?”

He corrected it. “A little more pointed here, and…yeah.”

“Her hair?”

“It’s wavy, um…about shoulder length.” He made several gestures around his head to convey the image in his mind.

“Is it anything like mine?” I asked, since I also had shoulder length wavy hair. His eyes rested on my hair, pondering.

“Yeah, somewhat. It’s enough.” He informed, nodding.

“So,” I began as I sketched the girl’s hair, “may I know the name of the gentleman I’m painting this for?”

“Kim Junmyeon,” he replied. “But you can call me Suho.”

“Suho.” I tried the name out.

“Could I know yours?” he asked in return. I smiled.

“My name is Y/N.”

“ Y/N. Are these your paintings, Y/N?” I nodded, not removing my gaze from the canvas. “They’re very good.”

“Thank you.” I was done with the outline of her face, hair and neck. “Could you describe her facial features, please?” I listened carefully, lightly drawing as he spoke about the shape of her eyes, nose and lips. The way he spoke made me certain that the girl was his girlfriend- wife, maybe? He didn’t look old enough to be married, but you can never tell. He satisfyingly described the sparkle in her eyes and the amused smile that tugged at her lips, helping me make her look warm and real, not just an inanimate painting.

Painting a portrait is hard work. I pulled up a chair for Suho to sit down while I sketched. I struck up a conversation with him.

“So, Suho,” I said, “is this your girlfriend?”

“Oh, um…” he blushed. “Actually, no, it’s the girl I have a kind of crush on.” He was smiling like an idiot and I grinned too. “I mean, I know having a crush is schoolboy stuff, but I haven’t known her very long and she’s already stolen my heart.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” I remarked. “You’re going to give this to her?”

“I want to keep it,” he said, “If things don’t work out…I mean, I don’t know if she’s taken; I’d like to remember her.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, are you in college, Suho?”

He shook his head. “Just got out, actually. I got a job here at SM Enterprises. I’m sharing a rented apartment downtown.”

“So you’re new to town,” I confirmed. “That’s why I haven’t seen you before.”

“What about you, Y/N?” he asked. “You do this for a living?” He gestured to the stall and my canvases.

“I’m an art student,” I told him. “This is a summer job.” I switched to talking about the portrait. “Okay, so I’ve done the sketch. What colour is her skin?”

“She’s tanned,” was his immediate reply.

“Compare it to mine.”

“Um…” he stared at my face. “Maybe just a shade lighter, but more or less similar to yours.”

“Her hair colour?”

“Black.”

Man, she has a lot in common with me, I thought, but said nothing out loud.

I’d finished the base colouring of her face, neck and hair. I was painting the details, outlining her eyes, when a thought struck me. This girl looks an awful lot like me, I said to myself. But then I shook it off. Coincidence, maybe?

However, when I sat back, fingers coated in paint, to examine the portrait I’d done, the similarity hit me hard. It was as if I was looking into a special effects mirror. It was a replica of me, except for one more thing…

“Oh, she has a little birthmark on her left cheek,” Suho added. “Under her eye.”

I froze, glancing towards him, appalled.

I had a birthmark on my left cheek, under my eye! I had no doubt that this was a portrait of me. My mind was full of questions- first of all, why me? Was this some sort of prank? And…how on earth did he know about the birthmark? It was so small, hardly anyone noticed it!

After completing it signing my name at the bottom corner, I finally looked over at Suho, my face flushed. I opened my mouth to tell him something, but he beat me to it.

“Thank you so much,” he said. “How much do I owe you?”

I swallowed the retort I was about to make and named my price. He paid and picked up the canvas, walking away into the light of the setting sun.

I sighed, glancing down at the bills in my hand. My eyes narrowed. I shifted some aside, revealing a piece of paper.

I read aloud: “You’re beautiful and you have amazing talent. I swear, I saw you and was struck dumb…I hope you’re free tomorrow at seven, because…I’m taking you out to dinner?! Call me, please.” A phone number followed.

Half of me wanted to crumple it up, toss it aside and say, “the nerve of boys these days!” and the other half wanted to kiss it and call him right away.

I sighed, a little giddy inside. What was there to lose?

“I’m going to call him.”

#exo #suho #kim junmyeon #fluff #portrait mode #scenario

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thunderheadfred · 7 years ago

Text

(can it wait for a bit, I’m in the middle of some calibrations)

Maybe it goes without saying, but when I go back to my therapist on the 7th, I’m going to have to talk to him about managing my art-related executive dysfunction.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve been in the habit of drawing at all, that I totally forgot how all-consuming and toxic it is for me. Not drawing itself. Actually creating is one of the best feelings, a natural high, and that goes for drawing or writing or sewing or knitting or whatever. When you make something from nothing (or from lots of little somethings), it feels pretty incredible.

BUT.

For as long as I can remember, all of my most toxic, self-destructive behaviors come out when I'm creating. I hit the bottle to take the edge off, then forget to eat and shower and sleep. I neglect my friends and family. I don't do my chores and day-to-day work.

TRANSLATION: (can it wait for a bit, I’m in the middle of some calibrations)

I like what I’m doing, when I’m creating. Like I said, it’s a natural high, but when I make things I also feel like I’m worthwhile - like I’m finally giving something back to the universe - otherwise I’m just sitting around, an inert sad sack. To a certain extent, I even like who I AM when I’m in that fever state, because I’m funny and chipper, generous with my praise and enthusiasm for just about everything and everyone. But the way I actually behave re: my daily routine?? As in, the flaky, cloud-9, shiftless roommate my husband actually has to live with? Yuck. He never complains or holds these whirlwinds against me, but I know it’s tiring. He deserves someone a bit more stable, I recognize that.

The basic solution is obvious: just take breaks and make time for life in between creative sprints. And I’ve... attempted that? At various points. With... limited success. In other words, I know better, and I’m self-aware enough to recognize this is an unsustainable way of creating - it’s why I have such long blocks of crickets in between insane scrambling dumps of productivity. I exhaust myself and burn out.

On my own, I have never gotten it to stick. I think, hopefully, if I’m honest and accountable with my therapist, I might be able to finally start putting some dents in this LIFE-LONG hell spiral that I’ve always had with my creativity. Moderation and pacing myself have never, ever worked before, but I'm too old to be pulling high-on-life creative all-nighters like I did in my teens and early twenties. I’m old, man. Old and out of shape and in need of some healthier self-regulation.

I'm either on or off. I'm going ten thousand miles per hour, flying high as a kite... or I can't do anything creative at all. In those down times, I'm usually so depressed I'm ALSO useless and toxic, but there's a rare middling ground where I can shuffle around and be a decent, hard-working human being.

Is it too much to want the best of both worlds? To be able to sleep and eat three square meals a day, to feel like I'm taking decent care of my house and my dog and my husband, and ALSO be able to set aside a few hours to make something each day, without feeling like I'm being possessed by demons??

#personal #not negative #just thinking out loud #executive dysfunction like WOAH #fuck you ADHD

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muffinsnotebook · 7 years ago

Text

Mac n Cheese Pt. 2

crossposted on ao3.

pt. 1 pt. 3

[screams: FINALLY!!!]

Chapter 2: Cupcakes and Kimchi

When Kim Seokjin had graduated from culinary school at the top of his class, complete with recommendations from the chef he’d trained under at the restaurant (and a spot at said restaurant), Namjoon, then his best friend (and secretly long-time crush), had given him this high quality, absolutely beautiful, 7-piece knife set made of carbon stainless steel alloy for his graduation gift.

On their first anniversary as a couple, Namjoon gifts him a leather knife carrier bag for it. The next day, they receive an email congratulating them on their first Michelin star.

Seokjin makes sure to maintain them properly, puts them in a polished cherry wood block, placed by the corner next to the small hook where he hangs his aprons - one in pastel pink, one in chocolate brown. After he’d gotten back from the hospital and put the boys to sleep, he’d taken them all out of the leather bag and cleaned them meticulously, storing them back in the wooden block.

With all the stress and grief he's had to grappled with for the past few days, adding on the fact that he now has a three-week leave (for the first time since…never), he inevitably forgets about them being of easy access on his granite counter.

Until he stumbles into the kitchen to see Taehyung wielding about his extra sharp, high-carbon stainless steel 8 inch chef’s knife on top of the kitchen island.

“Ban…KAI!” The seven year old yells, swinging the knife about with two hands. Seokjin promptly gets a heart attack.

“Kim Taehyung, what are you doing?!” He whisper-yells, just barely remembering he’d just put Jeongguk to sleep for the afternoon.

Taehyung turns to him, then grins excitedly, brandishing the chef knife like a samurai. “I’m a reaper from BLEACH! This is my ban…KAI!” He swings again in a wide downward arc.

“Taehyungie, that’s not a toy; that’s a real knife - you could hurt yourself with that.” Seokjin says slowly, carefully making his way to the younger boy. “Can you please give that back? You didn’t even ask permission from me if you could borrow it.”

The elder inwardly congratulated himself for sounding steady and calm despite feeling a nanometer away from fainting. Predictably, the young boy pouts as he lowers his arms, and reluctantly allows Seokjin to take it from his grasp.

“Will you please get down from the kitchen island before you trip and hit your head?” Seokjin pleads as he puts back his knife in the block, and hefts the heavy wood up onto a cabinet, far from their reach.

Taehyung complies with a disappointed whine. “Uncle Jin is no fun at all.” He pouts, then stomps off into the living room.

And Seokjin is indignant, because excuse you, I am a ton of fun! and because yah! That’s the second time you’ve insulted me, Kim Taehyung!

“Excuse you? I am so very much full of fun!” He hollers after the boy. “Like, tons of fun! You simply don’t appreciate my sense of humor!”

“No thanks, Uncle Jin, I like your food better.” Taehyung replies as he wraps his arms around Jimin instead, who’s watching some cartoon on the TV. The compliment to his cooking is rather backhanded, and Seokjin isn’t mollified one bit.

“You don’t believe me? You haven’t even heard me tell you a joke! I’ll have you know, that I know plenty of jokes! In fact, my handsome face is a--“

“Joke!”

“AH kkamjjagiya!” Seokjin whirls around, on the brink of a heart attack once more, because Jeongguk - whom he could’ve sworn he’d just put to sleep - is sitting on the couch, wide awake, and repeating “joke! joke!” gleefully.

Jimin and Taehyung burst into raucous laughter. Seokjin glowers to no avail, as Jeongguk only laughs along with his brothers.

"I can't decide who was funnier - Ggukie or Uncle Jin!" Taehyung gasps, tears leaking from his eyes. Okay that's a bit too much now, Seokjin thinks sulkily.

Jimin proves him wrong. "Both?"

It’s the first time Kim Seokjin considers that he may have just adopted the three most savage children in the entire world. He considers it for a moment - just a tiny moment.

After all, children change, don’t they? Surely, surely, they’ll come around and love him too much to slay him like this…? Aren't they even too young to slay people like this...?

“See? I am a lot of fun - I just made you laugh, didn’t I?” Seokjin tries to brush it off - because they’re children, and their laughter has been scarce and far too precious these past few weeks.

Jimin shakes his head. “Uh-uh. That wasn’t you - that was Jeonggukie’s joke! Uncle Jin was just the butt of the joke.”

Savages. Savages, the lot of them.

“So how have the kids been, hyung?” Hoseok’s cheerful voice filters in through the receiver with a slight crackle. Seokjin heaves a tired sigh, as he slumps on his couch.

“Ah, it’s been tiring! It’s like they never run out of energy!” Seokjin whines halfheartedly. “They’re sleeping now - thank god, I thought they’d never sleep. Taehyungie and Ggukie wouldn’t stop jumping all over the bed - I was so scared one of them was going to fall off and hit their heads!”

“These kids sound fun,” Hoseok laughs.

“It’s not funny!” Seokjin huffs. “Taehyung even managed to get a hold of my chef knife and started swinging it around on top of the kitchen island! I swear to god, I’m going to have a heart attack one of these days. Wait - I think I see a gray hair on my head.”

“So dramatic, hyung,” Hoseok replies, still laughing. Jerk - not even a hint of sympathy. “You’re not even that old - heck, you’re not even 30!”

And Seokjin isn’t. Seokjin is twenty-six, fairly young for an executive chef, and part owner, of a restaurant on the outskirts of Cheongdam, and in all honesty, is pretty much a child at heart still. He’s been a maknae for most of his life, having been born late in the year among his peers; and even with his dongsaengs, he’s never been fussy beyond honorifics and basic courtesy - partly because the dongsaengs he’s close with are pretty much set with their own lives, and don’t often ask him for advice, so much as a listening ear.

Obviously, his newest dongsaengs - his nephews! - will require more care and attention than a bunch of self sufficient young adults. Seokjin isn’t confident he can actually pull off being a decent hyung, let alone a responsible guardian to toddlers.

But a quitter is the last thing Seokjin is. And when the going gets tough, he toughens himself up even more.

They called him a disgusting faggot when he came out, and then later on again, for falling head over heels for Namjoon. But Seokjin looks in the mirror every day, and sees a handsome face staring back - which, he believes only gets more handsome when juxtaposed beside Namjoon’s dimpled smile. So be it if he's a faggot; he’s pretty sure he’s one of the most handsome faggots in the whole of fucking Asia, if not the whole world - the modeling gigs that kept coming even after he officially quit are testament to his attractiveness.

They called him a failure for dropping a business degree in favor of culinary arts. Seokjin had worked his ass off in culinary school, shamelessly asking the kind chefs at the Gangnam restaurant he worked at for cooking tips. Now his restaurant is the talk of the town; and they’re on the running for their second Michelin Star - if the food inspectors haven’t dropped by already.

Namjoon had told him he’s the type who blooms the most in adversity. Seokjin may not know a thing about child rearing, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t become the best uncle-hyung-parent-guardian for Jimin, Taehyung and Jeongguk.

He’ll be patient, and kind, and fun, and wise, and loving, like the perfect hyung-uncle there ever could be.

…It’s easier said than done, however.

In fact, it’s infinitely difficult to even spell patience when Jeongguk sitting on the hardwood floor of the living room, drawing colorful flowers and stars on the back of his white. leather. couch.

Using permanent. neon colored. pens.

“Kim Jeongguk!” He shrieks, his ears, and neck hot with anger. The four year old jumps, dropping his colored pens as he turns to Seokjin with huge, dark eyes, getting shinier and shinier with unshed tears, lips wobbling and hands trembling.

Uh oh.

The hot rage that had filled him not even three seconds ago evaporates just as fast, replaced with heavy stabs of guilt. Goddammit, he didn’t even do anything wrong! A juvenile part of Seokjin wants to stomp and pout, because his beautiful, white leather couch, and Jeongguk was the one in the wrong!

Instead, Seokjin sinks to a crouch, tugging Jeongguk gently but firmly in front of him.

He takes a deep calming breath through his nose, and scrunches his face into the stern, calm mask he wears in front of new kitchen staff. It takes everything in him to maintain it for more than a few seconds when big, fat teardrops trickle down Jeongguk’s cheeks.

“Jeonggukie, the couch is where people sit. It’s not meant for drawing on flowers and stars. We don’t draw or paint on couches, okay?” And in a perfect world, Jeongguk would nod at his words, and apologize, and Seokjin would give him a kiss on the cheek, and they’d go on with their lives peacefully.

But it is not a perfect world, and instead, Jeongguk only begins to wail loudly, summoning his older brothers into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung asks, stopping just shy of the Scene of the CrimeTM, looking between his uncle and his younger brother. Jeongguk, spotting his hyungs, ducks beneath Seokjin’s grasp and runs to Jimin, wailing, “hyungie!”

“What’s wrong, Ggukie?” Jimin asks, his short arms wrapping protectively around his younger brother. He shoots an accusatory look at his uncle, and Seokjin thinks he would’ve found the whole concept of it cute, if he weren’t the (very wrongfully accused!) receiver of it. As it is, Jimin’s look makes Seokjin feel as though he’s Mother Gothel incarnate.

“I was just telling Jeonggukie that the couch isn’t for drawing on,” Seokjin says defensively. “Drawings and paintings are best on paper, so we can put them in frames and hang them on the walls for everyone to see!”

He calls Jeongguk to look at him, who only does so with a little coaxing from Jimin. “Ggukie, next time you want to draw, just ask me for paper, okay? I’m not asking you to stop drawing, but I just want you to do it on the right materials. Furniture is not one of them.”

“…mm’kay,” Jeongguk eventually nods, pout still in place.

“That goes for all of you, okay?” Seokjin says, looking pointedly at Taehyung, who had grabbed the yellow marker to fill in the wriggly star shape Jeongguk had drawn. He straightens up with a start, immediately stuffing the pen behind his back.

“Yes Uncle Jin, I promise!” He grins, glances at his work, then adds, “I won’t do it again next time.”

Seokjin stares at him unimpressed, then sighs in defeat. “Right, so before this whole thing happened, I was about to ask you guys to help me decorate some cupcakes in the kitchen--“

“Cupcakes!?!” The three boys look at each other wide-eyed and mouths agape. Seokjin blinks, and they’re gone, shoving past each other as they race into the kitchen.

“Hey, wait for me! And don’t touch anything yet!”

Of course, by the time he gets there, the warning is too late, and the kids are already half covered in the blue-green icing he’d prepared while they had been napping. The three are kneeling on the barstools on the kitchen island, frosting each other’s hands and face.

“I see you found the buttercream,” Seokjin says wryly. Taehyung promptly aims the half-filled piping bag at his face and squeezes.

Seokjin tries to yell indignantly but only ends up with a mouthful of buttercream frosting. He hears Jeongguk cackling heartily - the sound is positively evil and contagious for such a cute child. Jimin swipes his thumb at his cheek to taste.

“What do you think? Tasty?” Seokjin asks, swiping at the blob on Jimin’s nose to do the same.

“It’s delicious!”

“Dewishoos!” Jeongguk echoes again with a giggle, sucking at the frosting on his knuckles.

“Good,” Seokjin takes out another piping bag - full of pink frosting, this time - from the fridge, pulling the tray of warm, freshly baked cupcakes closer to them. “Now, how about we actually put the frosting on the cupcakes?”

Despite Seokjin’s efforts, none of the frosting actually gets on any of the cupcakes.

“It’s cute,” Namjoon says as he takes in the photo on Seokjin’s phone. He’d come over straight from closing up the restaurant. “So cute.”

In the photo, Jeongguk is sat between his hyungs, cheeks stuffed to bursting, with crumbs of cupcake and frosting and sprinkles - yes, they’d found the sprinkles, too - smeared across his forehead and cheeks, and even some on his hair. Taehyung is on his left, triumphantly holding up the deflated piping bag, covered with even more frosting and sprinkles. Jimin is on the right, smiling close-lipped, with just a hint of the dimples below his eyes peeking through, holding on to a half eaten cupcake (his fifth, that time).

The kitchen island in front of them lies in a colorful carnage - blue-green and pink buttercream frosting everywhere, piles of rainbow sprinkles here and there (a small mound of red ones in front of Jeongguk), and cupcake bits and crumbs everywhere else.

The rest of the kitchen, and his phone notwithstanding. Seokjin, however, thinks getting buttercream all over his phone screen is worth capturing the ‘kodak moment’.

“Yes, well, the mess isn’t so cute.” Seokjin replies dryly, though his expression remains soft. Namjoon chuckles with a sympathetic smile, moving to knead at the knot of muscle on Seokjin’s shoulder. Like magic, the elder sags under his hand, letting out a drawn out sigh.

“Want me to help you clean up?” Because it really isn’t a matter of need, so much as whether Seokjin actually wants Namjoon in his kitchen. Even Namjoon wouldn’t let himself in his own kitchen for anything more than pouring hot water in his instant ramyeon.

Seokjin hums, debating the pros and cons of letting Namjoon into his kitchen.

“I can stick to rags and gathering the trash,” Namjoon offers and Seokjin acquiesces. It’ll take him hours to clean up everything by himself, and the kids have worn him out for the day. It’s late at night, and Seokjin’s just managed to clean up the rest of the apartment after cleaning up and putting the kids to sleep. To say that he’s exhausted is a huge understatement.

“Yes, please.”

Despite handling most of the logistics and other managerial paperwork involved in running a restaurant, Namjoon knows his way around the kitchen - “his way around” being mostly how-to-clean (The Namjoon EditionTM) and what-can-be-cleaned (The Namjoon 2nd EditionTM) and where-stuff-are (What To Avoid, The Namjoon Special EditionTM). It’s the only reason he gets allowed in the kitchen.

Quietly, the two make their way into the kitchen, and Namjoon whistles at the absolute wreck lying in wait. A part of him is in disbelief that Seokjin had actually allowed this much chaos into his hallowed space. Much like the counter in the photo, the rest of the kitchen is smeared with frosting and sprinkles, with puffs of flour and splotches of batter mixed in.

It looks like a giant cupcake bomb exploded in the kitchen.

Namjoon remembers the genuine smiles on the kids’ face from the photo, and doesn't ask pointless questions.

“How are the kids?” He asks instead as he takes the rag Seokjin hands him and begins wiping down the island.

“I think Jeongguk is the least affected - but then again, he’s still pretty young.” Seokjin replies as he washes the utensils. “I’m worried about Jimin the most - he gets pretty quiet most of the time, and I always catch him dazed or lost in thought…” Seokjin trails off, then sighs.

“I just want them to not be so sad anymore, but,” He cuts himself off, biting his lips as he scrubs furiously at the imaginary stain in his mixing bowl.

“But you’re still sad about it, too,” Namjoon continues for him in a quiet voice. He watches in mute sympathy when Seokjin’s shoulders slump, his hands dropping the bowl to grip on the edge of the sink instead.

His sobs are but quiet sniffles, shoulders quivering as even then he tries to stifle them. Namjoon silently wraps himself around him - careful not to catch his own soapy hands on Seokjin’s shirt - and tucks his chin over Seokjin’s shoulder.

Seokjin doesn’t cry louder or harder, nor does he stop. But he lets his back rest against the warmth of Namjoon’s chest, quietly accepts his comfort, his support, trusting him to catch the pieces of himself he can’t hold on his own.

“I miss him,” Seokjin confesses painfully, “I miss him so bad, Joonie.”

Namjoon recalls only about less than a handful of other instances when Seokjin has fallen apart like this, when Namjoon has to be there to catch the tiny shards that manage to escape the elder’s tight grasp. When Namjoon has to be the one to whisper the words of positivity and comfort that otherwise fell from Seokjin’s lips on a daily basis.

Namjoon is usually the one who falls apart more often, the one who goes to Seokjin, to let his hyung gather the pieces of himself after he’s ripped himself apart from thinking too much, from scrutinizing his own reflection to the point of self-loathing.

Even before they began dating, they had already been each other’s rock. Perhaps it’s precisely because they’ve glued the shattered pieces of themselves, both on their own, and for each other, that they can do it now with practiced ease, with lesser words, with lesser reservations. Perhaps in the process, they’ve kept tiny pieces of each other, mistakenly glued it to their own, that they now match more seamlessly, complement each other nigh effortlessly.

Yoongi had always grouched about the long time they’ve spent dancing around each other, cautiously treading, moving back and forth in their relationship before finally getting together. And sometimes, Namjoon, who overthinks too much even for two people, agrees, falls into a minor slump, allows the what-ifs to trickle in. But Seokjin, who gazes fixedly on brighter horizons, reassures, cajoles him back, saying, “Wine and cheese and kimchi, Namjoon; time only makes us better.”

Time the magician, the best cook especially in Korean cuisine, transforms, changes, often for the better, when tempered just right. Like traditional kimchi, prepared with care and attention, then left for Time to work its magic, to bring forth something to fill the stomach, to warm the heart. Like a time capsule leaving only the best parts to keep the memories aged but richer, more precious.

Seokjin remembers being young and feeling neglected by parents too immersed in the future, too detached from home. Remembers seeing a TV drama of a mother making kimchi with the rest of the family. Remembers his brother and their housekeeper - an old widow who loved them like grandchildren - making kimchi with him, traditional clay urn and all, on the kitchen floor, and burying it in garden. Remembers his own impatient fingers swiping at the leftover spicy paste, dipping scraps of cabbage and tasting, wrinkling his nose. “Doesn’t taste right.”

His brother had laughed, flicking his forehead lightly. Their housekeeper, affectionately called halmeoni, had clicked her tongue. “That’s because Time hasn’t done her part yet. The last ingredient is something only Time, the greatest cook there is, to do it’s magic. Only Time can make everything better.”

Only Time can make everything better. Can untangle webs and knots that choke the present, and even the past. Can heal, can soothe.

Eventually, they move again, go back to cleaning the sticky creams and pasty smears. Seokjin allows his mind to empty, allows himself to surrender to the peace that the mundane routine of cleaning provides. He paces himself slow and steady, never mind the lingering tears that slip and stray still.

Eventually, the kitchen is once more spotless, with less hazardous materials lying about within easy reach of tiny fingers. Some of his nicer, more fragile porcelain are stored in the upper cupboards, replaced for the sturdier plastics and child-friendly ceramics.

Namjoon lugs over the bag of fruits he’d brought from the restaurant, places it in the colorful bowl Seokjin set out on the island. Seokjin brings out a small glass jar of kimchi from the fridge and two chopsticks. Namjoon (very carefully) takes out the wine and two wineglasses, and (even more carefully) sets them on the table next to the kimchi.

It’s midnight, and the rest of the apartment is dark and silent, the world outside, muted and far away. In the kitchen, Seokjin and Namjoon eat kimchi and drink wine together, sharing memories of Seokjin’s brother.

Company, to ease the flow of Time.

Alone, Jimin curls up by the window, searching for the second star on the left, on top of the moon. But there is no moon tonight. And little Jimin aches, feeling left behind once more.

Taehyung breathes quietly, the space beside him where Jimin had been, too cold for sleep, and the hollow in his chest icy in the night.

Jeongguk dreams of colors and warmth, whispers, "eomma, appa," in the silent room.

-end of chapter 2-

- Miss March Muffin

#mac n cheese #chapter 2 #cupcakes and kimchi #chef! kim seokjin #jung hoseok #kid! kim taehyung #kid! park jimin #kid! jeon jungkook #restaurant manager! kim namjoon #namjin #hurt/comfort #fluff and humor #bts fanfic #fanfic

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peachie-alpaca · 7 years ago

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🌼🍩👉🍺💣♬💀☕⚠✂🎬🍔💾☂☁🎮🐙🍀

this is too much for me to draw the answers individually…. BUT I’LL ANSWER IN TEXT FORM ANYWAY GAHAHA………….

(if you’re just SOOO curious to see more of my art head over to my deviantart tabberhatter.deviantart.com)

🌼: What are your favorite clothes to wear when you’re relaxing?

a very soft tshirt and some shorts is all I need!! its pretty hot here so that’s the norm, in winter the shorts are replaced with warm pj pants

🍩: What’s your favorite snack?

my favorite changes like, weekly. I’m fickle when it comes to food, my tastes change a lot yet I still manage to be picky. anyway, I like snacking on potato chips with ranch dip

👉: How do you sit when you draw?

it shifts SO OFTEN, like, i constantly move in my seat but my feet are rarely on the floor, at least. im a pretzel is basically what i’m trying to say

🍺: What’s the biggest mistake you make that impacts your art/drawing process?

well I’m not so sure atm, because nowadays I just lack motivation and “mood” to draw, but my biggest mistake that I learned to deal with is the frustration that a picture isn’t looking the way I want to. I’d usually get irritated and give up but I learned the motto of… just tweak it. just keep tweaking and fixing and changing until I am 100% satisfied. I dont allow myself to post anything anymore that I’m not at least 98% satisfied with, everything else just stays in my junk

💣: What site do you think you’re most active on?

tumblr definitely

♬: What do you like to listen to/have on in the background when you draw?

whatever music i’m into at the moment BUT sometimes I dont want to listen to music and just wanna hear someone talk?? in that case I just put on a lets play and draw from there

💀: Show something you drew a long time ago that at the time you were proud of.

i’m kinda tired rn and i can’t find it in my folders but tbh most of my really old art is lost and that makes me sad

☕: Coffee or Tea?

i much prefer coffee

⚠: Have you ever taken an art class?

does high school freshmen art class with a teacher that didn’t actually teach count? otherwise no sigh.... i really wanna take some college art classes....

✂: What’s you astrology sign, zodiac, and MBTI?

wwait isn’t astrology sign the same thing as zodiac? but uh I’m aries and my mbti is infj

🎬: What is your favorite kind of clothing?

REALLY COLORFUL CUTE CLOTHES I can’t stress this enough, my style is so “cute shirt with colorful shorts” kinda deal

🍔: Do you have OCs? If so, which is your favorite?

uhhh yes?? and uhhhh no??? I CANT PICK ANY THEYRE MY CHILDREN

💾: What do you love to draw?

poses, expressions, rough sketches

☂: What do you hate to/can’t draw?

UGH okay so environments are fun to draw occasionally but for every picture??? its just too hard and exhausting OTL

☁: Guilty pleasure?

nnaruto ocs…… i have……17…… now……. and they’re decently fleshed out……… why am i like this literally who cares about naruto

🎮: Do you prefer video games or TV shows/movies?

i dont know? I love watching shows/anime but I also love a lot of video games so I’m not sure. unless you mean like, cable tv and going to the movies then no, give me splatoon

🐙: What do you suggest to beginner artists in terms of work ethic?

keep drawing, draw for yourself, but dont force it. evolving your art shouldn’t be forced, you should stay motivated but if you absolutely have no drive to draw, then dont. keep experimenting!

🍀: How do you become motivated to draw?

honestly recently its been a problem of my circumstances and overall state of mind thats blocking me from working on a picture for more than two hours

thanks so much for asking!! I feel bad for not drawing them out but these are just too many

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mountphoenixrp · 8 years ago

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We have a new citizen in Mount Phoenix:

Lee Taeil, who is known by no other name; a 26 year old son of Acat. He is a tattoo artist at Taste of Ink.

FC NAME/GROUP: Lee Tae-Il (Taeil); Block B   CHARACTER NAME: N/A  AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: September 24, 1990; 27  PLACE OF BIRTH: Seoul, South Korea  OCCUPATION: Tattoo Artist at Taste of Ink, Tattoo and Piercing Parlour HEIGHT: 167 cm (5’6”)  WEIGHT: 65 kg (125.6 lbs) DEFINING FEATURES: Taeil has multiple tattoos over his body, many people will see him with the same tattoos for a day before noticing a new one he gets.

He has a large ape head on the back of his neck, a diamond with the phrase ‘Reach for the star. There is nothing to fear’ across his chest, 'Qing Kiss’ across his knuckles, a large owl holding swords and a shield (with the illuminati eye in the centre of the shield) on his abdomen with the tips of the wings reaching the front of his shoulders and various other tattoos on the tops of his hands (Oni head on the right hand, black panther with a flaming helmet on the left) and arms as well as a few on his legs.

He is easy to recognize by his tattoos, making it hard for him to get out of trouble. He also has a few piercings; he has normal lobe piercings as well as a eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow and industrial piercings through the top of the helix (one on the left, two on the right.) He rarely has his industrial and eyebrow piercings in and only wears his earrings in his lobes.  

PERSONALITY: Taeil is a very calm and collected person, never one to really blurt out or interrupt anyone unless there is a reason to. He is generally nice and open to others around him, enjoying to talk to others about his multitude of tattoos and his works.

Sometimes he can get very quiet and almost intimidating despite his size; his voice being one of the reasons. His voice can be very loud when he’s excited or enraged, but overall he’s kind of quiet. When he’s busy with work he will stay completely focused and silent; easily annoyed when others interrupt his peace.

At first he may look like he’s bad news from his physical appearance, but behind all the tattoos Taeil is a very nice guy who has an equal love of tattoos and social gatherings. If you end up getting into a fight with him, you’ll probably end up being drowned out by his voice. Make sure not to tick him off either, because have mercy if he has something in his hands. He can throw knives just as easily than throwing a steady punch.   HISTORY: Ever since he could remember, Taeil knew he was gifted in some way. It took a while to eventually find out what it was, but he was never too worried about the outcome. As a child, he had a vivid imagination, wanting to create and draw out all the beautiful pictures and thoughts he saw in his mind for the world to see. Sadly, he never knew his parents, only his grandparents who brought him up with vague memories of the past. His grandmother, which he loved and adored, bought him a small notepad and some pencils so he could doodle as a way to express himself.

Slowly as he grew, so did the collection of sketch pads and random binders and books of his drawings and sketches filled up most of the room on his shelves; various drawing tools scattered across his bedroom floor. No matter how complex or detailed his thoughts or visions where, he could draw it out on paper as if he was printing it straight from his mind.

His school life was okay, he had a few friends he would hang around and talk to. He wasn’t too keen on being the 'social student’ but as long as people respected him, he was okay. His marks throughout weren’t the best, making his grandfather upset that he’d spend more time on his sketching rather than his homework.

Ever since his grandparents took him in, they were supportive of him. As he grew older, his grandfather put pressure for him to go into the military or into a job that could get him good money. His grandmother on the other hand, told him he could do whatever he wanted. If he could put his heart into his work, he could always have his way. Taeil’s parents were a mystery, but his grandmother told him he was exactly like his father; He was artistic and always blooming with ideas. One day, he promised to go find his father. During his first year of high school his grandmother passed away, leaving him in the hands of his stricter grandfather. He was very emotionally tired and drained as well as his grandfather, making hard for him to focus on school.

Imagination and fantasy filled the void where his heartache remained, bringing him into a better mindset overtime following the death of his grandmother. There was only silence and the occasional chatter with his grandfather; silence slowly spacing them apart. After his grandfather found out he was getting very low marks in the first term, his grandfather finally decided to do what was best for Taeil and his future; stop his creativity.

Taeil wasn’t one to get mad or enraged early, but when he arrived later that evening to the flaming pile of paper and sketchbooks in the backyard he finally lost it. He put up with his grandfather enough that he grabbed everything he possibly could and left. He didn’t care if that was his only family left, he’d rather have his art than a man who only saw Taeil as his reflection.

He barely had any financial support other than the small change he had lying around in his wallet. Something had to be done, so he resorted to stealing so he could survive in the busy city. It was rough, barely having anything to eat or a place to stay. Just like a vagabond he had to constantly change his places so he wouldn’t be caught. He got into plenty of fights with men twice his size, causing him to get some serious injuries. For some odd reason, he wouldn’t feel anything at all; small pinpricks and maybe a slight throbbing sensation. He couldn’t understand why at first, he shrugged it off as just a 'natural thing’ he had.

During the winter, it got hard for him to travel and scavenge around. He had injured himself multiple times, not knowing how painful it was when it felt like nothing to him. At one point, he ended up passing out from the cold in an alley only to wake up in a small tattoo shop on the outskirts of Seoul. He was brought in by the shop owner, telling him that he would watch out for him as long as he worked for him in return when he was healthy.

After months of rest and hospital care, he got used to the shop. His mind finally began to bloom artistically once again after having a void there for so long. He watched the different artists work on their clients from the side, slowly longing to use the body as a canvas. Taeil decided in good intentions to return and finish high school so he could go to school specifically for tattooing. Most of his days were spent studying and doing homework while his evenings were for cleaning the shop up.

At the age of 23, he finally became a certified artist; creating beautiful designs and pieces on others that were distinct to his art style. He learned overtime the patience and steadiness needed for his new job, which he naturally complied to and perfected his skills in a few years. As well, he had many tattoos done by his colleagues or himself. It was almost like a coming of age for him as well as a source of his pride.

Only was it after he finished a beautiful angel tattoo for a client, was he directed to another artist of god-like skills. They mentioned he had a son, but he was never around. She also mentioned how close in appearance he looked to the man, joking that he could be his son. The mysterious woman gave him a black business card with the name of a business and its location, leaving him to process everything slowly in his overly saturated state. He decided to pack up his things and travel to that exact place to see if the man could help him seek answers. And maybe, just maybe, reunite with his father.

PANTHEON: Mayan  CHILD OF: Acat  POWERS: * High pain tolerance; making him last longer in a fight or when he has to escape when in a very bad physical state. * Steady hands/nerves; Makes him more focused on his movements and thoughts when in sticky situations. Comes in handy as well when doing his tattooing. * Artistic Ability; Mostly used when he’s doing his tattoos. It can come in handy when he needs to sketch out a physical image of someone or in times when he can’t just describe what he’s trying to explain.  STRENGTHS: •He is decently in shape, making so that despite his small stature, he can easily still fight someone if needed. •His ability to keep his hands steady as well as his nerves play important roles in tattooing as well as in combat or any other scenario when he need to stand his ground. Once he gets his nerves squared away and his hands from shaking, he’s completely aware of his surroundings. •Having a high pain tolerance makes it easier for him to sit through excruciating amounts of pain compared to his counterparts.  

WEAKNESSES: •Even though he can keep his nerves at bay, that won’t stop his mind from snapping and releasing his true emotions or intentions. •Having a high pain tolerance can be good, but it can also be very bad. Since he may not be able to feel things right away, it could cause him to make his conditions worsen if he doesn’t pay attention. As well, it can also mean he has a certain limit that if it goes over, it could be very dangerous to his body. •If he tries to steady himself and/or overwork his nerves and mind too much, he becomes very weak and unable to focus; causing him to have fainting spells or to fully pass out from exhaustion.  

#kpop rp #krp #block b #lee taeil #block b taeil #mp; welcome

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