#at the same time i find communicating so pointless because it feels stupid and embarrassing and unserious

[mainfaggot]

emotional rollercoaster todayyyyy

[creepling]

am i not enough? (quackity x reader) - apocalypse!AU

( 。・_・。)人(。・_・。 ) | part of the @quackisinnit 1k event !

THE PROMPT IS . . . “ AM I NOT ENOUGH ? “

pairing: irl!quackity x genderneutral!reader (apocalypse!AU)

word count: 3,306

summary: the reader and alex become a duo while coming across each others paths during a zombie apocalypse. tensions rise as they set up camp in a warehouse, where alex begins to confess how he feels towards the reader. (angst into fluff <33)

tw: zombie apocalypse, blood (ment), cursing, guns, death, eating.

It had been three months since the fallen of mundane life. Three months of complete abnormality, everything known to be in existence that was worth caring about; completely gone. jobs, currency, education were becoming a historic relic. The world was put back to zero. Instead of cavemen and dinosaurs, the new species of flesh-eating corpse’s roamed in packs and seeked for fresh meat. They may have been slow, but they travelled in numbers and they could smell you from a mile away. I learned that your scent became less of a problem when you didn’t keep hygenic. My stence blended with the earth and blood and the roamers didn’t catch us out as much; so we used that to our advantage.

I only had one companion, his name was Alex. He was absolutely dumbfounded when I discovered him. I raided his abandoned home looking for supplies, and when I had to kill a roamer that vacaded in his bedroom; I found him curled up in a ball under his bed. He told me that he had been hiding the whole month when he realised help was to never come; so his only plan was to hide out until he ran out of supplies. That became a problem when I attempted to take them. We made the mutual agreement that if I was to take the supplies, he would come with me. I refused to stay and hide; that is how you get yourself killed. Thankfully he agreed to come with me, and we have been inseperable ever since. However, our bond is nothing close to a friendship, we just had to stick together to survive.

Alex’s main idea was to find a group, hoping by now someone had turned one of the surbubans into a mini civilization. We had travelled between three cities however and we found no sign of good company. As a duo, we have only killed one human within these three months. A man who tried to kill us at gunpoint in hopes of taking our things, to which we scarsely saved our lives by ducking behind a bar table. With one aimless shoot, I shot my gun and it pierced through the man’s chest. I saved our lives, but the sight of the man’s lifeless eyes still haunts me in my sleep. 

One night, Alex found a two-store warehouse to shelter in while on a supply run. He suggested we camp on the second floor and catch up on our sleep and starvation, since we eventually got ahold of sleeping bags and tinned food. I agreed, but reminded him the stay can’t be perminant. He agreed also, still fixated on the idea of finding a commune.

While I made a fire and cooked food, I obvserved Alex drawing in a notepad. I failed to make out what he was doing so I asked, “What are you drawing?”

“I’m trying to draw a map.” He said to me, “It’s not accurate, but it will give us a rough idea of the roads until we find a map.”

“I didn’t take you as a smart person.” I said, hoping he didn’t think I meant it seriously. It was rare for me to joke in times like these, but when I did, my humour came off dry. Thankfully, my comment made Alex scoff out a chuckle.

“And I didn’t take you for a fighter.” Alex said. Since being with each other for two months, we both naturally adopted different roles that benefitted us. Alex was the navigator, the finder; he seemed to have a good sense of direction and I relied on him to not get lost. He also had a good eye and was always good at finding things such as second-way exits or food hiding in obscure places. For me, my job was a lot more physical. I was a good shoot, I knew how to make a fireplace, or bandage a wound. When things got dirty, I would get lucky and save our asses.

“Your food’s ready.” I said, handing him his warm can of chicken soup and a packet of chips. He thanked me, putting his notebook down and sitting cross-legged beside me. As we ate we sat in silence, the only sounds in the warehouse being our mouths chewing the food. We hadn’t ate in nearly a week. I tried my best to chew my chips before swallowing so I didn’t end up with stomache pain, but the instant flavour shot through my tongue and I instinctly ate them quickly. Alex finished his food within minutes, licking the chip packet and his fingers; scraping every last bit of soup from the can and into his mouth. I reluctantly did the same, feeling a little embarrassed; I have never felt so starved in my life. 

“That was fucking amazing.” Alex sighed out, now heating his hands over the fire. I nodded in agreement, collecting the empty tin cans and keeping them next to our things. They will be handy for traps, tying them with strings and hanging them in the woods while hunting would let us know of intruders. It was the small things like that that has made us survive this long.

“Are you gonna go to sleep now? I could keep watch.” I offered, observing Alex’s bloodshot eyes. If we had mirrors, we would flinch at our reflections. Alex looked rough. He always wore his beanie, which he apparently did even before things got bad. He always had a collective spot of dirt on his nose and cheekbones no matter how clean we were, it’s where it always collected the most. His hands were the most dirty, dirt under his short nails and inbetween his fingers. From the rare occasions we touched hands, I felt the softness of his hands, compared to mine that felt aged and rough. His knuckles were stained with blood. Out of both of us, I was covered in the most blood. When I looked down, my hands had a reddish tint, observing more I could see small cuts on my hands from being idle with my knife when striking roamer’s heads. Without having to see, I knew I had sprays of blood on my face from the amount of times I killed roamers. To think when life was normal we cared so much about our appearence, but now activities like doing makeup, brushing your hair, brushing your teeth seemed so pointless. We were slowly becoming used to primitive life and deep down that scared me. I think it scared Alex too.

“I’m tired as fuck, but I know I won’t sleep.” Alex said in a low tone, looking at his hands full of shame. I nodded my head in understanding, knowing exactly how he was feeling. We hadn’t slept properly in months, instead when one person kept watch, the other just lay down with their eyes closed. We forgot what it was like to dream, or to feel hazy. We were constantly alert.

“Since we have no intention of sleeping. Why don’t we play a game?” Alex said. I cocked my eyebrow up in question. What game could we play that didn’t involve making noise and attracting attention?

“We ask each other 20 questions. Normally if you don’t want to answer a question- you would have to do a dare. But hey, wants the point in hiding nowadays?” Alex said, looking at me contently.

“We should be hiding ourselves more than ever, I think.” I said, adding fuel to the fire to keep it burning. “That way no one knows our weaknesses.”

“So you don’t trust me?” Alex said. His question threw me off. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, but maybe I was unwilling to get to know him. I had already lost the people close to me, and I was still in grieving. I was too afraid to get close with Alex. I always had the thought in the back of my head that one day, I might end up losing him. His intelligence may only get him so far.

“I understand.” Alex said, taking back his question. Seeing the hurt in my eyes, he must have realized what I was thinking. He lost his close ones too. We both lost so much, we had a mutual understanding about that. Yet, I looked at Alex, and he still felt like a mystery to me. He always pulled out jokes, even in times like these. However, in moments when he thought I wasn’t looking, I could see the pain concealed in his face. Sometimes I even heard him cry at night when he thought I was sleeping. Maybe it was about time we opened up to each other, instead of feeling like we need to suffer alone. We could be there for each other not just physically, but emotionally.

“Okay then, since it was your idea, you ask the first question.” I said, hugging my legs to my chest. Alex smiled a little at me, going into thought as he tried to think of a question.

“So, what did you do when life was normal?” He asked first.

I let out a sigh then replied, “I had a very normal life. Lived with my family, did average in school, worked a job to get money. I actually had plans of moving out to the city, I always wanted to go to LA. I never really had aspirations, just wanted to be content.” It sounded boring, but I was happy with my life. I had my ups and downs like everyone else. “What were you like?”

Alex smirked and looked away from me, seeming to become bashful. “I was a twitch streamer.” He said. “And had a Youtube channel. God- it sounds so stupid now that I say it. Like it was all pointless-”

“Were you like- famous?” I asked, trying to conceal a smile.

“Um- I guess you could say that. I had millions of followers.” Alex shook his head, “But I also went to college. I was studying law. I was always staying up late, barely sleeping; both studying and streaming all the time. It took up my whole life, that I just kinda forgot about everything else.”

“Well, you were obviously not famous, because I didn’t know who you were.” I jokingly said, nudging his side. That seemed to make him smile and feel less embarassed.

“So how the hell did you learn how to shoot if you lived such a normal life?” He asked.

“I just learned while doing it. My dad kept a gun.” I admitted, looking at the very same gun I had in the holster wrapped around my thigh. “He would teach me now and then how to use it, but I was never a shooter. The more roamers I shot, the more I got used to it.” Thinking about someone close to me made me chew the inside of my cheek anxiously.

To deflate my melancholy, I asked the next question. “Did you always wear that stupid hat?”

Alex chuckled and rubbed the top of his hat. “Yeah, twenty-four seven. I don’t why, I just find it comfortable. My “fans” would joke that I was bald because I never showed my hair.” He said, “God- saying the word fans sounds fucked up . . .”

“Maybe you’ll bump into one of them.” I said, “Heck- maybe there’s a commune right now dedicated to you, trying to find you and keep you safe.”

Alex laughed again, covering his face with his hands. I laughed alongside him, the first time I genuinely laughed in a good few weeks. Looking at Alex, seeing how I uplifted him, it struck a chord with me. As much as I didn’t like to show it, but he made affects on me that were indescribable. He made me feel just a little more contempt, without him I would probably not be able to cope for this long. We eventually locked eyes with each other, Alex’s gaze being longer than I expected. If it wasn’t for the blood, my face would have exposed the blush forming on my cheeks.

“Have you ever fell in love, (Y/N)?” Alex then asked me, which set me aback. The question was out the blew and I think Alex realised that as he looked away shyly, his gaze fixated on the flames of the fire to avoid my gaze. I still stared at him, almost in amazment, trying to conjuct a reasonable answer.

“I don’t know.” I answered. “I have loved people, yes, but- I don’t think I have been in love. You’re suppose to know when things like that happen, right?”

Alex didn’t answer me, he kept staring at the fire. I found myself admiring his side profile, watching how he slowly bit his lip; concealed in thought. I noticed how the glow of the flames contrasted with the darkness of his eyes, how the light outlined his complexion. When I realized I was staring for too long, I looked away, instead my eyes looked out the warehouse window, my eyes tracing the stars in the night sky. 

“I feel like I have known you forever.” Alex admitted all at once. “It’s only been two months, but I have gotten close to you more than anyone I have in my whole life. It might sound crazy but- I believe we were suppose to come together that day.”

My gaze turned back to Alex when I felt his eyes lay upon me. His stare was soft, something I only seen in passing times. I was able to admire him for the first time since we met. In this moment, in the dead of night, away from danger and suspicion; I could look at him with full sentiment. I didn’t need to admire him when he was less suspecting it, afraid of receiving decline or making things awkward. In this moment I realized, I may have developed feelings more than companionship towards him. That excited me. But also terrified me.

“I feel that way with you, Alex.” I admitted, “But . . .”

I decided to choose my words carefully. This conversation was heading in a direction that made me nervous. The world is falling apart around us, and I couldn’t help but question our motives. We should be focusing on survival, not developing a relationship that could be destroyed at any second. Once we step out this warehouse, our chances of losing our lives become high. I wasn’t prepared to damage my mental state, it was already bad enough. I realized my long pause was making Alex shift nervously, so I looked at him in hopes my words would slip from my mouth.

I caved in, muttering lowly, “We should get some rest.” I got up on my feet and was ready to grab my sleeping bag and make up a place to rest, until I heard Alex get his his feet and say words that made my heart sink.

“Am I not enough?”

When I turned to look at him, the hurt was glistening in his eyes. He gulped dryly and he fumbled with his fingers. My eyes shifted from side to side as I was stuck with my words. I kept stammering, and I rubbed my face in stress, ready to plead my case. Until Alex jumped in.

“Don’t think I’m only saying these things to you because there is no one else, (Y/N). I have been thinking about this for a while, everytime I am left with my thoughts. I am certain I will still have the same feelings if we met when things didn’t go to shit. I don’t just think this because we have been the only people for each other. I really really like you, (Y/N). And because of the way the world is, I never want to lose you. I never want you to feel alone ever again. I not only want to protect you because we’re a team, I want to protect you because the thought of losing you pains me so much.”

For a split second I thought Alex was about to burst into tears. That was when I did something I thought I would never do again, which was pull him into my embrace. I hugged Alex so tight that I heard him gasp, freeze, until he eventually wrapped his arms around me and held me just as tight. My face buried into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his body, his soft hands caressing my back and brushing his thumb down my spine in a soothing manner.

“You are enough, Alex.” I said, my words muffled by his body. I reached my lips to his ear so he could hear my words clearly. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to like me, or be forced to like me just because we were brought together. I was afraid you thought you were stuck with me.”

I anticipated the day that once we meet other life, Alex would slowly fade away and forget who I was. Once he meets other people, we would go our seperate ways. I never knew why the hypothetical idea pained me so much, until now. As Alex pulled away from my embrace, looking me in the eyes in a loving manner that was foreign to me, his hands on my shoulders, I realized why that idea made my heart feel heavy. I never want him to leave me, I want him to always be by my side. Alex’s gaze was enough proof that he wanted the same.

Stimulated by his touch, I was taken aback when I felt his hand cup my cheek. The warmth of his breath breezing against my cheek, I inhaled as if oxygene was nonexistent. I never realized the proximity between us was slowly closing in and when I did my eyes fluttered shut. Alex hesitated for a split second before pressing his soft lips against my own. My neck bent slightly backwards and I shifted my head to the side to deepen into our kiss, my blood-stained hands grabbing the edges of his open jacket and holding him dearly close. The heat of the kiss intermingled with the heat from the fire, my cheeks and ears grew hot. Alex’s hands were surprisingly warm as he reached his hands under my shirt, pressing his fingers and palms on the middle of my back before running his touch down my spine. My breath became shaky and I felt my legs grow heavy under me, my hands cupped the back of his neck to keep myself uplifted, and luckily Alex’s arms held my weight and pressed my body against his. It felt like hours had went by between our lips moving in sync, our tongues grazing our bottom lip’s, our hands moving and resting on different parts of our bodies. His touch felt contagious, his kisses ranging between soft and passionate. I didn’t want to stop, I never wanted to let go. Between kisses I would mutter you are enough, you are enough which made Alex smile against my lips.

That night, everything we had to worry about became last priority. The focus all throughout was each other, making up for the days where affection couldn’t be shown. In the dead of night, there wasn’t a roamer in sight. Instead of hearing narls and groans or screams of pain, there was only the faint sounds of nature. The full moon glistened, as if to be a prediction for the emotions spilling between us. I promised myself from this moment on, as I admired Alex, I would protect him no matter what. I will make sure he always feels safe as long as he is beside me. He will always be enough, if not more.

TAGLIST: @momo-has-a-gun @diggorysmalfoy @quack42069​ (join my taglist)

[rantingwriter]

Accidentally in Love (Hawks x Civilian Reader) pt. 2

Trigger Warning: Strong language, long hospital stay, lots of anger, depression, and more angst than last time. I swear there will be fluff later...starting in pt. 4.

 “Damn it,” you grumble as you try to support your weight with the parallel bars. 

“You are doing great, [y/n], just a little bit more.” Mayu, one of the physical therapists helping you with your recovery does her best to encourage you. 

The door slams open and you lose your concentration, collapsing to the floor. “Fuck!” 

Mayu cringes at the angered tone, “Ryo!!” 

The man who barged into the room bows apologetically, “I’m so sorry, I was running late,” he hurries off to the changing room for the employees. 

You feel your frustration boiling over, “this is pointless!” 

Mayu turns her attention back to you and her features soften, “Please don’t say that, you’ve only been at this for a week and you are making good progress.” Her positivity only serves to frustrate you more.

“What progress?! I can’t even stand for longer than a couple minutes at a time!”

“I understand your frustration-” 

“How could you possibly understand this?!” You gesture wildly at your legs. “You can stand and walk and you still have both of your feet!” Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you glare at the therapist. 

She simply sits on the floor with you and gives you a very soft smile. “You are right, I will never understand fully what you are going through. So, tell me, what is causing the most frustration and I can do what I can to help.” 

“All of it!” You raise your arms up like you are surrendering. “Trying to stand on these limp noodles, trying to get out of my stupid wheel chair, even getting out of bed…” Your anger quickly morphs to sadness, “it’s just too hard…” Mayu gently pats your shoulder. 

“It’s a process,” She shifts to sit next to you. “Healing can be a very long and difficult process, especially when you lose an ability you’ve been able to do so easily until now.” You feel a lump form in your throat, trying really hard not to cry...again. “I’m not going to lie and say this is easy, but I know you can do this.” 

You wipe your eyes and sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling…” 

“It’s alright, I understand you are frustrated, but I am here to help.” The employee door opens again. “So is Ryo when he actually shows up on time.” The teasing tone and Ryo’s exaggerated response brings out a soft ghost of a laugh. “Are you ready to give it another try?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” she helps to get you off the floor and on your shaky feet. You grab the parallel bars and repeat the exercise you’ve been doing all morning. A light tap on the window near your station alerts both yourself and your physical therapist to a note on the glass. “What does it say?” You feel your arms give out, but you are able to land in your wheelchair this time.

“Let’s see,” The older woman walks up to read it aloud, “when you are free, please come to the roof. HaWkS!?” Her voice cracks at the name, “who, wait, who is he talking about?!” 

You hold your hand up, “probably me, he said he was going to pop by once I was awake.” You were starting to think he forgot about you. 

“Oh my goodness!” Mayu covers her mouth and looks at you, “are you two friends? Are you dating?!” She gets closer with each question, her eyes shiny diamonds that scream ‘tell me everything!’ 

“He kind of gave me a concussion,” you watch her expression drop into one of horror. “Not on purpose, it was during that big fight that landed me here.” 

“I see, well, we are actually done for today if you want to head on up.” She goes to grab her clipboard and record the progress from today. 

“Does the elevator even reach the roof?” You can feel a knot form in your stomach, why are you so nervous? 

“Yes, the recreational therapy team has a community garden up there for the patients. I can get you some information if you would like to join them for a session.” You never heard of such a thing, it does strike a cord of curiosity, but that is for another time. 

“Sure, just send some to my room when you have the time,” you wheel your way to the exit. “Oh, and uh...thanks for the pep talk.” You rub the back of your neck to hide your embarrassment. 

“No problem, if you need anything just let me know.” Mayu smiles and waves as you leave to go up to the roof. Sure enough, the elevator opens right in front of the door. You push the button to get the door open and find rows of box gardens, some raised, some lowered. 

“Wow, this is neat,” you take a closer look at some of the plants bearing fruit, when you spot your mystery visitor. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the huge red wings on his back. The same ones you saw before you went into your coma. You clench the wheels of your chair and swallow your nerves. “Um…” He appears distracted by something, as he scans the city streets below, his feet hovering off the ground. “Hello? Are you Hawks?” He looks over his shoulder and his features light up with recognition. 

“Hey! Glad to see you up and about!” He lands and folds his wings in a bit before approaching you.

“Yeah, mostly…” You weren’t entirely sure what to say to him. 

He doesn’t seem too sure either as he pockets his gloved hands. “Uh, what’s your name?” 

“[Y/n].” More silence follows, wow the awkward tension is a little too palpable. “Why exactly are you here?” 

He looks taken aback, his wings puffing up a small bit, “I just wanted to see how you were doing.” 

“Well, as you can see, I’m doing just great.” You can’t help the sarcasm as you move your wheelchair. 

His features fall, his eyes aimed towards what’s left of your feet. “I’m so sorry, I made a bad judgment call and you got hurt because of it. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” 

“Unless you have some means to turn back time, there isn’t much you can do.” 

“There has to be something,” he lifts his gaze back up to plead with you. “I’ll do anything, just say the word.” 

You can’t tell if he is being genuine or not, before you can open your mouth a glint of something from the nearby building catches your attention. You wheel closer to the fence that lines the top of the building and spot a man with a camera aimed at the two of you. You whip your head around to face him, “is this some kind of joke to you?!” 

“What?” His golden-brown hues are full of confusion as you struggle to turn your wheelchair around. 

“Look, if you just came to Peacock for the camera’s or throw some kind of a pity party for yourself. I don’t want any part of it!” He looks between you and the nearby building, his feathers get ruffled at the sight of the camera. 

“No, wait, this isn’t what it looks like!” He holds a hand out to try and stop you from leaving. 

“Thanks for checking in, you can leave now.” You try to wheel your way back inside, but something is caught in one of your wheels. 

“I swear I’m not with that guy, he must have noticed me fly up here after I left my note.”

You aren’t paying any attention to him, you are too focused on getting away. “Stupid thing,” you try to muscle through the clog, but you end up tipping the whole thing over and landing on the hard surface of the roof. “Son of a bitch!” You slam a closed fist on the ground as you push yourself up. Tears of frustration and pain leak from your [e/c] pools. You feel a gloved hand on your shoulder but you quickly shove it away. “Don’t touch me!” 

“Please just let me help you,” he tries to reach for you again, but you stop him in his tracks.

“I’ve had enough of your help! Your ‘help’ is the reason I’m here!!” Your voice echoes around you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the camera man heard you. 

You can see the hurt in the hero's eyes as he backs away, his wings drooping as your words settle somewhere deep within himself. 

“Just go away…” you get your wheelchair back up and haul yourself into it again. You can hear the sound of his wings as he takes off, the force of the air blows your hair all over the place. You cover your face as you allow the tears to flow freely. If you were completely honest with yourself, you didn’t truly blame him. It was just easier than accepting your rotten luck. A couple of nurses hurry onto the roof and rush over to you. Apparently someone on the street heard you and told the staff in the lobby. You are immediately wheeled back to your room to rest and have your vitals checked. Your body is exhausted and so was the rest of you. You look out your window at the clouds rolling in, “nurse?” 

“Yes?” The kind man responds as he gets your table ready for dinner. 

“Would it be possible to send a letter to a hero agency?” 

He hums in thought for a moment, “I believe so, why?” 

“I...was just curious…” The nurse drops the topic and leaves you to your thoughts. “Doubt it would make a difference anyways.” You roll onto your side as your eyelids drooped, the sound of rain lulling you to sleep. Your dinner is left for you on the little table, along with a can of coffee with another note. ‘I still owe you a coffee, good luck with your recovery. -Hawks.’

[weaselbeaselpants]

That Krispy Cat: A Warning, part 3

The last of the images cause I don’t want this bitch on my computer anymore. 

Knowing tumblr I kept the images hidden JUUUUST in case no one reads the fine print and can’t tell I’m being critical of this and gets me in trouble.

VVV ((Just in case you thought the JewishGriffon piece assured everyone that Crispy couldn’t POSSIBLY hate people of color, some of her earliest Nazi art had her character Klaus beating up Amigo Bear. She also made Amigo into a liberal strawman. )) VVV

((Dialogue to one of her TROLLARIOUS pictures that featured Amigo:

Amigo Bear: *muttering* "Your leader was a !@#$% little #@%^!@$^*!, you fascist feather duster..." General Klaus: "Fräulein, Ich vant you to cover your ears und shut your eyes as tight as you can." Crispy: "How come, General?" General Klaus: "Klaus ist about to say und do very bad sings zhat he does not vant his little Edelweiß to see or hear." Crispy: "Alrighty!" General Klaus: "WHO SAID ZHAT ABOUT DER FÜHRER? WER DIE FICK GESAGT? WHO'S ZUH SCHLEIMIG LITTLE COMMUNIST-SCHEISS SCHWANZLUTSCHER DOWN ZHERE, WHO JUST SIGNED HIS OWN DEATH VARRANT? NIEMAND?! GOTTVERDAMMT STALIN SAID IT! HERVORRAGEND! VHICH VUN OF YOU VANTS TO BE ZUH FIRST TO FIND OUT ZUH HARD VAY VHY MEIN FEINDE CALLED MIR DER BUTCHER BIRD?" ))

^^^ ((BUTOPHERARTISGOODSOYOUCAN’TCOMPLAIN

also the disc. for this pic before it was deleted had a ‘joke’ about cooking Jews in ovens. Oh and yes, that IS Hitler she’s giving that ugly ass cupcake too.))

^^^ (( - Thanks dA I never would have known I had a notifications unless eclipse blah -

This is one of her rants about how #Triggered she is that Starlight be compared to the Nazis when she runs a communist cult. Because A) that’s the real problem here and B) I too get upset when people say my OC is based on Jeffrey Dahmer when he’s so CLEARLY based on Ed Gein, Bwwwaaaah D> D> D> !)) ^^^

VVV ((Ugly art of her friend’s awful OCs.)) ^^^

VVV ((Crispy showing off why no one wants to be a patriot in our country.)) VVV

((FYI, Crisp, that attitude will make the Hamilton fans stronger so just keep that SJW-flinging coming you little SJW.

WHAT?! Social Justice is a broad term and as Crispy’s plainly demonstrated, you can circle it around and make a majority-class sound like the real underprivledged if you have enough fancy frou frou know-how and furries. Also, if a Social Justice Warrior constitutes someone who takes their cause soooo seriously that they’re annoying/petting/cruel/stupid about it....idk I think Crispy qualified.))

^^^ ((Crispy and her friend muse about what other races occupy the world of MLP in her headcanon. This, more than any other dA disc. and picture shows you her brand of “Segregationist-Nationalism is OKAY” thinking, cuz the art of these different races isn’t super offensive or cruel and neither are the characters. BUT if you scratch under the surface you’ll find that Crispy really likes these different people staying in their place and not in “someone else’s” country.

THEN, this same kind of thinking is used to convince you any mix of cultures is just cultural appropriation, again acting like she and her Nazi-stans are the only ones standing up to actual bigotry.)) VVV

^^^ ((Crispy makes the world a worse place by bringing up actual decent points; like how Americans dress Thanksgiving up as progressive and for the natives when we all know that’s not true...all to better her worldview.

fyi, GET OUT whenever you see a selfproclaimed Nazi fawn over Native Americans, because: Nazi Germany had a deep fascination with American Indians and used their struggles about their land being taken away from them to justify their eugenic genocide.)) ^^^

^^^ (( Crispy laughing it up on Furaffinity how she couldn’t be banned from her Furaffinity and then mysteriously never using her site there wowie.)) ^^^

^^^ (( Crispy complaining about SOPA cause her freedom of speech and blahblahblah.

Freedom of Speech is important. Unfortunately what people like Crispy don’t understand or care for is there’s no freedom of consequence. )) vvv

VVV ((LOL Joseph Mengele was such a stinkah let’s tell blithe jokes about him. At least WE AREN’T LIKE HIM!!!)) VVVV

VVV ((Early onset eugenic BS from her Spyro stuff that would be easy to miss if you didn’t know what this woman was talking about)) VVV

((Crispy admitting she thinks gays are pointless cuz they don’t reproduce but apparently loves them anyway. Also big shock Crispy’s seen Hetalia.)) VVV

VVV ((Crispy probably wanting Weeaboos to attack her cuz aren’t Japan’s animations so laaaaaaazy?!!?!? GUUdd think’ I’m a naziaboo! Germany’s never made any shitty animation evah. You know what, I lied. She doesn’t deserve Hetalia. She just doesn’t.)) VVVV

VVV ((Crispy dragging Brazil down with her as the apparent “Best South American Country”. Yikes.)) VVV

VVV ((More “it’s trolling ergo it’s not harmful” shit. Bulgarians probably do deserve their own Care Bears, but they certainly don’t want yours Crispy.)) VVV

VVV ((Disc. for her Richard Spencer bear art)) VVV

------

I know, I know...this isn’t what you wanted to read today, guys. I know it’s offensive and I’m sorry if it made you ill. I also know I’m putting my own blog under fire by showing these images here but I think that should say something about dA’s bad policies that this art gets a filter slapped on it and nothing more when the artist is blatantly pro-fascist.

Crispy resonates with me so much - and no it’s not cause I DARED to be “triggered”.

It’s because, for one, she was talented. I MEAN I HAVE EYES! That’s some nicely drawn digital stuff I’m not gonna deny. She had some cool rewrites and sequel ideas that, had it come from someone else I would have eaten up and faved to hell and back onceupona2012. But I didn’t, where a ton of MLP and furry fans did because they undervalued their own talents and would say “well it’s pretty who cares about the message?” 

Unlike so many commercial+published artists, it’s REALLY hard to separate the art from the artist here because the artist is so connected and a part of her art and storytelling. If you fav her art, even if you didn’t like her, that was telling Crispy she’d won. It’s so defeating to have other artists say their gonna ignore their gut for the sake of prettypretty-Don-Bluth style art. And yes, that stigma DOES affect my view on 2D purists btw.

Crispy was so holier than thou’, and that attitude also was appealing to dA folks, not to mention her knowledge of art history by the time she dropped off the radar. Crispy was the kind of person who’d make long, detailed, justified rants against the design and color choices in Hazbin Hotel and then a bunch of antis would eat her redesigns up only to learn the awful truth later and embarrass themselves cuz they were so taken up by the craft they didn’t know they were reblogging a fucking Nazi.

Not to underplay Viv’s wrongdoings of course, but I’m sorry; the two aren’t comparable on the problematic artist meter. THAT’S HOW BAD CRISPY WAS.

If this somehow was just a faze and she’s come to her senses or doesn’t really think this shite she preaches...I don’t care. She said some vile shit and fuck no I’m not forgiving her. It’s like KenDraw or Shadman. You’ve changed your life around and realized you’ve done/drawn nasty shit that’s done real harm? Cool....I’m still not talking or ever promoting you, ya dingbat. You ain’t no Roman Polanski or Doug Tennaple. You’re a singular internet artist and any support of the project has to go to you - and you suck!

ThisCrispyKat was a wakeup call that showed me these people not only still exist but will be allowed to get away with it. I was very touchy bout this kind of thing back in the day. Fuck, I STILL AM TOUCHY. The rabbit holes I found thanks to Crispy opened up to reveal communities where people think my hair color’s going extinct. People would detail how much they wanted to rape me - a natural blonde - and kill my friends and family for not looking like me. That they want to jerk off in my naturally curly hair and see me in glowy German princess gowns preparing them dinner.

Crispy and other Nazistans would look at me; a blond-haired blue eyed Polish/German American woman and think I need to be “fixed” because I DARE to repeat propaganda that the Nazis were bad. They’d call me a traitor for thinking that celebrating the Nazi party ISN’T German pride.

HOW DARE YOU TELL ME THAT’S GERMAN PRIDE! I’LL SHOW YOU GERMAN PRIDE YOU EGOSTROKING-LIMPDICKED ATTENTION WHORES.

People like Crispy make it 1000x harder to actually show interest in German things. Because I AM interested in German shit btw.

Like for real: it’s a country I’d love to visit one day (at least the black forest, which is where my mom’s fam comes from). I love German art and German fairytales slap. I really do want to explore my heritage through art and stuff.

But guess what? Much as Crispy would argue to the contrary I DO know my WWII history and beyond and FUCK YOU if you honestly think jerking it to cuddly Nazi-furs is empowering or just “showing your interest in history”. Take your own advice and read a god-damn book.

TL;DR: I DO NOT have to be proud of Nazis to enjoy German culture and if you think otherwise, FUCK YOU. It’s a slap in the face to everyone even if you are ‘just trolling’ and it in no way values actual German’s feeling on the matter. It’s annoying how people undervalue real people just for the sake of fan art.

The Nazis were evil. They were racist, eugenic-genocidal idiots who killed over six million Jewish people, Romani, Slavs, Jehovahs Witnesses, disabled people, Poles, homosexuals and prisoners of war. They would have killed my dad’s side of the family if they were in Poland at the time. They made bullshit tanks that killed the people making them and didn’t work on the battlefield. Their leader was a fat, farting one-testicaled bastard who preferred animals to people.

They ruined everything for everyone and then took the easy way out, leaving the Germans that were left in the hands of the also-genocidal Soviets and Americans. Germany is still paying their war debts and now, 70-80 years later everyone else wants to laugh off this dark period of history with memes and forget what they did, and as such, are forgetting the victims of the genocide.

I have 0 tolerance for Nazi things for the sake of HUMANITY, let alone the individual groups they target. I don’t have to have German ancestry or know a single Jewish person to tell you any of this. It’s fucking history.

Eat shit.

[bondsmagii]

what embarassing/annoying things lgbt people do online? I dont spend a lot of time on the internet outside of my niche so im genuinely curious

god where do I even start… to be honest I’ve always been wary of communities in general because personal experience has taught me that things get weird fast, but I’ve never seen anything quite like LGBT circles online. some of the things I notice fairly frequently:

making everything about being LGBT to a freaky level; I just don’t think it’s healthy to have your gender and/or sexuality be your entire personality

related to this, making everything the x experience – the gay experience, the trans experience, etc. many of the things mentioned are things that everyone experiences, and most disturbingly, many of the things lauded as the x experience are actually symptoms of extreme trauma (feeling like there’s something inherently wrong with you, feeling lonely, constantly yearning but not knowing for what, etc). even if this trauma is related to your being LGBT, it isn’t healthy and people shouldn’t be accepting it as normal and encouraging it in others. trauma isn’t natural.

the top/bottom thing. like. ugh. I’m a dude in a relationship with another dude so this really makes me uncomfortable. the importance put on if someone is a top or a bottom, assigning personality traits to people based on this, saying stupid shit like “bottoms can’t park” or whatever, and just the extreme fascination with if someone is a top or a bottom… it’s very fetishising. even if people are talking about themselves, that’s still a detail of your sexual life that I do not want to know. it’s not appropriate to talk like that in front of strangers.

going on from this, how overly sexual a large chunk of the community seems to be. it’s not appropriate. I know this one isn’t LGBT specific, but in my personal experiences my straight/cis friends do not talk like this, but if someone finds out I’m LGBT too, they seem to think it’s fine to start talking in detail about their sex life/ask me invasive questions about mine. it’s not fine.

the really fetishising treatment of male/male couples even in the LGBT community is really… not good. my relationship isn’t a cute commodity that only exists for your fandoms.

the misandry is absolutely atrocious. lesbians are out there thinking it’s fine to declare men useless just because they don’t need us for sex; bi women are out there lamenting the fact they’re attracted to us disgusting men and why couldn’t they just be a lesbian. I’ve even seen bi women say they’re going to just ignore their attraction to men and choose women, perpetrating harmful myths that a) you can choose your sexuality and b) bisexuals are just faking and are capable of just “picking a side”.

the community has an extreme problem with policing one another and a lot of issues that they spend time and energy debating are pointless and just stupid, if I’m honest.

the fact that vehement hate is seen as OK so long as it’s directed against straight, cis people. it’s not.

the fact that cis, straight people can’t even mention the above point without being ripped apart, ridiculed, harrassed, insulted, and threatened is also not OK.

the diluting of actual important terms. “transphobia” and “homophobia” grow murkier by the day; people are being accused of these incredibly serious prejudices over stupid Tumblr arguments that rarely have anything to do with actual issues or aggressions.

the idea that if you’re LGBT you’re automatically free of blame, innocent, can do no wrong, etc. there are nasty people of every gender and sexuality. you’re not except from being abusive, oppressive, etc just because you yourself are a minority.

the fact that people out there reclaiming “queer” think they can call everyone in the LGBT community “queer” and if someone protests they’re “speaking over” them or setting back the movement or whatever. I have no problem if you identify that way, but I am not queer. I’m bi.

at least on this website it’s L rather than LGBT: ➡ gay men are shat on almost as badly as straight men, unless they’re trans, and then they’re treated like cute uwu transboys who are somehow exempt from the hatred levelled at cis men, proving that these people don’t see them as “real” men. ➡bi people (if acknowledged as bi and not just the umbrella term “gay”) suffer from a whole lot of internal prejudices, with bi women being seen/encouraged to be “lesbians” and bi men just not fucking mentioned at all. also we’re usually completely forgotten about; characters can’t be bi, they have to be gay (and shipping them with a member of the opposite sex is seen as “erasure”) or they’re straight. ➡ trans people get incredible amounts of transphobia within the community from cis LGBT people; trans men, as mentioned above, aren’t treated as “real” men and are seen as Men Lite™, and the arguments for this (that they don’t share the same chemical biology as men; that they were “raised as girls”) are transphobic and also dysphoric as hell. trans women get shit from all sides and there’s an incredible TERF problem in the community, especially among lesbians. 

basically everyone is infighting, perpetrating harmful myths, speaking over people, forcing adherence to behaviours many might not be comfortable with, and generally being generalising, inappropriate, and wholly embarrassing. the way the community has got on over the last few years alone has probably set the movement back a decade.

[loyally-unfaithful]

Hiii welcome to the community ! I heard you write for kny ! may i request some inozen chaos? (It can be platonic or shippy idm) with prompts 23. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a mall jail with you of all people” orrrr 58. “Why do you always convince me of doing the stupidest shit”

pairing: agatsuma zenitsu & hashibira inosuke — though it can be interpreted as pre-relationship 

genre: crack (?)

prompt: “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a mall jail with you of all people” (23.) + modern!au

a/n: aaaaaaaaaaaa thank you 🥺🥺🥺

and thank u for requesting ! kinda nervous since this is the first request i’ve ever received haha,,, you didn’t specify a format ? so i wrote it in scenario/hc form—if that’s not what you wanted, you can send a message and i can turn it into a ficlet (Ф∀Ф )

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people... » zenitsu groaned, burying his face into his hands.

how did he even get into this situation in the first place?? how does inosuke always manage to rope him into doing some dumb, impulsive, potentially life-threatening shenanigans???

this was supposed to be a completely mundane, uneventful, trivial, everyday trip to the mall.

the pantry was starting to look rather sad and it was his turn to go grocery shopping, so he asked his flatmates if they wanted something while he’s at the shops and started organising his shopping list.

he doesn’t quite understand why tanjiro needed 20 pairs of cheap earphones, but he feels like he shouldn’t question it…

zenitsu hated shopping, absolutely abhors it. something about spending time in the supermarket with the monotonous droning of the cooling systems and the machines singing a duet with that same pop song put on repeat just drained the energy out of him. going shopping was just a drag.

but it was his turn, and he’ll get it done and over with.

everything was gonna be normal and ok.

as he made his way to the shops, he’d mentally pat himself down to check if he had everything on him and go through his list again.

keys? check.

wallet? check.

face-mask? check. (not because of corona, it’s just because it’s common courtesy in japan.)

mobile? check.

hotel? trivago.

inosuke? check.

wait inosuke?!

« wait inosuke?! what are you doing here??! » the blond shrieked in surprise, stopping dead on his tracks.

the loud young man would halt next to him and ask him if he’s gone blind/deaf as inosuke has been « following you since way before. »

now that zenitsu thinks about it, he did remember inosuke exclaiming something like being bored at home and wanting to tag along...

regardless, he doesn’t know if he’s more alarmed by the fact that he didn’t notice inosuke was trailing beside him this whole time or by the fact that the boisterous young man actually had it in him to be sneaky.

zenitsu grinned nervously, praying to whatever god or gods above that everything will be okay despite the human sized tornado he has with him...

even so, the shopping trip was characterised by more peripeteias and tribulations than it really should:

they haven’t even gotten near to the actual store within the mall and inosuke has  already tried to punt a 5 year old for apparently staring at the black haired man for too long. 

zenitsu had to quickly defuse the situation and apologise the very alarmed mother and petrified child as inosuke stood still in his shadow, clutching the corner of the blond’s sweater and watched the interaction, not saying a word.

zenitsu grumbled something about dragging him into inosuke’s mess and returned to his walk to the market, inosuke still hanging on the blond’s sweater.

zenitsu’s mind is still boggled. why does tanjiro want 20 pairs of earphones…?

but he ignored this riddle and took inosuke’s hand in his, leading the both of them to the shops—the blond found it oddly endearing how there was such a juxtaposition of inosuke’s rough hand paired with how softly and carefully he’s returning the blond’s hold.

zenitsu allowed the warmth to ground him and, thankfully, they’ve soon made it to their destination safe and sound, without yet another disaster 

the two would disperse once in the market, zenitsu collecting these 20 damn pairs of earphones and go down his list while inosuke ran off to god knows which aisle to go ham on the snacks.

the blond would casually shop when he’d hear hurried footsteps before a bunch of product was dumped in his cart. the raven-haired boy would then dash off again to repeat the cycle. the same cycle that has spooked zenitsu more than it should.

one time, zenitsu turned around to find two piercing blue eyes stare back at him. he swore his heart leapt out of his chest as he screeched at the uncannily realistic boar mask that greeted him. 

zenitsu is still recovering from his mini heart attack while inosuke bursts into hysterical laughter at the blond’s ‘near-death’ experience.

the latter has just caught his breath when the energetic young man has run off yet again. zenitsu wants to know where the hell inosuke procured such a mask and who the hell put it there. it’s not even near halloween?? they’re literally in june???

when most of the items have been retrieved, zenitsu would window shop as he waits for inosuke to bring yet another armful of snacks. the blond’s current preoccupation was a hair trimmer. should he buy it? his hand hovers as he reaches out, but then halts it to slowly retract it back. he looks at the hair trimmer again… his dilemma. then again it looks scary, maybe he shouldn’t… his gordian knot.

deciding that buying the item would be pointless, the blond looked around. inosuke hasn’t returned in a while...

it seemed that inosuke had already grabbed everything he wanted, and soon found himself bored in a quiet and empty supermarket—boredom and an empty mall: a couple made in hell, a recipe for disaster.

the quieter of the two has started to make his way to the till when he heard a large crash. he silently hopes it has nothing to do with him or the person he brought with him. but of course it did.

inosuke had dived into one of those ball racks near the toy aisle, the rack itself not looking as upright as it should and its content having spilt all over the place.

zenitsu just… takes one look and pretends not to see it.

he just 

walks away

so close yet so far. the blond has managed to reach the cash register and has started unloading the contents of his cart when he sees inosuke with his own.

they make eye contact.

zenitsu knows what he's gonna do.

the black haired man puts one foot on the empty cart.

the blond slowly shakes his head, half trying to tell him to not do it because it’s fucking stupid and half pleading him to not cause more trouble.

inosuke eyes contained a determination and resolve that not even god can stop.

almost like watching an accident in slow motion, zenitsu watched, petrified, as inosuke yeets himself on the cart and send it speeding down the aisle with more force and a higher velocity than what was considered safe.

surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, zenitsu hears a loud crash and a noise that sounded like a potato sack was thrown on the floor—and he was sure he didn’t just hear it because of his sensitive ears.

abandoning his own groceries, he ran off to join inosuke, who laid by a couple of soup cans, some still rolling anyway somewhere—the stand that held them and the splash zone surrounding area having been reduced to chaos. 

the young man was comically strewn upside down on his upper back, his lower half flopping over and folding into himself.

ok ooc, but i suck at anatomy but suck even more at describinf so here’s an artistic depiction of how zenitsu found inosuke

ok bye bye sorry for bothering you 

« inosuke what...?!! i— are you literally dumb? »

the boarheaded young man just shook off his injuries and righted himself, unfazed, as zenitsu continued his yapping and rambling.

« monitsu.. 

– what?! zenitsu stopped midword in his lecture, having long stopped bothering to correct inosuke.

– monitsu, run. inosuke finished as he rushed to make a quick dash. »

zenitsu was just sat there, stunned, when he felt an ominous presence behind him.

he slowly turned his head around to delay the inevitable, offering a nervous and fearful grin to the shadow hovering behind him.

with a pathetic expression and an even more pitiful shriek, he was dragged into the mall security office by a guard as another security member chased after the other young man.

despite having run like a bat out of hell, inosuke soon joined zenitsu in the mall jail.

« i can’t believe i’m sitting in mail jail with you, of all people... » zenitsu echoed, having dragged his palm down to cover his mouth. 

he sat immobile waiting for inosuke’s apology, or maybe any sign of repentance.

he waited.

and waited some more.

« at least try to pretend you’re sorry?!? » the blond gaped in disbelief.

« huh? why? » inosuke just turned around to look at zenitsu blankly. « it was your fault we got caught anyway… »

the blond’s immediate reaction was to retort and argue but swallowed down his arguments. he’s fighting a losing battle.

snapping his mouth shut, he sulked in his own corner as the two waited for tanjiro to collect them.

he sighed, it was… embarrassing. but it didn’t really matter that much at the end of the day: inosuke would probably forget most of the incident within 20 minutes of being freed, and zenitsu just doesn’t find it in him to be mad forever. especially at inosuke.

did zenitsu ever mention he absolutely detests going grocery shopping?

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

[toast-the-unknowing]

Lmaoooooo “when I grow up I’m going to have so much amnesia” pls just post whatever you’ve written over the last ten years I am so INTRIGUED

Well, the subject line is a Futurama quote, I can’t take credit for that, alas.

I am fond of several of the jokes in that story, but at the end of the day, it’s a mystery and I wrote 20k words of it without ever deciding what the answer to the mystery is. The odds I’ll ever bother figuring it out now are slim, especially since I look back and realize...you know...I’ve become a much better writer than I was 10 years ago and most of those 20k words aren’t great.

But some of them I like! So what the hell, why not, here’s some of my favorite bits from a Star Trek 2009 fic that will probably never otherwise see the light of day:

The whole thing with Kirk and Spock losing their memories on the same away trip is funny for a total of three seconds before it becomes utterly terrifying.

Okay, maybe there's about five minutes of Hikaru making himself sick trying to hold in laughter at the stunned stupid look on Kirk's face as he steps onto the bridge, the way that Spock mutters "what an ingenious invention" after they're beamed back to the Enterprise, but hey, Hikaru's only human. And now so is Kirk, stripped of that cockiness that comes from knowing he's survived all kinds of crazy shit that he shouldn't have, and so is Spock in a way, since he seems to have forgotten all his Vulcan mind-master training along with everything else.

And that thought is what wipes the smirk off Hikaru's face and has him exchanging sideways glances with Chekov, because they're right on the edge of Klingon space, Kang had sworn eternal vengeance against the entire crew the last time they'd seen him, and without Kirk's impossible ability to get them out of everything he gets them into, Hikaru doesn't like their odds of escaping a skirmish unharmed.

McCoy skips right over the part where anything about the situation is amusing and even skips over the "utterly terrifying" part and opts straight for angry yelling before the doors of the turbolift have finished opening to allow him onto the bridge.

"What the devil are you playing at now, Jim?" McCoy demands, striding up to Kirk and waving a tricorder at him that he can't possibly be reading, since he's too busy venting at Kirk's face to look at the machine.

The effect of this is apparently lost on the amnesiac Kirk, who looks over his shoulder trying to figure out who McCoy is talking to.

Right. No one told the Captain his name was Jim.

"We're doomed," Chekov whispers to Hikaru, who wholeheartedly agrees.

-

"More tests?" Hikaru asks Chapel. Hikaru hopes he sounds world-weary but in all likelihood he just sounds like a kid whining about not wanting to go to the dentist's. At least when he was a kid his parents would give him some candy to make the whole experience more bearable.

"You've failed them all so far," Chapel tells him.

"Doesn't being healthy count as passing?"

"Not in his Sickbay." She gestures over her shoulder at McCoy, who is ranting to the nurses that he washes his hands of Hikaru, complete with actually physically washing his hands, because McCoy has no concept of subtlety.

-

Maybe it was just the terrible psychological burden of working too long under McCoy that had made her a sadist. Hikaru had helped the med staff repair and restock Sickbay after a disastrous encounter with Romulans, and after two days of McCoy's crazy-eyes drilling into the back of his skull, he hadn't felt terribly generous toward his fellow sentient beings. Kirk, who always had to be perverse and do the opposite of what a normal person would do, had been invigorated by the experience and set some kind of mountain-climbing record on the next planet they stopped at.

-

McCoy must be having a field day, wherever he is; nothing makes him happier than a legitimate reason to be unhappy.

-

He winces and walks over to answer the door, to find Chekov's curly head bouncing around with an upbeat energy that makes Hikaru feel a thousand years old.

"What?" he asks. "Communicator doesn't work?"

"You didn't answer," Chekov points out, which is probably correct. Hikaru hadn't been aware of anything, much less the chirp of a communicator.

"You know," he tells Chekov, stepping back into his room so he can change into a fresh uniform, "when someone is annoyed with you, telling them how it's their fault doesn't make them like you any better. It just makes them more annoyed."

Chekov blinks big, hurt eyes at him. "You are annoyed with me?"

Hikaru just sighs and lets it go. "So what do I need to be told so badly?" he asks, slipping on a new pair of pants and pulling his shirt off. "I'm guessing that if it were good news, it could wait."

"We have Klingons," Chekov tells him, completely matter-of-fact, and Hikaru is never going to share with anyone, least of all Chekov, the fact that his immediate response to this was to think Russians really are that stoic.

His next thought is that he has to get to the bridge, now, so he sets off at a run with Chekov following along behind.

His third thought, that he never did finish getting dressed, takes its own sweet time occurring to him, specifically waiting until the doors to the Bridge open and Uhura looks at him, blinks her eyes at a momentary loss for words, and then smirks.

In retrospect, it will feel pretty good to have made Uhura happy about something in the middle of this whole clusterfuck. At the time, Hikaru just wonders how bad it could really be to eject himself out the nearest airlock.

"Had a disagreement with your uniform, Mr. Sulu?" Uhura asks. "Or have your just decided that today is a good day for swashbuckling?"

Hikaru plays it cool, because there are only so many options available for you when you show up to battle without a shirt on, and because there's an appreciative look in the eyes of more than one person on the Bridge that reminds him that his shirtlessness is not, in and of itself, anything to be ashamed about. "I wanted to be on hand as soon as possible to help with the situation, sir," he tells her, voice completely smooth. He falls into a formal at-ease position that draws the muscles in his chest tight, causing someone to whistle lowly.

The Acting Captain is actively fighting back laughter at this point; Uhura is going to give him shit about this for the rest of his natural life, but then again, Klingons, so Hikaru can't begrudge her trying to make the most of it now in case the rest of his natural life is only another ten minutes. "Mr. Chekov, please restrain your dramatics in the future," she tells him, and the ensign takes on a look of righteous outrage that is decades older than his face. "Perhaps you could have communicated to Mr. Sulu that another second or two's delay would not have been fatal."

"I thought it obvious, sir," Chekov says, primly. "No Russian would charge into battle in such a state of unpreparedness."

"Because they'd freeze to death on a summer's day," Hikaru mutters.

-

"How?" Uhura asks, with that same fake innocent tone she uses when she's trying to convince everyone at the table that she's got a shit hand, and dammit, Hikaru has fallen for that bluff too many times. After which he was often divested of an article of clothing, oddly enough, so the whole thing is starting to feel really familiar.

-

Kang is even willing to deal with someone who isn't Kirk, as long as Kirk is there to have accusations and insults hurled at him, which is some kind of horrible metaphor for command but Hikaru is still trying to force his jaws together and doesn't quite appreciate the many, many cosmic jokes that are unfurling in front of him.

-

Every single person on the bridge of the Enterprise who still has a brain freezes and darts their eyes to the view screen at the exact same second. Later that simultaneity would make Hikaru wonder why the hell the dancing had been so uncoordinated in the crew's performance of Pirates of Penzance, since clearly they are all psychically linked to each other. Or perhaps psychic connections require substantial motivational force. Few things are more substantial or more motivating than enraged Klingons, and – as every eyeball except two immediately takes in – they have one hell of an enraged Klingon on their hands.

"WHAT CHARADE IS THIS," Kang demands, spitting out 'charade' like it's the dirtiest word he knows. Apparently Klingon honor doesn't have much time for theater. Hikaru wonders what Klingons do for embarrassing social bonding in lieu of Pirates of Penzance.

-

"Oh, good, so we can tell them that we aren't responsible, they'll listen to that and act reasonable," McCoy mutters, before jabbing Kirk with something on the pretense of getting more brainwave readings. McCoy has been dragging Kirk around the ship with him all morning for reasons as yet unexplained. Hikaru's torn on thinking it's to cause more havoc, since every little thing that happens inspires a thousand pointless questions from the deposed captain, and thinking it's so he can stab at Kirk like some stress relief toy. It doesn't seem to be working, but modern science has not yet found a conduit big enough to channel McCoy's stress, so that would be asking a bit much to ask from a guy who needed help going to the bathroom earlier. (Hikaru made Chekov do it. That's what ensigns are for, right?)

-

Chapel had proclaimed the whole thing hogwash and said she would get around to it when she had a minute, and implied that that minute was going to be a long time coming, because apparently that attitude was handed down with command of Sickbay like the crown of a hereditary monarch.

-

Besides, there's the Klingons to consider, and even Scotty can't make hooch so strong it wipes out the memories of people on other ships. Probably. Hikaru will ask him about it when his memory is back, and they will write a paper together, "A Transwarp Theory of Moonshine", and it will ruin both of their chances of ever advancing up the command chain, which would probably suit Scotty just fine and would be the best thing to ever happen to Hikaru if it means he never has to deal with a mess like this again.

-

"When we get to the point where we're recruiting untested specialists from alternate dimensions to solve the problem, just leave me brainless," Chapel scoffs. "I don't want to know."

Hikaru scribbles a note to himself. Evil clones running the Enterprise becomes Plan Y; stealing versions of themselves from other dimensions becomes Plan Z. He thinks they have a better chance of un-fixing the teleporter to make clones again than of making it pull people from other dimensions.

-

Chekov bounds down the hall at him – speaking of teenagers – and apparently the gloom is rolling off Hikaru thick enough to strike down an enthusiastic ensign at fifty paces, because the spring goes right out of Chekov's step when Hikaru looks at him. His faces turns somber and he tugs on his uniform shirt like he's worried about wrinkles. Or maybe he just remembered that this is a catastrophe in the making and a little gravity is called for.

He nearly takes it too far, though, going for a salute and Hikaru thinks that if Chekov salutes him right now he will actually go insane. He intercepts Chekov's arm on the way up and drops it back down like its covered in nettles. Chekov looks a little confused about how to proceed from here, but hell, the kid's always telling them he's a genius, let him figure something out.

-

He picks up Chapel like a leech; when he refuses to stop in Sickbay she just attaches herself to him and starts talking every bit as rapidly as Hikaru is walking. He can't tell how she's breathing. Maybe she isn't. Hikaru feels a little bit like he isn't breathing, either, or that might just be his flair for the dramatic.

He gets distracted, too, by the nurse who is accompanying Chapel, holding several PADDS and a medical tricorder and struggling to hold it all and drop nothing and keep up on her rather short legs. Maybe they could slow down for her, but hell, Chapel's her boss and isn't worried.

Hikaru can't remember the nurse's name. That's a panicky moment, but no, it's just that she's new. Should he ask her name, he wonders, or would that be rude? As the captain, however temporary or inglorious the title may be, he should know everyone on the crew already.

At least the crew is making that easier on him by shrinking.

-

"Stress is every bit a real, medical problem, particularly among young men in high-pressure situations who think they're immortal." This comes with a side order of meaningful look.

"I assure you, Nurse, I am well-aware of my failings."

"And I'm seeing drastically heightened stress all over the ship. Heart rate, blood pressure, shaking, forgetfulness -- not amnesia -- emotional outbursts -- "

"Maybe the crew doesn't like having medical personnel hovering all around them." Hikaru jumps as the short nurse waves her tricorder over him, presumably getting a reading of his own heart rate, blood pressure, and emotional outbursts. "I'm open to any suggestions about how to lower the crew's stress levels, up to and including Ensign Chekov going door to door singing Russian lullabies."

"I'll put that down as Plan Z," Chapel says, and holy shit, can she read his mind? He makes himself think profusely repentant thoughts for his attitude the last two days and also for that time he sneaked a look at her hand at poker, just in case. Also, he probably shouldn't play poker with Chapel anymore, honest or otherwise, if she can read his mind.

-

That, that right there, is apparently what Chapel looks like when she is truly outraged and not just annoyed or sarcastic or feeling superior, which is a valuable piece of information and Hikaru files it away in the very sincere and fervent hope that he never sees it again.

"You know, just, some people," the Acting Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise mumbles into his shoulder.

-

"How did we get here?" Hikaru mutters. He's barely even realized he's spoken, so it's doubly alarming when Chekov jumps up and grabs his shoulders, shakes them violently.

"Sulu, no, you cannot have amnesia, too," the kid starts babbling. Why is it that his accent gets easier to understand when he's worked up? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Unless, hang on, has the kid been faking his accent this whole time? "Then I will have to take command of the Enterprise and while that is a thing I have dreamed of doing, it is no good to me if no one is around to admire."

[artificialqueens]

Something So Magic About You (Don't You Agree?) (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: This is a way overdue prompt for @bennitone, who asked for B and V’s familiars being friends. I hope you all enjoy this, and please leave some feedback if you like! Your comments all mean so much to me! Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and making me cackle with your comments Title from From Eden by Hozier

“Matilda, what are you doing? You’re not supposed to go in the woods at night!” Brooke scrambles after her black cat, coasting along the leafy forest floor. The cold November night is alive around her, the chilly air and fallen leaves like old friends. This is a night for magic to run free, and Brooke’s fingertips buzz with it.

Brooke performs a simple light spell, light spilling from her hand and illuminating the forest. Her black boots crunch over the leaves as she follows Matilda into a clearing, bare branches stretching across the sky to form a canopy over the world, making Brooke feel as cozy as she did in her giant sweaters.

Her cat sits smugly on a log, a large snowy owl next to her. Brooke’s heart thumps in her chest. She’d recognize that owl anywhere. It’s–

“Bertha, what the hell?” a gruff voice shouts. A circle of light grows bigger until it reaches the clearing, a short woman with wavy brown hair appearing with it.

Brooke’s cheeks burn hotter than a fire spell as she rakes her fingers through her hair. Vanessa had said hey to Brooke at their very first nightly coven magic lesson when they were 11, Brooke returning the greeting as her legs shook under her desk and her stomach twisted like a pretzel, and for the past 15 years Brooke has been lucky to manage a full sentence when Vanessa is near since.

“Brooke? Is that you?” Vanessa asks.

“Um, yeah.”

“Haven’t seen you since the last coven meeting. Whatcha been up to?”

Not for the first time, Brooke wishes for a spell that would give her something funny to say. How could she read so many books, but never have the right words to say herself? “Oh, you know. The usual,” Brooke mumbles. “How about you?”

“The same.”

They stand in silence until Vanessa’s owl, Bertha, flies over and perches on her shoulder.

“I guess I better get going. Got a hot date my with my TV tonight,” Vanessa excuses herself.

Brooke keeps her face smooth even if she’s crumbling inside. Of course Vanessa couldn’t wait to get away from her.

“Me too,” Brooke says as Matilda slinks over to her. “I, um, also watch TV.” Her face burns like she’s been dipped in lava when she realizes what she’s just said, but Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she smiles.

“See you around.”

And then she’s gone.

Brooke groans as she scoops up Matilda. I also watch TV? Why did she sound like a robot when she talked to Vanessa? Scratch that, robots probably have better communication skills.

“Oh well. It’s not like I have a chance with her anyway. Why would someone as cool as her want me?” Brooke sighs, heading home with her fingers buried in Matilda’s fur to calm her.

Matilda curls up at Brooke’s feet in bed, her human finally asleep after a long rant about how stupid she had sounded in the forest followed by an hour of reading and then an hour of tossing and turning.

Matilda sighs. This has been going on for 15 years, and she’s had enough.

—

A few miles away, Bertha takes flight after listening to Vanessa gripe about her word choice (‘Hot date with my TV?’ Who the hell says that?) and the uselessness of her crush (Brooke could never like me anyway, what’s the point?).

As Bertha’s wings unfurl beneath the white moon, so does a plan in her mind.

—

Vanessa wakes up and finds her bowl of sage has emptied in the night. She takes her first gulp of coffee and considers what could have happened to it, locking eyes with her mischievous owl. Bertha sits in posed innocence on top of her chair, the magical owl not needing to sleep during the day like regular owls.

“Did you have something to do with this, Bertha?” she asks, holding up the empty bowl.

Bertha stretches out her wings and shrugs.

“Whatever.” Vanessa sighs. “I’ll just go to…ugh, I’ll have to go to Brooke’s store! Now I’m gonna look like an idiot in front of her again!”

Vanessa usually only sees Brooke at the monthly coven meetings, when Brooke’s eyes and the careful way she takes notes distract Vanessa from every word spoken, or at occasional trips to the magic store. This is two days in a row, and maybe she can use this opportunity instead of blowing it like she has with every other one for the past 15 years.

She finishes her breakfast and barricades herself in the bathroom, fixing her hair and applying makeup. She knows it’s all pointless, that she’ll just embarrass herself again anyway. Brooke is so smart, the smartest witch in the whole coven, and there’s no way she’d ever want to be with someone like Vanessa.

Vanessa tugs on her bright red coat and then her black gloves, the winter chill coming early in November this year. Her body is warm with magic despite the cold, and the world seems brighter as she reflects that even if she doesn’t have anyone to share her bed with or eat dinner with every night, she can still do magic, and that’s no small thing. Bertha curls up happily inside Vanessa’s coat, as Vanessa makes her way down to the magic supply and book shop Brooke owns with Nina, the leader of their coven.

The hand-carved sign with its precise lettering welcomes her to Nina and Brooke’s Magic Supply (Vanessa knows Nina wanted to name it ‘Check Yourself Before You Hex Yourself,’ but had settled in the name of professionalism).

“Hi, Vanessa!” Nina calls as soon as she enters, cementing her title of Most Cheerful Person in history. Nina always has a smile for everyone and greets her customers by name, asking them about their lives and remembering tiny details about them, like how Vanessa is allergic to dogs and her favorite pizza topping is pepperoni.

Vanessa opens her coat and Bertha perches on her shoulder as she walks to the counter, Nina smiling behind it. Brooke sits on a stool, nose in a book, brow furrowed and lips parted slightly as she reads. Her black cat rests calmly in her lap. Brooke wears a giant olive green sweater with the sleeves pulled down over her long fingers, and Vanessa’s heart almost leaps out of her chest at how adorable she is. Too bad Vanessa has no chance with her.

“Hey, Nina. Hey, Brooke.”

Brooke’s head snaps up. “Huh? Oh, hi, Vanessa,” she says quickly, cheeks going pink.

“What brings you in today?” Nina asks.

“Just need some sage,” she explains, stashing her gloves in her pocket. “I think Bertha was up to no good last night.”

Her owl gives a light hoot.

“Oh, Brooke, why don’t you and Vanessa go get it together?” Nina suggests.

“That’s okay, I can do it myself–”

“Nonsense!” Nina declares. “Brooke would love to go with you, wouldn’t she?” she shoots a pointed glance at Brooke.

“I would,” Brooke says in the quiet, sincere voice Vanessa heard for the first time when they were 11. It takes her back to magic classes under a sky glowing with sunset, Brooke so smart and studious and silent that Vanessa had never dared give her more than a simple hey at the start of each class, because even though she could talk for days she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make her sound like an idiot in front of Brooke.

Brooke sets her book down and places Matilda on the ground, the cat following along after her feet.

Vanessa trails behind Brooke, reaching for Bertha’s feathers to keep herself steady at the prospect of being alone with Brooke. Say something. Say something, she chants to herself, but keeping up with Brooke’s long legs is making conversation difficult.

“Did you have a good night?” Vanessa finally tries once they come to a stop.

“Me? Yeah, I did. I read a little and that was mostly it. How about you?”

Vanessa had put on a face mask and watched trashy reality TV, taking comfort in the fact that at least her life wasn’t in as much of a shambles as the people on the show, devoured cold pizza and a row of Oreos, and talked to her pet owl for an hour.

“Just watched some TV,” Vanessa answers.

Vanessa looks up and sees the sage on a shelf at least two feet above her head. “Good thing you’re here to reach that.” That’s flirty, isn’t it?

“Guess so,” Brooke says, grinning as she hands her the vial. Their fingers touch longer than necessary as Vanessa accepts it, warmth shuddering through her arm, and all she can think is how the green of Brooke’s eyes makes the sage dull.

Neither of them notice Bertha slipping her beak into Vanessa’s pocket and dropping her gloves into Matilda’s waiting paws.

—

Brooke sets about her closing duties at the store, rushing through the sweeping so she can take her time fixing the bookshelves. Books had been Brooke’s friends since she was old enough to pick out short words, leaving the library with a stack of books taller than she was, and she felt more comfortable around them than she did other people. At least you didn’t have to talk to a book.

She didn’t need much more than a book, Matilda, and some tea to make her happy; she never had. She never admitted it to anyone; doing something so quiet and boring would get her laughed at, and is surely another reason her crush on Vanessa is pointless. Because why would Vanessa, who had been so confident and charming and casual in magic class and is still just as vibrant now, want to spend time with quiet, boring Brooke?

The feeling of Matilda pawing at her leg snaps her out of it.

“What’s that you got?” she asks, bending down to remove a pair of black gloves from the cat’s mouth.

“I bet these are Vanessa’s gloves,” she says, neglecting to acknowledge that she only recognizes the gloves because of her inability to stop staring at Vanessa’s hands. “I’ll have to bring them to her tonight. It’s been so cold, she’ll need them,” she decides, also neglecting to acknowledge that Vanessa could probably go without them until the morning.

She pulls on her dark blue coat. It’s only a short drive to Vanessa’s apartment and Brooke likes driving at night, the clear air and dark sky enough to soothe some of her fears.

She knocks on Vanessa’s door and Brooke doesn’t know why she’s so shocked when Vanessa answers; why wouldn’t she? But anything she might have planned to say flies out of her brain when she sees Vanessa, her brown eyes lit up in surprise, her small hands rubbing at her neck. Brooke has done enough staring at Vanessa’s hands today, but she can’t resist, admiring her short fingers and rounded nails with chipped crimson polish, her smooth, delicate wrists.

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks. A confused wrinkle forms between her eyebrows and Brooke has to restrain herself from smoothing it out.

“Your gloves,” Brooke blurts. “You, um, I found your gloves in the shop. I thought you might want them.” She thrusts them at Vanessa, who looks surprised but not unhappy. Could she really be happy to see Brooke?

“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“It was nothing.” Brooke shifts around, Matilda meowing loudly at her feet. A second later Bertha gives a resounding hoot inside the apartment and flutters over to the door, dropping a box of spaghetti on the floor. Vanessa picks it up after scolding Bertha, then turns the box over in her hands.

“Hey, that reminds me, since you’re here, you want to stay for dinner? I’m making spaghetti,” Vanessa offers, eyes widening like she can’t believe the words just came out of her mouth.

Dinner with Vanessa? Teenage Brooke would have peed herself at such an offer–hell, adult Brooke might lose control of her bladder soon. But what will they talk about for an entire dinner? What could she possibly say to get her crush of 15 years to like her? Vanessa will probably hate her, or maybe she’ll be so boring Vanessa will fall asleep right at the table. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you or anything–”

“You’re not imposing. I always end up with enough spaghetti to feed half the city, at least you can eat some of it with me.”

And Brooke can’t say no.

—-

Even though she was the one that invited her and she’s had fantasies about this hundreds of times, Vanessa still can’t quite believe Brooke is sitting at her kitchen table.

She keeps biting her lip and wringing her hands, and Vanessa thinks how odd it is to see Brooke’s hands without a book in them.

Is Brooke so fidgety because she doesn’t want to be here? Is she wondering how she’ll survive an entire dinner with someone as obnoxious as Vanessa? Vanessa busies herself with getting the food ready to push back her fears that she’ll make a fool of herself, or sound so dumb that Brooke runs away.

Vanessa sets the bowls down and races for something to say.

“She follows you everywhere, huh?” Vanessa asks, nodding toward the cat curled against Brooke’s thigh.

Brooke smiles. “Yeah. The letter for magic classes said we could have a cat or an owl, and I always wanted a cat. She’s kind of my best friend.”

“That’s sweet,” Vanessa says. She smiles at the careful yet graceful way Brooke butters her bread. “Does she ever bring you dead mice? ‘Cause Bertha thinks that’s a real present for me.”

Dead mice? They’re eating dinner and she talks about dead mice? Brooke doesn’t seem to mind though; she just shakes her head and laughs.

“She hasn’t, which is good. Bugs and rats and anything like that creep me out. I’d probably run out of my apartment screaming.”

Vanessa giggles as she twirls her spaghetti. This is going better than she thought, but it’s only been a few minutes and she can’t think of anything else to say. Should she try to say something smart to impress Brooke? Should she just talk about something normal?

“How’s work?” Vanessa blurts.

Brooke tells her about the new order of books they received, and there’s such love and admiration in Brooke’s voice that it makes Vanessa tingle, her heart surging with affection for Brooke.

“You like to read a lot,” Vanessa says.

Brooke nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’ve pretty much always been that way. I’ve always had trouble sleeping, so I would either practice magic or read to fall asleep when I was younger.”

“No wonder you’re such a good witch, with all your midnight magic practice. My ass was snoring away.”

Brooke’s cheeks turn pink, and it makes her even cuter. Vanessa wishes she could rest her hand on Brooke’s cheek, let the warmth fill her.

“I just wanted to be really good. I’m the only witch in our year who doesn’t have magic parents. I didn’t want to be behind, or for the others to think I didn’t deserve to be there, you know?” Brooke explains.

Brooke’s constant studying and unbreakable focus makes more sense now. And it explains why Brooke had been doing third-year and sometimes even fourth-year level work at 11. Vanessa knows there had been a few girls who resented Brooke, complaining that it was unfair for her to be the best in their year when she didn’t even have magic parents. Vanessa had told them off once, Brooke’s quiet gentleness something she always wanted to protect, and still does.

Vanessa nods. “Yeah, I get that. You were always the best witch in class.”

“You were always the funniest,” Brooke counters.

“I guess I was, wasn’t I?” Vanessa cackles.

“That time you made the tomato fly at Silky–”

“That was an accident–”

“Sure it was.” Brooke smiles and Vanessa smiles back. How has this been so easy? Does Brooke like Vanessa as much as Vanessa likes her? She can’t, can she?

They talk idly about different TV shows, and the whole time, Vanessa is at war with herself, wondering if she’s imagining the sparkle in Brooke’s eyes, the shy smile Brooke keeps flashing at her. Does it mean what she thinks it means?

When Brooke starts to head out, Vanessa takes the leap.

“If you ever want to do this again sometime, just call me,” Vanessa offers at the door.

“I, um, I’d like that,” Brooke says. She lifts Matilda into her arms and sets off into the night, leaving Vanessa to thrust a victorious fist in the air while Bertha purses her beak.

—

“Nina, you have to help me!” Brooke cries the second she enters the shop the next morning.

Brooke was up most of the night replaying her dinner with Vanessa, trying to figure out if it seemed like Vanessa had been into her or if Brooke was just seeing too far into things. Vanessa had laughed and smiled a lot, but she usually did those things at coven meetings, and Brooke is stupid to think they had just been for her last night, even though each quirk of Vanessa’s lips makes Brooke’s whole body tingle.

“What is it?” Nina asks in worry as Brooke sits with her behind the counter. “Who do I have to beat up for you?”

Brooke snorts, a rush of affection for Nina–who personally came to see eleven-year-old Brooke and invite her to magic class–overcoming her panic. “We both know you’d never hurt anyone.”

“True.” Nina smiles. “Well, who do I have to lecture about kindness for you?”

“It’s nothing bad. It’s…I had dinner with Vanessa last night.”

Nina’s eyebrows fly up in excitement. “And?”

“And I–I really like her.” Brooke pauses, waiting for Nina’s reaction. But she doesn’t get one, Nina just nodding along expectantly.

“Oh, honey, am I supposed to be surprised?” Nina asks when she notices Brooke watching her. “Because you’ve been looking at her with heart-eyes for at least ten years now.”

Brooke knows Nina is right. From that very first meeting, when Brooke was trying not to throw up while surrounded by other witches who came from all-magic families, unlike her, Vanessa had brought a smile to Brooke’s face with her antics, joking around with the teachers. She was always nice to Brooke, and she didn’t think Vanessa knew, but Brooke had heard Vanessa once telling the other kids to stop saying mean things about her.

If there’s even a chance Vanessa does feel the same way, Brooke has to take it.

“You’re right,” Brooke agrees. “She said to call her if I want to do it again, and I want to. Can you help me with–with what to say?”

“Of course I can.”

Brooke’s hands sweat so much her phone almost slips through, but Nina keeps her steady in the office and all but commands Brooke to leave early so she can get ready.

Brooke drives home, mind buzzing with how fast Vanessa had said yes.

Vanessa really likes her.

It’s almost a form of magic itself.

—

Vanessa checks her phone so many times for a call or text from Brooke–just in case she didn’t hear the notification–that she has to plug it in while waiting for Brooke to pick her up for dinner.

She almost jumped up and down on her bed when Brooke called, giving what sounded like a nervously rehearsed offer of a date. Vanessa is pretty sure Nina was hissing instructions in the background, but she doesn’t care. She’s going on a date with Brooke. Brooke likes her. Likes her so much she called and asked her out

“What do you think, Bertha?” Vanessa asks, holding up two sweaters. “Pink or red?”

Bertha’s beak curves toward the pink.

“You’re right,” Vanessa agrees.

She pulls on the sweater and fixes her hair, each wave springing with the excitement of seeing Brooke. So what if she’s ready 30 minutes early, bouncing up and down like a kid? Vanessa breathlessly paces her kitchen, hand flying to her phone every five seconds.

6:00, and still no Brooke.

6:10 and Vanessa is starting to worry.

6:20 and she can’t fight the fear anymore.

Brooke is always the first one at every coven meeting and Vanessa doubts if Brooke has ever been late for a single thing in her life. There’s a part of her that can’t deny that something bad happened for Brooke to be late, and it makes her stomach clench.

And then the phone rings.

—

Brooke’s hands are shaking so badly she fumbles the call button twice, finally reaching Vanessa and feeling some panic fade at the sound of her voice.

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks.

“I…” Brooke’s voice is frozen.

“Brooke, what’s wrong?” There’s instant concern in Vanessa’s voice, and some part of Brooke’s mind registers that Vanessa is worried about her, cares that much about her.

“M-Matilda, a dog scared her and she-she ran off in the woods and I can’t find her and it’s raining and dark and–”

“Hey, hey, just breathe.” Vanessa’s voice is calm and steady, but it’s not enough for the avalanche of worry crushing Brooke. “The woods aren’t far from me. Why don’t I go look for her, and you can go home and try to work on a locator spell?” Vanessa suggests.

It makes sense; location spells are easier to do when you’re emotionally closer to what you’re looking for, but Brooke’s mind can’t focus on sense right now. “But I should be out searching, what if something happens?”

“It’s okay,” Vanessa soothes. “I’ll be there for her. We have a better chance of finding her if you do the spell.”

“Okay,” Brooke agrees shakily.

“We’ll find her, I promise,” Vanessa vows.

Brooke gathers up what she needs for the spell, but her heart is beating in her ears and her thoughts are moving too fast to focus.

Matilda has always been more than a cat to her. When she was 13 and up all night sweating and shivering and coughing with the flu, Matilda had moved all the tissues off her bed and woken Brooke’s parents when her fever got too high. When she was at her desk until 1am making sure her homework was perfect, Matilda would paw at Brooke’s leg or plop on her textbook until Brooke went to sleep. Every time Brooke was spiraling into worry about coven meetings or something she said to Vanessa, Matilda would settle into her lap until she calmed down. She let Brooke dress her in ridiculous sweaters and Halloween costumes without protest. Brooke didn’t even think she’d be able to sleep without her cat there.

She takes a breath and focuses.

—

Looking for a missing cat in the pouring rain is not how Vanessa expected her first date to go.

Rain patters against the hood of her coat, her hand throwing a light spell against the dark forest, and Vanessa shivers in fear that this will turn into some sort of horror movie.

She calls for the cat, unsure how in the world she’ll find it, but knowing she’s going to keep her promise to Brooke. She can’t imagine how scared she would be if Bertha ran away, and she wants to soothe Brooke’s fears.

She nears a clearing when something rustles, and then something crashes into Vanessa’s legs. She lets out a half-scream, then casts her light down to see a cat.

“Matilda!” Vanessa exclaims. She pulls the cat up to her chest. “Oh, thank God. Brooke’s been worried sick about you.”

Vanessa wraps the soaked cat in a blanket and speeds her way over to Brooke’s.

Brooke is running her hand through her hair when she answers the door, and her flushed cheeks and wide eyes form an expression Vanessa recognizes from magic school when Brooke was asked to perform spells in front of the class.

“Sorry Vanessa, I can’t talk, I’m trying to start the locator spell and–”

Vanessa just holds up the cat.

“–her location keeps moving so it’s hard to get the spell to work and I can’t really concentrate and I–”

“Brooke.”

“–don’t know why she’s been running off so much, she–”

“Brooke!”

“What–oh, you found her!”

Brooke takes Matilda into her arms and Vanessa can’t help but smile as Brooke kisses the cat’s nose, petting her fur and telling her not to run away again.

“Thank you so much for bringing her to me,” Brooke says.

“Oh, sure. It was no problem.”

“Do you–do you want to come inside for a bit? Since our date never happened? I can make tea if you want. Do you like tea? I don’t have any coffee–I don’t really like it, it makes me too jittery, but I can–”

“Tea is fine, Brooke.”

Brooke’s apartment is what Vanessa expected: cozy and neat and with a book collection rivaling a library’s. The home of someone who not only loves books, but who considers books a part of them. There’s two towering bookcases on either side of her TV, a rainbow of books from floor to ceiling. There’s old and new spellbooks, potion guides, and even regular fiction and fantasy books, all neatly ordered.

Vanessa spies a copy of Matilda on the coffee table, edges worn, cover slightly faded, clearly well-loved. She flips it open and sees a sticker reading This book belongs to on the inside cover, Brooke Lynn Hytes printed in a child’s careful lettering underneath. The tiny letters tug at Vanessa’s heart.

“Is that why you named her Matilda?” Vanessa asks as Brooke enters with a tray bearing mugs, honey, cream, and cookies.

Brooke hands her the red mug with owls on it, and Vanessa nods approvingly. They sink into the squashy couch together, and Vanessa smiles as Brooke’s eyes meet hers.

“Yeah. I almost went with Jiji, from Kiki’s Delivery Service, but I really liked Matilda. I was a lot like her when I was younger.” Brooke lowers her head and blushes. “And don’t laugh, but Miss Honey in the movie was kind of my lesbian awakening.”

Vanessa doesn’t laugh, but a smile does break free across her face. “I can’t laugh, Mary. Six-year-old me was in love with home girl Lavender.”

Brooke snorts into her mug decorated with books and cats. “In retrospect, that movie probably made a lot of girls gay.”

Vanessa laughs, and she sees a future of this for her and Brooke, of tea and laughs and brightly shared smiles.

Vanessa takes a breath. “Brooke, I really like you. I have for a long time, and it’s about time I told you.”

Brooke’s cheeks turn bright pink, and she smiles. “I like you too. Since we were teenagers, really. I never thought you’d like someone as quiet as me.”

Vanessa can’t help but smile at how Brooke has had the same problem as her all these years, how it could have been fixed it they just stopped being idiots. “I never thought you’d like someone as loud as me.”

Brooke laughs. “I like you because you’re loud, and courageous, and exciting.”

“And I like that you’re quiet. I like how determined and caring you are.”

“God, we’re both idiots, aren’t we?” Brooke shakes her head lightly, taking one of Vanessa’s hands. “Well, I like you. You like me. And that’s what matters now.”

“Absolutely,” Vanessa agrees, all she can really say because Brooke’s soft hand wrapped around hers is cutting off all the words Vanessa knows.

“Um, do you wanna watch a movie or something?” Brooke asks. “We could do Practical Magic, if you’re in a witchy mood.”

“I’m always in a witchy mood,” Vanessa answers.

She nestles up to Brooke on the couch, her body fitting perfectly against her side, and Vanessa feels safe and warm as the rain hammers down outside. She could definitely get used to this, and from Brooke’s smile and sturdy arm around her, she thinks Brooke has the same thought.

On the arm chair, Bertha settles down next to Matilda, throwing a wing over her as they drift off in celebration of a job well done.

[agentredfort]

Would Hitch die for Ruby? Would Blacker die for Ruby? Would Ruby die for Hitch? Would Ruby die for Blacker? Would Hitch die for Blacker? Would Blacker die for Hitch? I NEED TO KNOW HOW MUCH THESE 3 LOVE EACH OTHER.

Excellent questions. I’m not sure if you want to hear the answers.

Would Blacker die for Ruby?

Lockdowns are never fun. Lockdowns that are actually serious, and not just an accidentally tripped alarm or yet another tedious unending drills are, of course, even worse. The lights are off, the door's locked, they're huddled behind a cabinet at the far end of the room, waiting for the all-clear to let them know that intruders have left the building. Blacker can see Ruby's hunched over form dimly in the darkness. She looks tense and furious. She wants to do something to stop this, but can't, and that scares her more than anything.

Footsteps, outside. The door rattles once, twice, and then shatters open. The splintering noise makes both of them flinch, and they exchange glances that say more than words ever could. Blacker stops breathing. The footsteps are inside, now, and they're heavy and purposeful. The person who's just broken down the door comes to a stop in the middle of the room, and there's a moment of silence.

"I know you're in here," says the guy. He sounds more amused than anything.

He looks at the reflection in the cabinet, and sees that the guy standing in the middle of the room, visible in distorted chrome, is wearing all black and is carrying a dangerous-looking gun. He looks back at Ruby, and realizes that this guy only knows that someone's in this room - he certainly can't have predicted that there's two of them, and if he gets up right now before the guy can notice Ruby -

Ruby seems to have come to the same conclusion, because she grabs his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "No," she says, barely moving her lips - the word just a slight exhale of air. "No." 

"Stay down," he tells her, keeping his voice low.

"He'll kill you," she hisses, desperate and wild. "He'll kill you and you'll die and I can't deal with that, no, no, no -"

"I can hear you breathing," calls the man with the gun, and there's an ominous click, and there's a grin in his voice as he says, "don't make me come and find you!"

There's no time for all the things he wants to say. He prises her hand off his arm, ruffles her hair lightly, affectionately; and stands - and hopes to god that she won't end up being as traumatized by what comes next as he knows she will be.

Would Hitch die for Blacker?

"Got the handcuffs off yet?" Blacker asks, trying to twist around to see - they're bound back-to-back, of course - but ultimately failing.

"Getting there," says Hitch, grunting. Another few seconds pass - clink, clink, insert swearing here - and then he says, "again, sorry for getting you into this mess."

"No prob, kinda comes with the job description. Now, if we don't get back to HQ before lunch, well - then I might get mad."

He feels rather than hears Hitch laugh, and then then the clicking and rustling and swearing starts up again. Within five minutes, Hitch's handcuffs are off, and he's working on Blacker's.

"Any idea who these guys are?" Blacker wonders, watching the other man work.

Hitch offers a half-slope of his shoulders in response, a quick shrug. "None. Hang on -" and click, the handcuffs are off.

Blacker stretches his arms briefly, shakes his wrists out. "Okay," he says. "Let's get out of here."

"If anybody shows up," Hitch says, seriously, "just run. I'll hold them off as best as I can, but - you know, just look for an exit, try to get out, get help. We don't know what they're capable of."

Blacker pauses, thinks for a second about stating the obvious - but that's basically suicide, no matter how well you can handle yourself - and then realizes how pointless it is.

"Got it," he says instead, nodding, and they head out of the room without a word.

 Would Ruby die for Hitch?

Sometimes time is measured in hours, and sometimes it is measured in days, and sometimes it's measured in split-second freezeframes, captured one after another in a frantic rush that can only be processed properly when the action has ceased.

Click. Rooftop fight. Fantastic. On the bright side: three goons already taken out between them (Ruby got lucky with a kick below the waist and a punch to the head, and the other two were a team effort) and there's only one left. One the not-so-bright side: Hitch is weaponless, the guy's got a gun, and she's got maybe five ten twelve seconds before Hitch beefs it because this guy does NOT look like he's up for conversation.

Click. She scans the rooftop. No options but to take the gun-wielding man down herself. There's only one way to a girl Ruby's size to stop a guy that size and oh boy she doesn't like it but Hitch Hitch Hitch.

Click. She might survive this. She might. She's survived worse before. Maybe.

Click. Rugby tackles are undignified but sometimes you gotta work with what you have. The man never saw it coming. Who expects to be tackled at point-blank range by an terrified angry teenager, especially so close to the roof edge? It's a stupid thing to do.

Click. Ruby is the undisputed queen of stupid decisions.

Click. Distant shout, 'kid NO' from the rooftop above, she's already falling. So's the other guy, so task accomplished, Hitch'll be fine at least.

Click. Maybe she'll catch onto a windowframe before she hits the ground. That'd be nice, she thinks, and convenient too. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Click.

Would Blacker die for Hitch? 

"Which of you is the man known as Art Hitchen Zachary?" the woman in dark blue asks, and there's an unpleasant glint in her eye which Blacker really doesn't like, so that's what makes him stand up in response before he's even aware he's doing it.

"I am," he says, "it's me."

Blacker never really pictured himself as a heroic kind of guy, but he always liked to think of himself as a fundamentally good one.

Hitch, next to him, makes a little choked horrified noise that Blacker could literally not have got out of him in any other circumstances, and says, "wait -" but Blacker just shakes his head, pre-empting that.

"He's just trying to save me," he says, inwardly admiring how steady he's got his voice to sound. "Guys, it's fine. Ignore him. I'm Hitch. What do you want?"

"Uh-huh," says the woman in blue, eyeing him. "I take it you know exactly what you've done to make our organization... displeased with you."

"Yes," Blacker says, forcing himself to channel Hitch, to stay calm. No. I have no idea what you're talking about. But that's fine. He's disposable - Spectrum can easily find another coding expert, or Ruby or Miles can take over (they're both good enough, or working together they could accomplish anything if they just stopped arguing) - but Hitch is not. LB needs him, Ruby needs him - Spectrum needs him.

"I see," says the woman, and her face curls up into a horrible little grin, promising all manner of dreadful, nasty things. "In that case - Mr Zachary, do feel free to come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

 Would Ruby die for Blacker?

It takes her less than a second to realize what's wrong with the scene she can see through the window set into the door in the coding room they've been using - only milliseconds to figure out that there's something majorly wrong with the way that the pens on the table are set out. Too neat, too perfect - too conveniently covering one blind spot. It takes her less than a second to work this out, but it inevitably will take longer than that to communicate all this, because words are unwieldly and not as razor-sharp and well-polished as her thoughts and deductions are. Blacker could have probably worked it out himself, but she moves faster with leaps of logic like this and he's distracted and there's just no time.

Blacker is talking about some new advance in technology, something inconsequential and light, and he's grinning at her over the steam that's curling up over his coffee cup, and he's yet to notice the way her expression's changed to completely serious, so that means he doesn't have time to stop her when she elbows him out of the way just as he's opening the door, and forces herself into the room first.

“Ruby, what -"

For a moment she thinks she must've overreacted - and that would be embarrassing but fine because it means that Blacker would be all right and so would she - but as it turns out, she was right, because it's about that point that the hidden mechanism goes off and the dart or whatever it is shoots right into her neck, and she has about enough time to swear in some very age-inappropriate terms before she's down on the ground and the coffee mug's been dropped and shattered and Blacker's yelling out the door for help and pulling her upright to (for the first time that she can actually remember him doing) scold her about her terrible, dreadful life choices (which, fair, but.).

"Next time," he tells her fiercely, "just let me take the damn dart. I'm not worth this, Ruby, I'm really not."

She grins at him kind of, sideways, and says, "thought there was something wrong with the room. Got it right again."

He sighs, lets out of a desperate half-laugh, and says, "yeah, and it sucks. Hold on, Rube. Help's on the way. I'll shut up and let Doctor Harper chew you out for this, huh?"

"Yeah," she breathes. "Yeah." She reaches up, fumbles for his hand, and squeezes it hard. He squeezes back, just as hard, and she thinks about telling him what a cool person he is and how glad she is that he's her friend, but it's kind of hard to talk and she's feeling super cold so she just holds his hand for a while and waits waits waits.

 Would Hitch die for Ruby?  

He's taken bullets for older people, and certainly less trustworthy people - and definitely people that he's liked a lot less. He's taken a lot of bullets, really. What's one more? You never really get to the point where you enjoy taking a bullet for someone, but this time, he thinks he might have gotten pretty damn close. Better him than the kid, after all. Better him than the kid.

It's not complicated, of course, but it doesn't need to be.

Love is a powerful motivator, of course.

It always is.

[diningpageantry]

Don’t @ Me

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43092371

Chapter 1/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 3118

Fic Summary: Teenage life is hard enough, but with the added weight of their lives, both Simon and Baz thrive online in a fandom for the British crime show, Gastrell, about the genius Huxley and his "flatmate" Sam. Through Tumblr, they find each other, and sink into something more than just being mutuals.

Chapter Summary: A shitpost is taken a little too personally, and an argument breaks out. In true Baz fashion, he seeks to prove himself right in the most ridiculous way possible.

BAZ

Morning routines are the most menial shit in the realm of existence of arbitrary tasks.

Everyone seems to have them, yet nobody really has a set one. For example, my step-mum has a long, seemingly pointless hour of simply facial cleansers, serums, and hair products. When I’d asked her years ago why she does it all, she shook her head and said “You’ll never be an aging woman, Basilton.”

I couldn’t quite argue with that.

Regardless, it’s a part of life. The routines. Wake up, morning routine, morning activity, eat, afternoon activity, usually afternoon snack, evening activity, dinner, night-time activity, sleep.

A boring, underwhelming cycle of the day.

Although, I suppose it’s shittier for me, since the homeschooling doesn’t give me a chance to do much besides sit and read. Of course, I have my car and I can drive off to whatever. Hell, father even suggested I get a job to occupy myself, but I don’t quite see the point given how much money we have (and the risk factors with moving around so frequently).

So, here I am. Finishing my classes in a matter of months, then having an entire year of pointless bullshit.

Needless to say, my entire day’s routine isn’t the most thrilling. Wake up at 10 on a good day, check social media and emails, then just lay here until I can’t wait to piss. Piss. Go to eat breakfast and get greeted by screaming children and my poor step-mum trying to wrangle them in. Go upstairs, go back online, see whatever’s on my dash, reblog some shit, then try to do something vaguely productive. Check Archive, check email again. Nothing’s on the emails, ever. Text Dev and Niall, who get awfully pissed since they are in school. Get more food. Eat. Bring tea upstairs, despite the disdained look from our maid (who hates collecting my piles of mugs). Write for a couple hours. Take an afternoon nap, if I please. Wake up and sit there (again). Maybe lonely wank. Go back to the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror for a good few minutes. Sit on the toilet for half an hour for no reason besides the fact that my phone seems more interesting while sitting there as compared to sitting in bed. Sit then on the bathroom floor doing the same thing. Go back to my bed, listen to music on my phone and work on my laptop. Write, maybe scroll. Get dinner brought to me as they tut that I should be more active. Eat. Go downstairs for an evening workout (they’re right, I shouldn’t confine myself to my bed). Come back, do exactly what I do for half the day until I pass out somewhere around 3 am. Repeat.

Dream life for an 17 year old. Social life of a god.

Somewhat.

It’s shit to say (and sort of embarrassing to share) that there’s sort of a social media presence around me. Not quite the Instagram model bullshit, but based around fan life.

Yes, it’s a laughing stock. That’s where my popularity lies--a mixed grab-bag of various ages gathering around various platforms to enthuse about certain topics. And I’m somehow lucky enough to have the slightest bit of popularity here.

As in, a large following. A large, somehow active following.

It isn’t exactly thrilling as one would like to think. Sure, it’s fun to see a scattered group of regulars pop up, and I have my mutuals, but it’s a sad existence to sit around and make various shitposts with nothing better to occupy my mind. Or, at least, that’s what Dev and Niall tell me.

All in all, I blame Fiona. She’s the one who got me into the show, saying she thought the character was a bit like me. After I saw it, I found the three connections she’d grasped at.

Gay, dark-haired, and violinist.

As if that’s a rarity.

Yet, surely enough, I did love it. The cinematography, the characters, the storyline. It was intriguing--captivating.

It doesn’t hurt that the online community was still on the smaller side when I first got there. The show was only a season in when I made my blog, and I’ve stuck through all this bullshit to get me here. One of the regulars. Reposted everywhere, uncredited usually. Big fics, large interactions. Shitposts with thousands upon thousands of notes. I’m recognizable; a suggested name.

Don’t get me wrong, the attention is spectacular. I love interacting with people beyond this depressing household, and they’re usually fairly nice (usually) (except those ravenous for an argument). It’s just awkward to share at times when people ask why your mobile’s got 99+ symbols next to the apps and you just shrug and say “I’m shit at checking it” to avoid the conversation because most people see it as childish.

It’s a shame, really. Especially since I feel emotionally attached to these goddamn fictional fuckers.

I suppose that’s what makes it all the more personal, then. Even the shitposts mean something to me.

Which is what makes this is a long, winded way of saying fuck whoever’s arguing with me about whether or not Huxley is a fucking Ravenclaw. (He is. Hands down.) How’d I get here, staring at my mobile in disbelief at a brief back and forth post turned fight? Because it feels like a reasonable question to wonder.

I got here because, as almost all mornings, I woke up, opened my phone, read my notifs, then sat here, thinking of something. Anything. Then, in a tired haze, typed out a single text post on tumblr.

huxley gastrell is a ravenclaw send tweet

Following so, I went about my typical morning. Of course. Then--then--I check my phone as I’m going downstairs and I see it. I see the “@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!” notif, then read the God-forsaken reblog.

@gaystrell op do you take criticism on your posts?

I frowned at my phone, typing out a quick response before tucking it back into my pocket.

@bi-sammy no.

What I hadn’t anticipated, though, was the reply I’d open up to soon after I’d started poking at my morning meal.

@gaystrell well too bad bc ur WRONG and ur opinions are UGLY

#he’s clearly a slytherin this is slytherin oppression #don’t tell me he and bryonie aren’t from a slytherin family

Now I sit, staring and completely awestruck at such a post. Now, I won’t deny Bryonie Gastrell is definitely, in all possible ways, a Slytherin. Cunning and ambitious as fuck, as any political spy may be, but fuck anyone who tries to dismiss Huxley’s clear Ravenclaw leanings.

It takes me a moment to fully process, mouth robotically chewing my eggs as I contemplate my answer.

@bi-sammy there is absolutely no proof of huxley being a slytherin and more than enough support towards him being a ravenclaw. get your clueless negativity off my blog, you utter tit.

With that, I settle my phone face down onto my table and try to enjoy my lovely plate of scrambled eggs, barely ignoring the boiling of my blood.

SIMON

My phone lights up with the new notification, dragging my attention away from my laptop as the words slide down onto the screen. “@gaystrell mentioned you in a post!” I hate to admit that I get a little pattering in my heart, urging my hand out to grasp the mobile as I pause the Youtube video currently playing. As I read his words, I slowly blink out of my excitement.

Tit. He called me a bloody tit.

Of course this fucking wanker called me a tit.

He must think that since he’s this big bad blogger, he can call me a tit right out in the open. (Although, he is talking to me, so that’s a plus) (No! No no no, bad validation, Simon. Bad). What, with his thousands of followers and fans of his own, he thinks he can try to say shit out in the open?

Fuck it. He’s either getting a DM or a bloody fist fight from me. I’ll take a train to wherever the fuck he lives (which is somewhere in England, since that’s what his bio says) (and his aunt lives in London, since he’s posted about visiting her) (I really do wonder where he’s from and how close he might be--what if I run into him one day?) (No wait fuck I don’t want that anymore).

Clicking on his blog, the little person drop down gives me the option of a message. I barely think as I type it out, vision going spotty from the adrenaline of the twinging anger.

bi-sammy: i swear to god there was no point to the battle of hogwarts if you’re just going to go around and absolutely slander the slytherin name and dare say that huxley is not one of them and, rather, is a ravenclaw

At first, I grin at it, watching my lone message appear into the empty chat. It’s so freeing--so powerful to send it. I pride myself, in the moment, for this solid move of communication. Of course I’m fucking proud. I messaged the arse myself and gave him a space to fight.

Maybe Penny’s right, I should dial down the confrontation, but it’s just the internet. Nothing important happens through a stupid little argument over Huxley’s true Hogwarts house (although, I’m sure I know I’m right in my heart), but it is a bit of fun to fuck around with someone. It’s a distraction. And that’s why I’m here, afterall. To have a distraction.

Penny thinks it’s a bit silly, but she doesn’t really complain. All she’s ever said was  “I thought we left fandom stuff behind us when we were 14.” She said it over lunch, watching me scroll through my at-the-time new tumblr.

It’s funny, I thought I did leave it behind when I was younger. It seemed unneeded as life shifted. I’d just found a stable foster home, with someone who was going to keep me for a while. I found Penny a couple months before I deactivated my old account. I was happy; we were free. I didn’t need a venting place.

Shits been sort of hitting the fan recently, though. No uni plans, David’s been getting more controlling, and of course, Agatha dumping me. It all crashed on top of me a few months ago, and somehow, the only place that I could find healthy coping was online. So, I started fresh. Made a blog and settled in. It’s not big, but I’ve had a few posts get noticed. I have a good few hundred followers, and one nice anon who asks me how I am every few weeks. It’s not a lot, but it’s comforting.

I feel at home here, even with a little discourse.

Well, only when the discourse is answered. Which, in this situation, I don’t know if it will be, given it’s been over an hour now and Baz hasn’t answered.

If that’s even his name.

It’s what his bio says, at least.

baz. 17. cisguy (he/him). gay. don’t interact if you think huxley is remotely straight.

I’ve wondered for a while what Baz stands for. He refuses to answer it in asks; he always says it’s too personal. He’s sort of odd like that--never posts pictures of anything that could be linked back. Seems sort of creepy, but then again, a lot of people follow him. It’s reasonable to want space.

Maybe that’s why he’s not answering. He probably wants space of some sort, but it’d be at least decent to answer someone who tried to have a discussion (that’s at least what I’m calling that message I sent--a discussion starter).

I frown at my phone, keeping it on silent as I slide it into my front pocket and settle into my seat in maths. I’ll say it--I sulk in class, a little bitter that I don’t have his attention (despite the fact that he seems like he’s always active online, which seems odd). Eventually, I exhale and try to let it slip away. There went my one interaction with him. My few seconds of the weirdest fucking bliss online, gone.

Then, it happens. As the class is ending, I pull out my screen just enough to see and there it is. A clear notification telling me he’d answered. Oddly enough, it’s just him sending me a link to a Google Doc.

Weird.

I ignore it for the moment being, letting myself ride the wave of relaxation that I actually got a reply. It passes my mind until I’m sitting in the back of Agatha’s car, listening to Penny and Aggie in the front talking about whatever’s on their mind. The rides are sort of awkward as of recently. At least Agatha agreed to drive me home (it’s a good 45 minute walk, if not) after some convincing from Penny, but her and I don’t really chat. It’s just the two of them.

Given that time, I have a chance to pull out my mobile and thumb through what was sent.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/175qFASmqD7hey8lE0eoE-6VhhFYE9DP6bpnI32Aay98/edit?usp=sharing

I click on it, not expecting that much (or, really, not expecting anything at all). Yet, the second it pops up and loads, my jaw drops.

“Jesus fuck,” I say aloud, scrolling through it. Penny turns her head, frowning as I stay locked on my screen.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“No--no nothing,” I say, waving a hand. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got to be something for that reaction,” she says, keeping turned in her seat as she eyes me up. “Just tell us, Si.”

“I mean it when I say it’s nothing.” My voice gets quieter as I shift, reading the title. “It’s just fandom stuff. It’s really nothing.”

I hear her disgruntled huff as she turns back, mumbling something about me reacting too dramatically to this. “It isn’t even real.” It’s said under her breath, yet it still rings clear in my ears.

It isn’t really fake, either.

Hell, this is six pages of real. “Why Huxley Gastrell is, Without a Doubt, a Ravenclaw”. Shared by Basilton Pitch (is that his actual name?!). Fucking hell, it’s detailed to no ends. You’d think, with this much writing, there’d be pages of pointless filler where he’d just type “im gay hi huxley is also a gay we’re all gay here aren’t we”, but no. It’s full, grammatically correct sentences detailing his points.

It’s a bit much to read in the car, so I settle my mobile face down onto the seat as I’m left reeling. That… was a bit more than I’d expected.

Shit, did he write that for me?

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

BAZ

Whoever says that having a flair for the dramatics is pointless has clearly never met me, because I wouldn’t quite call this masterpiece of an essay “pointless”. In fact, I should send it to academics. Rename it “A Study In Multi-Dimensional Characters and their Associated Generalized Personality Traits”. I’ll be hailed as a genius, as I deserve to be.

I crack my knuckles, and see the little person pop up.

Surely enough, it’s @bi-sammy’s name that he has listed online, Simon. It’s curious, he has his last name listed as “Snow”. Although, the smallest part of me believes it’s a pseudonym. Given our interactions, I doubt he’s clever enough to think of a solid pseudonym. And, even at that, why pick Snow?

Either way, it’s surprisingly endearing. Simon Snow. Sounds sweet. Sounds innocent.

I watch his cursor turn on, then his icon goes grey after a few moments. My heart starts to trip, making my cheeks begin to flush. Is… he ignoring this?

No. He can’t be. I put in hard work and dedication into this work, and I deserve the respect I’d sent into it. Fucking hell, three fully developed points (his devotion to intellectual work, his effort to step out of public light for Sam’s sake, and his overall lack of ambition for moving forward). I clearly set it out, and ended it properly; I’d proven that Huxley is a Ravenclaw. Case and point, opinion made, the end.

And, here I sit, watching him have the audacity to open it up then close it back. That was my hard work put in there, and he closes it? Who in the name of all that is sacred thinks he’s that above other people to the point where he just ignores--

Oh. He’s back on. Nevermind.

He’s… probably a school student. It’s roughly the time that most classes end, I suppose.

I make a mental apology to him, despite having never ranted directly to him in the first place.

He stays active for a good bit; long enough to show he’s reading. I assume that he’d just close off and message me, but after minutes, I notice a little highlighted comment pop up on the last sentence.

Simon Snow i………. owe you every single possible apology

Each word makes me grin like I haven’t in a while. A wide, cheek-creasing grin. There’s something so sweet to that--so personal. It feels like a note passed to me in a classroom under the tables. Like a cute “Blink if you like me”, although I doubt he has quite an intention.

Nevertheless, it warms my chest, sending my head back as I smile. I’m not sure whether or not it’s the satisfaction of winning, or his words, but I laugh outwardly into the room. It stays with me, reverberating onto my skin and my throat.

I look back at the comment, then leave it untouched. If he won’t remove it, then I won’t either.

With a glance at our personal messages tab, I figure that’s that. Even field, no more argument. No more interaction. It’s a bit of a shame, given the effort I’d just extorted for his sake, that he hasn’t answered in our chat.

While I’m disappointed to close off the document, I smile at it one last time. Sometimes I have to move on from random people, especially when they come on a bit strong.

Except, I find, moments later that I’m wrong about one thing--the moving on. He didn’t just stop his interaction, but instead made a public post.

“@bi-sammy mentioned you in a post!”

This time, I really laugh. A full bellied, hand-covering-mouth laugh.

i guess i have to suck @gayhuxell’s cock now because i was wrong and the bloody arse was right. huxley is a ravenclaw.

#fuck me i guess

I take a minute, rereading over his words a few times before typing a simple answer with my reblog.

i’m available anytime behind a mcdonald’s parking lot

[peachyzens]

guardian angel! Jaemin au

guardian angel! Jaemin au

genre: fantasy, angst :( (i’m sorry we in emo hours rn) summary: secluding yourself from all forms of a social life, all it takes is guardian angel! jaemin to break down those walls, (1,890 words) a/n: i’ve had this unfinished in my drafts for way too long..but now we finished it! a repost just to test if my posts are actually popping up in the searches 🤔 tumblr why u do this to me

not to be cliche or anything but jaemin is DEFINITELY the purest guardian angel yet

him and guardian angel! jeno are notorious for being the sweetest and purest beings of the heaven

if there was an “angel of the month” award like how theres an employee of the month award..he would win almost every month

but his focus is mainly to help high school students!!

considering his youthful nature, he blends in really well in a high school

students love him, teachers love him, everybody loves him

so you..you were the top student of your class

always getting straight A’s, never late or absent, just the perfect student

people could never think of anything wrong with your life, you were the star child of the school!!

but behind closed doors, you always felt lonely and having to live up to standards set so high by your peers

not to mention your parents, who always pushed you to surpass or be at the same level as your successful older sibling

you just lived in an endless cycle of studying to do good in school, your life basically revolved around school

and this is where jaemin comes in!

he often gets cases like this, having to show the overly dedicated student that there’s much more to life than studying

but you were a strict case

no matter how many people tried to show you that side, you ended up pushing them away, refusing to leave your own world

so when jaemin took notice of this, he promised himself to make sure he shows you the side of the world you hid from

he came to your school as a transfer student, and the other students were immediately talking about how cute and angelic he looked

his honey hair, a smile that blinds, he was everybody’s dream boy!

yet with all the eyes on him, his were stuck on you

you didnt bother looking up once during his introduction, your eyes still glued to your notes

you only paid him the slightest attention when you heard the chair beside you get pulled out

now THAT made you look up to him as nobody really sat next to you

considering 99% of the school population was intimidated by you but jaemin didn’t care at all!

the smile on his face never faltered as he sat beside you, pulling out his books as if he was meant to be there

you brushed it off, thinking he’s just going to get bored of being next to you and make new friends that he will soon sit next to

but here’s the thing...he never leaves

he’s always sitting by your side, refusing the other student’s offers to have him sit by them

and while you didn’t know him that well, the thought he had for you really touched your heart :(

in the mornings you would always show up early, and jaemin would start showing up shortly after you

you just had so many questions

one day when he came in, taking his normal spot beside you and resting his head and arms on his desk while scrolling through his phone, you gathered the courage to start asking him questions

“why?” was all you could mutter out

you could already feel the embarrassment building in your chest as you started cursing yourself for making social advances

you did notice his thumb pause from the scrolling and you could feel his eyes on you, but you couldn’t find the courage to meet them

“why what?” he responded, his voice smooth

you debated on brushing it off and ending the conversation right then and there, but a part of you kind of wanted to continue it

like you had some hope that he sat there because he wanted to be your friend...but you just always secluded yourself from having a social life that you weren’t sure if it were your fantasies

“why..do you sit here everyday and not with your friends?” you let out, voice quieter than you expected

it’s a good thing the room was silent except for the whirring of the ac, but it wasn’t enough to hide your words

“why not? we can be friends too, if you would like” he responded, speaking no more than two words at a time

right there, you felt your cheeks redden and your chest explode with anticipation at the idea of your first friend

jaemin took notice of how your cheeks flared up, and he noticed the edge of your lips quirk up the tiniest bit

he couldn’t help himself from smiling, he was finally getting you to crack!!

“i would like that.” you whispered, so quiet that he almost missed it

and jaemin lived up to that promise

the mornings were filled with chatter, ranging from anything to everything

when the rest of your classmates walked in and gave you confused looks hearing the laughs and chatters coming from your conversation with jaemin, you were almost tempted to give up on socializing

but you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the stupid joke he made, suddenly forgetting about giving up

jaemin just had that power to make you suddenly forget about all your anxieties, and it felt as if a thousand weights were lifted off your shoulders

instead of heading straight to the library or home right after class, jaemin would pull you the other way

he would take you out to arcades, street stalls, basically every spot a high school kid would hang out at

he even got you acquainted with some of the other friends he made, renjun and haechan

at first it was definitely awkward, with your quiet self unsure how to communicate with these rowdy and rambunctious boys

but when things got serious over some street fighter...let’s just say they didn’t see you as quiet anymore

“HA TAKE THAT JAEMIN I TOTALLY KICKED YOUR ASS IN THIS GAME” you cheered triumphantly

“Listen i totally let you win that round” jaemin would argue back, fighting the urge to let out a smile at your antics

“LiStEn i ToTaLlY lEt YoU wIn ThAt RoUnD” you mocked him, causing haechan to snort at jaemin’s misfortune

with renjun now asking you for your street fighter techniques and haechan helping you make fun of jaemin, the three of you became a tight-knit group

instead of eating lunch by yourself in the library or classroom, you would be pulled out by haechan and renjun to the cafeteria, where at first you were terrified of the stares

but when renjun accidentally squirted milk out his nose, those people were all forgotten as all you could focus on were the boys in front of you

they easily became your best friends, and you were finally able to shed off that cold and unapproachable image

even though you had new friends in your life, that didn’t stop you from pursuing the most of your studies

you dragged the boys to the library as many times as they’ve dragged you out to other places, much to their dismay

but with a single glare they knew not to mess with you

jaemin could only smile at the scene

haechan was flicking paper triangles at renjun, but missed and it hit you instead, causing you to glare at him as he looked around, renjun stifling his laughter

as fond as you grew of the boys, he grew twice as much

seeing how much you’ve changed in the past months, jaemin felt satisfied at his work

but a part of him was in denial, because he knows that when he gets the job done...he has not use in being there anymore

he loves seeing how open and sociable you’ve become, but he’s sort of sad that he’s not the only one in your life anymore

he knows it’s selfish to be kind of sad that there’s other people making you happy, but he can’t but think of the times before class when you two would just talk about pointless things, a memory only you two share

at the sight of you laughing along with haechan and renjun, he can’t help the bittersweet feeling in his chest, aware that it might be time for him to go

he’s been ignoring the calls from the heavens, only until jeno actually came down to personally deliver the message to him was he unable to escape reality

the reality that he could only make you happy for a certain amount of time, before he lets other people do the deed for him

as much as jaemin wished he could stay here to endlessly make you laugh, he knew he had other duties to get to

when he was walking you home, he knew it was going to be the last time

he listened to your excited chatter about the new movie that came out recently, trying not to let his somber mood show

“and also, jaemin i just wanted to say thank you, for everything.” you told him as you stopped outside your house

he raised an eyebrow, urging you to continue, and with a deep breath you did

“i, i was never the social type in school. i was always alone, never had any friends, but then you sat next to me. it gave me some kind of hope that maybe i can go out there and make friends, despite being under the pressure to do well. and you fulfilled that hope for me, you brought me out of my comfort zone and now, i’m happier than i ever was, and it’s all because of you, so thank you, for everything.” you spoke, tears welling up in your eyes

jaemin could only feel his heart breaking more seeing the admiration in your face, knowing this was his cue to leave

“of course, i can’t think of a better friend than you. i’m so proud of how far you’ve come, and i’m so glad to see you out there, making new friends and achieving new things. you are amazing, i hope you remember that.” jaemin responded with a smile, sadness barely traceable in his expression

jaemin wrapped his arms around you for what he knew was the last time, but you wrapped your arms back around him, letting him know you’ll see him tomorrow morning

with a hesitant shake of his head, jaemin nodded and urged you to go back into your house, waving until you were behind closed doors

and with that, the tears started streaming down his face

when he first saw you, he knew you were going to be a difficult case

but instead, you ended up being a special case, a case he didn’t want to leave

when he looks over you the next morning from above, he can only watch with a sad smile as you never fail to laugh and crack jokes with your best friends, renjun and haechan

you were happy, and he was happy for you, but that wasn’t able to dull the ache in his heart, the desire of wanting to still be by your side to help you grow even more

“it’s okay, they’ll be fine now, they’re growing on their own” jeno could only pat his friend on the back, unable to understand the weight on jaemin’s heart

“you’re right...they’ll only get happier from now, my job is done.”

[amysubmits]

Leading His Way

I had a request to write about our first road block or struggle within D/s. For me, it was recognizing that in order for this to work for @cynicaldom, I had to negotiate. I wouldn’t get this exactly how I had dreamed it would be. 

I know that sounds really, terribly naive. It is! It’s still a little embarrassing for me, but that’s the truth. 

When we first started, it was at my request. I went to CD with this idea of domestic discipline. When I went to him, I thought I needed rules and consequences. I thought that was all that I wanted or needed. I even had a pretty limited view of what the rules would be. They would be rules that would keep me from doing things that were objectively “bad”, basically. 

My vision of what domestic discipline would look like was shaped entirely through the internet. I didn’t know about Tumblr or any other D/s community online. I didn’t have detailed real world examples to read about. I didn’t even recognize that DD was a form of D/s. I hadn’t heard about negotiation or power exchange, or how that works within D/s relationships. I just had read this online domestic discipline forum which primarily shared punishment stories, and had watched spanking videos. I had no access to see how the relationships were formed, how rules were decided, and so on. I only read the one forum and accessed one website that covered spanking videos, and I only watched a handful of users on there who catered to the “style” that I was most interested in. So, my view of what domestic discipline looked like basically was shaped by that tiny piece of the internet. Cue more embarrassment, but again, that’s the truth. 

Before we started domestic discipline CD asked me what sort of rules I thought we should set up. Over and over online I had seen punishment scenes for lying and overspending. So those are the two that came into my head first. I still remember the look on CD’s face when I suggested those. He didn’t laugh but he wanted to. “Unless you’ve been lying to me and wasting money that I have no idea about, I don’t think those are rules that you need.” he tried to say gently. Despite his attempt to be nice, I felt stupid. He was right. I didn’t do those things, and I didn’t need those rules. In my mind, rules were supposed to keep me from “being bad”. But I had never had a problem with “being bad” in a way that was detrimental to our relationship. 

Him not agreeing to the first two rules I wanted was my first minor disappointment. Yet I understood that he needed to agree on rules. It would be unfair to ask him to hold me accountable to a rule he didn’t support or find necessary. When we did agree on our first rule, it wasn’t one to make me “be good” like I had originally planned. It was one to help me curb a bad habit - losing my wallet or the cards that should be in it. I had to return my cards to my wallet immediately after use, and keep my wallet in my purse. I did great at first, but after six weeks or so, one day my debit card was nowhere to be found. Actually it was to be found, it was in a jeans pocket in the hamper. But it wasn’t in my wallet in my purse like it should have been. 

From what I watched online, I always saw spankings go roughly the same way. They would start over bottoms, or at least on panties. They were over-the-knee, they involved corner time either before or after, they involved scolding before the punishment. If an implement was used it was always after the hand. If they stayed as just a hand spanking, they started slower and softer and built up in intensity. 

In real life, my first punishment didn’t play out that way. “Take your pants off.” he told me. I wasn’t very surprised at that, but I was surprised at “...panties too.” I did as I was told but inside I was thinking “this isn’t how it’s done. You can’t start off bare...” He helped me over his lap. The intensity of the first swat surprised me. I expected this to be a clear step up from our erotic spankings but this was more than I anticipated. “This is too hard!” I thought, but didn’t say. I bucked around a little bit. I could easily reach the floor with my feet because he was sitting on our low-sitting couch. It left me with a lot of room to move about. He had to pause to re-position me once as I had nearly slid off his lap. I also noticed that he didn’t scold me or use the corner but those parts intimidated me a little bit, so I had no problem with those being missing at first. Though I did worry that in the future if he didn’t scold me that I may not know what I was being punished for. 

After the spanking he asked for my feedback. I think he needed to know that I didn’t have regrets and wanted to in fact continue this relationship dynamic. I mentioned how it was okay. I felt a little awkward during it, but I was glad he didn’t let the broken rule slide. I didn’t enjoy it and thought it would work as motivation to follow the rules. I added in how I was able to move around a lot, and how I thought it was because we were on the couch, which was really low to the floor. It made his knees gap pretty far apart, which made his lap sort of wobbly. It also left my feet on the floor so I could use the floor as leverage to wiggle in nearly any direction. He seemed to think it was a good idea to try a dining room chair or something taller next time, so that his lap would be flat and I couldn’t touch the floor. He commented that he didn’t like how easy it was for me to move around. He seemed pleased with that feedback. For the time being that was all I shared. I had a long way to go with communication. I still do honestly, but back then it was worse. 

I think he knew there was more under the surface. He got me to open up a bit more later on. I confessed that I didn’t like how he didn’t give me a warm up. I even said it was “too much”. He asked me why I didn’t safeword which really surprised me. My answer was “because I didn’t need to. It was well within my limits.” He wanted to know what I meant by it being “too much” then. Eventually I realized that what I was really saying was it was more than I expected and more than I wanted. 

He explained why he didn’t give me a warm-up. “Warm-ups make it less painful. This wasn’t for play. I didn’t give you a warm up because I wanted it to actually hurt. It’s supposed to hurt enough to get your attention and make a point.” I suddenly felt silly because the voice in my head was saying “but that’s not how I’ve seen it online.” I immediately realized how pointless that reasoning was. 

Eventually I also admitted that I found it strange that he didn’t scold me. How I thought that was the normal way to let a sub know what they did wrong. He reminded me how it had been very obvious to both of us what had happened I only had one rule - to keep my cards in my wallet and my wallet in my purse. When we realized it was missing we both were hunting for it. Shortly after finding it he called me over to spank me. It was very obvious what I was being punished for although it wasn’t spoken. However, he said that he didn’t want me to ever be punished without knowing why. He said he would always tell me what I was in trouble for in any scenario where it wasn’t obvious but that he wasn’t going to lecture or scold me unless he just felt the need to on his own.

He said he didn’t think it would make sense to let me control exactly how hard or long a punishment spanking is just based on what I expect or want. He didn’t want me “designing my perfect punishment”. I understood where he was coming from. He explained how he was eager to hear my feedback, and that when he agreed (like with the couch and making sure I know what I did wrong) he’s happy to incorporate my ideas. But that he wasn’t going to do things that he disagreed with or didn’t like, such as the warm-up. He needed to have a say in all this too. 

Because I came to him requesting DD, I originally viewed it as being all about my preferences. I thought it was my interest, so in my mind in made sense for it to all go my way. He knew it wouldn’t work exactly like that for him, so over time he’s helped mold our dynamic to his needs and preferences in addition to mine. I’m now glad that he put his foot down when I wanted him to do things that he didn’t agree with or just didn’t find to be a natural fit for his personality. 

I don’t think my vision would have ever worked for us without his input. It wouldn’t have been an exchange that we both found meaning, happiness and purpose in, and for it to really work for both of us, it needs to be. Through negotiation we’ve created a dynamic that works for us both. It wouldn’t have been fair or meaningful for him if he didn’t get to mold our D/s style to his needs and desires too. Plus, he’s suggested several aspects that I never would have thought of on my own, but that I now am so thankful we include. He proposed that we use rules to help me set goals and to keep me on track, not just to make me ‘be good’ which I’ve found very meaningful. I love that we do orgasm control, it makes me feel his ownership of me and that was his idea too. Both of those suggestions from him have helped me discover new needs or desires of my own that I didn’t even know about. In time he has come to find deeper meaning of his own in some of the aspects that were suggested by me, too. I think I have found deeper meaning in this style of D/s than I would have my original plan. Yes, I wanted rules and to be held accountable. But I find a lot of meaning in our D/s because my goal is to please him. Letting him have a say in the rules means that the rules are more meaningful to him, and that makes them even more meaningful for me. 

When it happened, it was hard to be denied some of the details I had imagined. It was hard to see that our D/s wouldn’t look exactly how I had planned it. Yet I knew he was right. I knew that I needed to let him be a Dom in his own way. I knew that as long as I could set limits and veto anything I truly disagreed with, that there wasn’t really a reason why I should get to control all the details. I was asking him to lead, so it’s a little ironic that the first lesson I learned was that I had to let him lead his own way. 

[shingeki-no-scenarios]

Title: Goodbye, My Love

Characters: Marco Bott x Fem!OC

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Language, Depression, Attempted suicide, Self-harm

Summary: She had to say goodbye to her lover in the most difficult way.

A/N: Taken from this request :) This song gave me some inspiration to write this :D I hope you guys don’t find this weird and enjoy!!

“Hey... Marco... Is that you?”

He couldn’t believe the sight that laid before him– his best friend, Marco, was reduced into a decaying corpse. It was obvious that a titan attempted to eat him, but only got the right half of his face and body. His handsome and kind best friend, the one he could rely on for anything, is now gone. Never mind not having someone to listen to and believe in him, how would he explain this to his girlfriend? He wouldn’t want the sunny lady to see Marco like this, lest her light fades away.

“Whatcha got there, Kirstein? This entire place has dead bodies all over.” upon hearing a familiar female voice, panic surged through him. It was obvious that the love of Marco’s life was approaching him, and was about to come face to face with his remains.

“Nothing. I can handle it.” Jean replied gruffly, trying to hinder her view by stepping in front of her. She, on the other hand, remained stubborn and playfully shoved him to the side.

“I got it, Jean. Everyone knows I’m more capable of carrying a body.” she playfully chided. Her ability to keep her jolly and sunny disposition at a time like this was amazing, given that they were surrounded by death.

“Hey, I really think you should met me get this one.” his voice was laced with urgency, but it was only ignored. She continued to fight her way past him and eventually saw what Jean had been trying to hide.

“Marco?” she whispered. Though she refused to believe it, she had to. Her best friend and lover was gone now, and the promise of them leading humanity in victory, getting married, and raising three kids in Jinae was impossible to act on. He’s been dead and decaying for two days now, making it obvious that medical help was out of the question. Nothing can save him now.

She wanted to scream, cry, and hold his remains in her arms. She wanted to carry his body on her shoulders and pray that perhaps the medical team could do something. However, she stayed rooted to her spot, the light and life on her face slowly leaving her.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I tried to stop you from seeing this.” Jean placed a hand on her shoulder while the other lingered behind her, ready to catch her in the occasion that she faints. While he knew that he and the other trainees would have difficulty taking in Marco’s death, he couldn’t imagine the pain she was feeling. “Nothing’s going to be okay, but that’s temporary.” he hoped and prayed that his words would bring her comfort.

“No. I’m okay.” she harshly shrugged his hand off. “It’s fine.” she faced him, the stoic expression on her face sending chills down his spine. It felt like he was facing a different person– it wasn’t like her to be this serious and icy. Before he could retort, she moved forward to pick the body up and take it to the cart bound for the communal funeral pyre.

“Back to work, Kirstein. He’s not the last one.” her voice was flat and void of all emotion, making him even more anxious– of course she wouldn’t take his death well, but this was scary. In a split second, sunny disposition had been replaced with a dark cloud hovering above her.

She pressed a kiss on the back of his hand before piling him on top of the other corpses, taking a little bit of her time to take one last look at what remained of his face. He’s so handsome. Sniffing, she fought back the tears that threatened to fall and acted like nothing ever happened.

“Goodbye, my love.” she whispered.

––

She took one glance at her meal before lightly pushing the tray away and shaking her head.

“Again? Really?” Sasha groaned, hanging her head. "Look, I know that you’re on a diet but this is too much.” she added, hoping that it would convince the other lady to take a bite.

It’s been months, yet it has been difficult for the squad to get the girl to eat, talk, sleep, or even bathe. They lost count of how many pounds she’s shed and how many times Mikasa had to give her a bath. Surprisingly, nothing serious has happened to her health-wise, and they would find her having sudden surges of energy during missions that made her narrowly escape death, as if an invisible force pushed her to carry on.

“She’s not on a diet, Sasha. She’s fucking grieving.” Connie hissed, lightly kicking Sasha under the table to get her to keep quiet. Thankfully, she shut her mouth and minded her own meal. “Sorry about that.” he mumbled before shoving a piece of bread in his mouth.

Abruptly standing up, she ignored the comments made towards her and left the mess hall, making her way to the ladies’ toilets.

“Go follow her.” Eren muttered to Mikasa, worried that leaving the other girl alone would push her to do something unimaginable. Mikasa immediately stood up and quietly followed her, though her presence was left unacknowledged.

––

Glancing at the mirror, she noted how deep her cheeks have sunken in while her skin had accumulated an ugly gray undertone. What would Marco say if he saw how ugly I’ve become?, she thought as she ran her fingers through her brittle hair. Whatever, I wouldn’t have to deal with this any longer.

Shrugging off all thoughts, she carefully pulled out the pocket knife she has been hiding in her handkerchief. While its sharpness scared her, she knew that she had no other choice– if she wanted to see Marco again, this was the way to do it. With bated breath, she lifted the knife and hovered it over her left arm, angling it vertically knowing that it would be quicker that way. She let a tear fall from her eye whilst slowly lowering it towards her skin.

"Holy shit!” her moment was interrupted upon having a black cat jump from the window to the spot right in front of her. She dropped the knife in shock, stepping backwards clutching her chest afterwards to calm her racing heart.

The cat turned to face her, as if it wanted to make eye contact. She noted how its eyes were warm, brown and familiar– too familiar, in fact. Upon thinking of the only person who owned eyes like that, she felt a shiver down her spine as she backed away from the creature. The cat let out a rather fierce meow at her in return, before taking the knife by its handle and escaping through the window with it. While she wanted to run after it and get the knife back, it was way too fast and she couldn’t move due to shock.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Mikasa’s voice called out from the other side of the door. Hastily making her way to the door, she quickly cracked it open and threw herself on Mikasa, sobbing onto her shoulder. The other wrapped her arms around her, whispering words of comfort to pacify her.

Strangely enough, she felt like she was saved from what would have been a tragic incident.

––

“Get out of there, cadet! Retreat! Now!”

While her squad leader yelled with everything he had, she was unable to act on it and stood rooted to her spot. She could clearly see the 9 meter titan approaching her, drool spilling out of its mouth upon spotting her. It was obviously hungry, and its hunger would be satisfied once it gets a hold of her.

Despite the circumstances, she didn’t care. In fact, she wanted the titan to come and get her. That way, she could die the same way Marco did and perhaps reunited with him in the afterlife. How lovely, she thought, a small smile making its way to her lips.

“Have Eren’s suicidal tendencies rubbed off on you? Get out!” she heard Connie yell from a distance, running past her to retreat. She ignored him, however, and quickly put her blades back in their respective sheaths, ready to embrace death.

“Hey, baby.” a warm, soothing tone called out. The familiarity of the voice made every hair on her body stand up as she turned her head to the side to see the source. Alas, it was the person she has been wanting to see for years now– Marco. She immediately closed the gap between them and lost herself in his warm, bone-crushing embrace and let hear tears fall.

“Am I dead?” she managed to whisper through her tears of joy. She had been dying to join him as her life had become completely pointless without him, and she was happy that they were finally reunited.

“No, baby. I just decided to pay you a visit.” he muttered soothingly in her ear before pressing a kiss on her temple. “What are you doing?” his voice was laced with disappointment, making her ashamed of herself.

“I... I wanted to see you.” she replied in a shaky voice, obviously embarrassed at how upset he was because of her. “I thought that a life without you is not much of a life. I don’t want to live alone.” she added, glancing up at him and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“No, no. That’s not the way to handle things. It’s selfish.” he gently reprimanded, looking down at her and smiling softly once they met eyes. “The people around you still love you, and they truly care for you. Do you know that?” upon seeing her gently shake her head, he chuckled and placed on hand on her hair to stroke it. “Your parents, your friends, and even our fellow cadets will be a wreck without you.”

“You have a point there.” she mumbled, feeling stupid for trying to take her own life. At this point, she was thankful that the titan moved slowly as it gave her a chance to turn back.

“I want you to keep on living.” he said, lifting her spirits. “I want you to keep on living for yourself. There are so many great things waiting for you out there. Life is so beautiful.” he muttered into her ear before gently kissing her forehead.

“Thank you, Marco... Thank you.” she replied, feeling her tears fall faster down her face. “I promise you, I will. Just... Just let me know you’re still there.” she begged, to which he nodded and assured her that he’s been watching over her all along. She gave him one last hug and pressed a kiss on his lips before unsheathing her blades.

“Now, go get that titan!” he ruffled her hair exactly the way he used to, smiling upon seeing the light and life return to her face. “I love you so much.” he smiled warmly at her, brown eyes glittering with sincerity. 

“I love you too, Marco.” she replied sweetly. Looking back, she saw that titan hasn’t made much progress, thus giving her enough time to retreat. Smiling at him one last time, she quickly ran away from the titan and from him.

“See you soon, my love.” he whispered.

[simplyoriginalcharacters]

Jedi Padawan Jaran Val

This is not for a Camp NaNo story, so if you can’t get feedback before the first, I’m quite okay with that.  Search, Rescue, and Retrieval is my year long fanfiction project for 2017, so while I may have private anxieties, do not feel rushed to review Jaran.

(Hi! This is D, with your profile review. I appreciate your patience in waiting for this review. The full review and the rest of the profile (as well as your additional Ask) are under the cut.)

So, I submitted a character named Jaran Val right before the cut off? While I'd like see whatever feedback comes up, I am going in a new direction with the character, and the story and some aspects of Jaran's sheet are no longer valid. I wouldn't mind getting some notes about personality/appearance stuff, because a lot of that should be the same, but some of the backstory (the dead mentor) won't and might make it pointless to review him. (Reviewer's choice, but let me know either way, pls?)

Name: Jaran Val Aliases: Hazard Gender: Male Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Age: 21 Occupation: Jedi Padawan/Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic, formerly of the 525th Infantry, now with 425th Search, Rescue, and Retrieval Group/Organizational Affiliations: Jedi Order, Grand Army of the Republic, 425th Search, Rescue, and Retrieval, Shadow Squadron Family: The Val Clan (he’s not close to them because of past issues between the Order and Kiffar) Best Friends: Padawans Naomi Talis and Jeza Nomar, Troopers Crash, Bang, and Brave of Bucket Squadron; 425th SRR. Relationship Status: Single Significant Other: N/A Other Relationships: Jedi Master Jeanette Starsoul (Deceased), Jedi Knight Kara Saje, Jedi Healer Sarisa Ven, Master Ki-Adi Mundi Height: 5’8” Weight: 160 lbs Build: Athletic body with defined muscles Skin Tone: Dark brown Hair: Black Eyes: Grey Identifying Marks: On his left jaw, there is a scar that looks like three crescent moons that connect on the curve with the points facing outwards, left from a punch with an odd ring.  He also has a sky blue tattoo that is shaped like two acute triangles that connect on his nose and point downward under his eyes. As well as a tattoo on his left bicept that mimics the crescent moon scar, but with three right triangles, each pointed to the center of the tattoo with the base between the points of the moon. Appearance: Jaran is an active guy with a big presence.  Not only is he a skilled duelist with a lightsaber, but he’s the sort who loves to get involved with various pick-up games wherever he and his Master ended up.  Jaran has a mobile face, quick to show his emotions as he feels them, even after years of instruction on presenting an aura of serenity.  His face is narrow and sharp, the kind of face people might compare to a fox on Earth, with a narrow, upturned nose and ears that stick out a bit.  He shaved his head when he became a Padawan, save for the braid, decided that it looked stupid, and let it grow out.  He now keeps it long enough that it helps minimize his ears, but not so long as to minimize his supposed dignity.  Jaran favors wearing Clone Trooper style armor in combat, painted in the same blue as his tattoos with the moons and triangles on his left breast and back of his helmet.  Off duty, he either wears the black under armor of his combat gear or dark brown and black Jedi robes.

Species/Planet: Jaran is a Kiffar from Kiffu. They are near standard-human, save that their blood is distinctly scarlet, and their facial tattoos, which represent their clan affiliations on Kiffu. Personality: When we first meet Jaran, it’s been around three weeks since Master Jeanette’s death and with the circumstances around the loss of his Master, Jaran has become at once very hair triggered temperamentally and very obsessed with control.  He refuses to accept sympathy, lashing out at those who offer it, and wears guilt and sorrow like sackcloth and ashes.  He blames himself for what happened and so has become obsessed with controlling things.  Where before he had watched how he interacted with his environment outside of his personal spaces because of his psychometry, he now seeks to know exactly where everything is at all times.  He demands information be double checked, often doing a third check of his own if he can.

At the same time, Jaran is terrified.  He screwed up his first chance at actually commanding troops in such a horrifying way and he has nightmares where he does far worse, where he’s the only person left standing after a battle because he gave the wrong orders.  He never dies in those nightmares, he’s always left to see the aftermath of his mistakes.  He has panic attacks too.  He’s essentially convinced if he goes back to the infantry, he’ll fail at everything.  It’s so all-consuming in the beginning that the Mind Healers were almost positive that he was completely battle shy and would never be able to leave the Temple even if he could earn his knighthood.

(There is a six month break between these two stories, since there are three years’ worth of story to cover and I want to keep it moving)

Six months after Master Jeanette’s death, Jaran has proven he is definitely NOT battle shy.  Kara refers to him as being command shy, but they’re working on that with the help of Jaran’s mind healer.  He’s not carefree or easy going as he once was, but he’s got a better handle of his temper and has managed to keep from lashing out at people who offer sympathy for Master Jeanette’s death, even if all he can do is not respond and focus on breathing exercises instead.  He’s even getting his sense of humor back as he comes to terms with what happened.

In terms of battle, Jaran is not in control of anyone on the battlefield, he gives no orders at all.  In fact, he dresses as a clone trooper and has trained with them enough that they sometimes forget that ‘Hazard’ isn’t another brother.  He’s even managed to fool outsiders into thinking he’s just a clone, accidentally scaring Master Quinlan Vos badly when he took his helmet off.  (To be fair, he finds this funny and it’s a story he’s retold quite a few times.  Last time it circled back to Vos, the Jedi Master apparently silenced the entire commissary with his loud (and shrill) protestations that he did not scream like a girl.  He squeaked though, there was definite squeaking when it happened.)

(See notes for more detailed exploration of how Kara and Jaran have handled Jaran’s recovery)

Motivations: To never be responsible for deaths by accident again, to stop setting off Jedi relics with the Force, to get his Knighthood for Master Jeanette, and to grow dreads. (Also for Master Jeanette, but because he knows she would have actually smiled when she saw them and said ‘oh Jaran’ with the gesture she used when she was exasperated and laughing and fond) Current Goal: To protect his brother-warriors (the clone troopers) and be a good student for Kara Life Goal: To find his balance back and be a credit to his Masters. Motto: “In the garden of life, the Code is the trellis that supports us as we grow in the Force like a rose in the sun.  It is support and guidance, but when that’s not enough, don’t be afraid to follow the sun.”  Kara Saje, age 17, in a Jedi Ethics class.  (It is of note that she failed the assignment because of her borderline heresy.) Best Quality: His ability to roll with the absurd. Worst Quality: His obsession with control and his fear Fears: Falling (to Darkness), killing his own people, getting kicked out of the Order Hobbies: Sports (He knows and played a variety of them Before, and would later use them as a way to connect with the troopers), philosophy, history Talents: Hand eye coordination, excellent sense of balance, and a pleasant singing voice Skills: Sharp shooting, parkour, general athleticism, and a general knowledge of how to read body language and to use Lorrdian kinetic communication Abilities: Psychometry (the ability to read empathic residue from inanimate objects), telekinesis, mental shielding, and minor clairvoyance (ability to see current events from a distance) Weapons: Lightsaber, blaster  Weaknesses: His psychometry is strong enough that contact with objects without warning sometimes slams him with residue, yanking his mind into whatever images the residue contains instead of the fight or other activity he’s involved in, however his general empathy is lower than average which gives him trouble in trying to find people and utilize training bonds (although people don’t realize this because he is exceptional at reading body language and reacting to that instead), and he sometimes accidentally activates Force imbued objects (which earned him the Hazard nickname) Fighting Style: Jar’Kai, the use of two lightsabers is his preferred, but he also studied Soresu from Master Jeanette. Secret: Jaran planned to leave the Order, he only waited because Master Ki-Adi Mundi, his grandmaster (The Master who taught his master and basically his grandfather) asked him to wait and see what the Council had planned for him. And then along came Kara. Influential Memory: Meeting Master Jeanette for the first time after his Padawan Trials (a series of tests and demonstrations to show an initiate has the knowledge and skill for the more advanced teaching.) Role Model: Quinlan Vos and Master Jeanette Crush: Clone Commander Wolffe from Master Plo Koon’s battalion Source of Embarrassment: How many times has he accidentally picked up the empathic residue from shower sex in hotels?  Too many.  Source of Pride: His work on mastering Jar’Kai, even if he’s not a master of the form yet.

Backstory:

Jaran was born on Kiffar and was sent to the Temple at eighteen months.  The Jedi Order and Kiffar have strong but distant ties, so Jaran has very few memories of his family outside of a few letters sent by his mother.  His life was good, he got into the usual Youngling troubles, played a prank or two, and he was considered a bright, gifted lightsaber student.  He got in trouble a few times as a child for trying Jar’Kai before he was considered ready for the lessons, but other than that he had a pretty average childhood for a youngling.  His only struggle was emotion control, but since his was a happy nature, it was considered a minor flaw and not an actual defect.

At age ten, Jaran completed his Padawan trials and became Master Jeanette Starsoul’s Padawan within two weeks.  At first, he wondered if Master Jeanette had actually chosen him, or if she had taken him on at the best of the Jedi Council because she was reserved with him, and her praise was difficult to earn.  It wasn’t until just after his eleventh birthday that he learned the truth.  He had contracted a persistent fever during one of their missions that landed him in the Halls of Healing at the Temple, delirious, for nearly two weeks.  He doesn’t remember much besides being miserable and a few hallucinations, but the one thing he has never doubted, no matter what, was that Master Jeanette was with him almost the whole time.  There were a few times when he knew it was Master Ki-Adi Mundi watching over him in a bio-hazard suit, but the rest of the time it was Master Jeanette.  Afterwards, she was still reserved with him, her praise still difficult to earn, but Jaran knew that she cared for him.

The first six years of his Padawan instruction, Master Jeanette took him on missions that spanned the spectrum of Jedi tasks, including visiting one of the ancient Jedi Temples that was being investigated by archeologists and Jedi scholars on his sixteenth birthday, where he was allowed a week to indulge in his love of history.  Jaran almost switched his classes to be more geared to an archival or scholar role after that, but after he returned to the Temple and spent nearly an hour debating with Master Jocasta Nu about what he’d learned at the ancient temple, he realized that being a scholar of any sort would mean more of dealing with her and chose to continue on as an armchair historian.  (She never did forgive him for being in the Archive the day two of the Youngling Clans, including his own, reenacted one of the battles of the Great Sith War using the Archives as their battle ground.  Not that Jaran was involved, but he was there, and Bear Clan, and that was enough for Master Nu.)

After he turned sixteen, Master Jeanette began taking missions that involved more possibility of combat, with numerous bodyguard jobs.  She never exactly explained why, saying only that sometimes the Force had odd ideas about its chosen guardians.  Jaran learned a lot, both about the use of Jar’Kai in combat, the actual value of Soresu, and even began branching a bit into the Form V’s blaster deflection techniques, adapted to his preferred dual weld.  He also learned how to interact with the people he protected, including how to firmly suggest things that would keep them safe without violating their cultural taboo.  (Not that he was always successful, but he tried, and would earn forgiveness later on after they were safe.)

Master Jeanette brought him with her to Geonosis for the battle, and they were among the few left standing the arena that day.  He used to get nightmares about that, especially ones that featured Master Jeanette falling while he survived, but he soldiered on.  They spent the next four months fighting a defensive action on the edge of Hutt space, the 525th Infantry defending and holding a series of systems against a skilled, but under supported Separatist General.

Their last action lead to them teaming up with Master Plo Koon’s 104th to hold a system that would allow the Seps access to one of the major Hutt controlled space lanes.  This is when Jaran first met Clone Commander Wolffe, who intrigued him as much for his sharp, strategic mind, as for his gruff nature but obvious loyalty to Master Koon.  His crush on the Clone Commander vanished from his mind when Master Jeanette was killed, however.

The planet they were on had been causing issues with their communications, so when they needed an airstrike, they arranged a series of relays to bring the coordinates from Master Jeanette to Jaran, who would be in the best positon to reach the ship.  (You know, high up, space enough to hop on one leg while clucking like a chicken, the necessary steps for communication…)

As is often the case in long games of telephone, the message that Jaran received was not the message Master Jeanette sent him.  He radioed the confirmed coordinates to the flight team awaiting the order, and didn’t fully understand something was wrong until his Force-bond with Master Jeanette ripped apart with her death.

We first see Jaran about two or three weeks after that happened.  He’s in the Hall of Healing on suicide watch and is alternating between incoherent rage and desolate weeping.  Kara is reluctant to accept him as a Padawan for many reasons, but is determined to at least try for him.  Especially considering that their first meeting in the Hall ended with Jaran flinging an (empty) bedpan at her.  They’d shared classes on occasion, did a group project together, so they weren’t strangers, but becoming the Master to a shattered young man like Jaran wasn’t something Kara felt confident about.

Except Kara has visions, and she was very firmly informed by the Force that she needed Jaran, that they had something they were supposed to do together that could save the Order, so she went back again and again.  She also spent time tracking down Master Quinlan Vos and others to make sure that she understood what she could do to help her Padawan be comfortable.

One thing she did from the beginning was to have Jaran fitted for clone trooper armor.  Her reasoning was that the troopers were trained to look for and to the Jedi for orders, and the Jedi, except for rare occasions, were denoted by their Jedi armor and lightsabers.  If Jaran, a decent if not skilled marksman, wore trooper armor and used a blaster primarily, he would blend in a bit more with the troopers, and in a fire fight, her people would look for her, or one of their distinctively marked officers for direction, not the guy in the shiny white armor.

It wasn’t a perfect solution.  Her people knew who Jaran was, and there were times when they forgot and looked his way.  There were missions were Kara had to stick Bucket Squadron on Jaran to keep him safe because Jaran wasn’t able to cope and they couldn’t evacuate him.  Not to mention Jaran’s inexplicable ability to activate Force sensitive relics from twelve paces, leading to the infamous ‘cat fiasco’.  (Kara spent about four hours convinced she was a cat of some sort after Jaran activated an amulet she’d been holding.  They had to stun her to get her away from the amulet.)  It also created his nickname of Hazard.  (Because The Walking Disaster was taken.)

Around the time of the ‘cat fiasco’, Bucket Squadron underwent some restructuring because of the addition of more clones both from other battalions and Kamino, causing them to split to be able to absorb the new troopers, called Shinies, from Kamino.  While Jaran did most missions at Kara’s side as part of her Knight Squadron, he’d been busy making friends with the other troopers and the new squad, as yet unnamed took him under their wing, endeavoring to train him like he was another brother, instead of their crazy not-actually-a-commander.

That was about a month ago, and six months after Jaran became Kara’s Padawan.  He’s not ‘healed’, but he’s better.  He’s still not ready to be in charge of anything, but on their last mission, a retrieval, he went into the field with new armor, painted with his unique symbol of moons and triangles, instead of the plainer armor he’d used before, and managed not to panic, lose his head, or otherwise cause trouble for his master or their troops.  He meets with Sarisa once a week now, which is better than when he’d left the Hall with Kara, when he was scheduled for once a day meetings and sometimes commed her up to four or five times in the course of a day.

With time and patience, Jaran will become a valuable member of the Search, Rescue, and Retrieval battalion, although he may never command anything, he does do solo work and sometimes does work with Kara’s ‘Shadow Squad’, the not-a-commando squad that Kara uses to make life interesting for their enemies at times.

Relationships:

Master Jeanette Starsoul- Jaran’s first master, a quiet reticent Lorrdian.  Given her people’s propensity for kinetic communication, which is similar to sign language, but involves a lot of subtle movements, facial expressions, and more, she isn’t one to say much out loud, but if you know how to understand kinetic communication, you’d know that she adores her Padawan as a favored nephew.  (Never as a son.  She made that mistake only once, and never again.  Her Padawans are her nieces and nephews.)  She taught Jaran all she knew, including the kinetic communication of her people, to prepare him for whatever the Force lead him to.

Master Ki-Adi Mundi- Master Jeanette’s former Master and long-time friend, Master Ki-Adi has been a part of Jaran’s Padawan life from the beginning.  At Master Jeanette’s request, Master Ki-Adi has often taken time to tutor Jaran in politics and debate philosophy with him.  (Ki-Adi Mundi is the Jedi Council member with the… cone shaped head in the prequel trilogy.)

Kara Saje: Kara is Jaran’s teacher, and his friend.  He’s always admired her ability to appear serene, even if the skill eludes him for the most part.  If he had to classify her in terms of family, he’d say older cousin, the kind that’s almost grown up and wants to be ‘one of the adults’, but still finds time for water balloon fights and confidences.

Naomi Talis and Jeza Nomar are Padawan that Jaran knew from Bear Clan when he was a youngling.  Naomi’s family hails from Alderraan, and Jeza is a Twi’lek from Ryloth.  The three of them became friends because they all loved playing physical games, and did at times get in trouble for playing Limmie (soccer) instead of doing something else.  For them, it’s not a limmie game if they use the Force, it’s all about the skill.

Naomi is apprenticed to Iri Camas, the General in charge of Special Operations, suitable for her since her personal talents were more for healing than fighting.  She works some with her Master but also in the Hall of Healing.

Jeza’s master was a Nautolan Jedi named Ami Dessa, and they are currently stationed with one of the fleets on the Outer Rim.  Ami and Jeza both favor Soresu style fighting and a habit of speaking in riddles.

From the 425th:

Troopers Crash and Bang:  Crash and Bang are the clone’s equivalent of twins, they came from the same tube and have always been close to each other.  Kara seconded them out of Bucket Squadron in the third week after Jaran joined them to be Jaran’s full time partners, particularly since she knows that those two could and would haul Jaran where he needed to be, no matter what he thought was going to happen.  For Jaran, they’re his closest friends in the troops.  They get his issues with his psychometry and Bang is frequently found pestering Jaran for lessons on kinetic communication.

Trooper Fallback: like Kara, Fallback sees Jaran as his little brother, and where he’ll feed Kara every chance he gets, with Jaran, he tends to make sure the Padawan sleeps.

Trooper Brave:  Brave, the 425th’s other demolitions expert, is another Jaran’s friends.  Jaran likes spending time with Brave because Brave is as obsessive about his surroundings as Jaran can be.  For Brave, that’s because he wants to make sure he doesn’t blow something up by accident as opposed to Jaran’s desire to avoid emotional residue.  They have a special hand sign they use when talking to each other, or others, that basically indicates their desire to set something on fire and usually means that they need a distraction.

Other:

Sarisa Ven is Jaran’s mind healer, a Twi’lek Jedi Healer who is Temple bound after losing the use of her legs on a mission before the Clone Wars began.  While her legs are paralyzed, there is nothing wrong with Sarisa’s mind, or her sharp tongue and she is considered one of the best Mind Healers for dealing with mental traumas that involve flashbacks and panic attacks.

 Yes, I have done reading on PTSD, and I’m still doing reading.  This is just me working out what I have so far with what I need/want from Jaran for the plot.  Since I’m planning to write little groups of stories in roughly six month intervals, we see Jaran’s healing faster than it actually happens for the characters, and some of what occurs later is caused by things that happen in the time skips (like his weird affinity for the relics, or the fact that Fallback considers it his job to make sure Jaran sleeps enough is caused by one particular rescue mission where Jaran stayed up and on his feet for nearly forty-eight hours and collapsed going down a flight of stairs on their way to the gunships for departure.)  He’ll have nightmares and flashbacks in the stories, but their intensity and triggers will adjust to reflect on the passage of time, and he’ll have some moments of depression or aggression as well. I hope my integration of what I’ve learned so far works as well as I intended.

Jaran seems really solid character. There's a lot of distinct attributes between his appearance, personality, and backstory that all add up to a pretty unique picture. I can also see where you addressed some of the things I mentioned in Kara's review, such as addressing Jaran's nickname and clarifying his species (specifying what makes Kiffar different from humans). He's got a very distinct appearance, and I especially like the mention of his facial scar, hair style, and the triangular cultural tattoos.

Regarding Jaran's personality, he seems like a realistically mixed bag. Overall he's consistant, but there are enough unique aspects to make him well-rounded (especially given the impact his background has had on him). What I really like the most is the balance between the 'young, energetic Padawan finding his place in the world' against the 'weary, wary soldier struggling with PTSD.' Jaran isn't presented as just one or the other, but both at the same time. Just because he has panic attacks doesn't mean he stopped enjoying sports, and just because he's working towards becoming a Jedi Knight doesn't mean he's above occasionally messing around (or making mistakes). Which leads me to one of Jaran's best traits – his strict desire to not make said mistakes. Not only is that very accurate for someone in Jaran's position, but it's also extremely accurate for someone his age in-general. He's still very much getting a handle on all of these things and life as a whole, which gives him a compelling arc and a very relatable sense of motivation. That's actually something I especially want to highlight. As outlandish as the sci fi context of Jaran's story is, it's buoyed by how realistic his character is. The more fantastical the setting, the more relatable the motivations need to be to ensure investment, and Jaran definitely manages this.

Jaran's powers are interesting, and explained pretty well. Psychometry makes solid balance to Kara's Force abilities, and is far enough outside of the general suite of standard Jedi powers that it makes Jaran more unique. I liked how his struggles with it mirror Kara's issues with her Empathy abilities (though not as strongly) as well as the mentions that Jaran accidentally activates Force-imbued artifacts. Not only does it strengthen Jaran's connection to his Master and his place in the Rescue squadron, but adds that much more depth to his place in that universe overall. It isn't just left at 'This is how his powers work' but details out how Jaran's life has been affected by them (his relationships, career, general piece of mind, etc.).

Given your added commentary regarding Jaran's history, I'll avoid reviewing it overmuch due to the upcoming changes. However, I will say that what was presented so far was pretty solid. Jaran's upbringing is focused on the key moments that shaped his personality and relationships – becoming  Master Jeanette's padawan, his fever, Jaran's specific combat training, etc. It all flows in a cohesive manner and doesn't get hung up on non-important details. Of special mention is the inclusion of Jaran's involvement with Sarisa after his prior Master's death and how he's pro-actively coping with his trauma. Often times too many people skip past the recovery process for things like this, so it's really heartening to see that included (especially considering the Jedi's focus on mental wellness and emotional control).

I have no suggestions regarding Jaran's Relationships – they all look pretty good. In particular I liked the inclusion of Jaran's picking up body language from Master Jeanette. Mentions like this not only reinforce the connection between the characters, but also refer back to one of Jaran's established skills and ground it even further within his history (in a context that makes sense, given it was a 'student-teacher' relationship).

All in all, I really like Jaran. The only major issue I might have had with his profile is the handling of PTSD, but you're managed that really well and already specified how you intend on managing it. I would suggest possibly removing some of the parenthetical asides (like the mention of 'The Walking Disaster already being taken'), though they didn't disrupt my reading of the profile.

I hope this helps, and thanks again for your patience in waiting for this review!

-D

[chippedfolks]

i don’t have the balls to send this

This is my mood sometimes, but then i sleep it off and i’m like thank god i never sent it. Because if i ever did it would have been the biggest regret in my life. I hate being a hopeless romantic, and being in love with a man that’s not in love with me and then i think like this to try and protect me heart. Even though our break-up was 80% my fault and my stupid family problems, the other 20% was the fact that you wanted to be free to travel, meet new people, and be young. So i dunno, i just feel like i’m not going to open my heart up as easily because heart break really really hurts. Anyway i just wrote what i wrote below, because i currently feel like this but my feelings are always fucking changing its annoying sometimes. Well here it goes... You know what i thought things would get a whole lot easier when i moved to London, but my situation is better. But my feelings inside haven’t changed. It’s just shitty feelings new environment. Below i wrote a bit of what i’m feeling, and jimmy there’s still a lot more. But deep down i know how it’s meant to be, and so do my friends. i don’t know if i am going to send this to you or not. I’m scared, because i might change my mind. 

Right so I know it’s out of the blue but I can’t keep hiding a bit of what’s on my mind, and since it has to do with you i gotta let you know a little of what I’m thinking. I don’t know what’s on your mind or how you feel at all i haven’t for the longest time (because of how everything is) but I don't think I can continue the empty convos..you know what i mean right like it’s cringeworthy to say the least.

It's been 3 1/2 months and I’m still trying to get over you every second of everyday. And when we don't communicate things are a little easier for me even though you are still everywhere, like seriously in everything. But i can’t keep caring for someone who doesn’t want my care, do you understand? For the past month and a half or so I have tried so hard not to reach out to you not because i don’t want to (i always want to) but i stop myself. I remember during the summer i sent you over 100 snaps over a period of time and you only opened all of them like three weeks after i sent them. Like there is 24 hrs in a day and you can’t respond to a meme or a snap that would take less than 5 secs, just made me feel like i wasn’t anything to you like you just didn’t give a fuck at all. Also i would send you memes on insta, like 5 in a row and you’d see them but not like or respond to them. I got your message loud and clear (you were saying “LEAVE ME ALONE” and tbh it feels hella shitty being ignore by a guy you love and trust and that was your best friend..so i never wanted to put myself in that situation again coz it’s embarrassing and soul crushing tbh). I never ever want to ignore someone, but i know what it feels like. Like the most mature thing you could have done (instead of ignore me, especially when i was going through so fucking much was let me know that you just did want to contact for a bit or at all like at least i would have known you know). God probably the meanest thing you’ve ever done to me, and still kinda continue to do but hey i’m fucking strong and it doesn’t bother me that much anymore. I’ve grown, got thicker skin now buddy, pal, chap, dude, friend! Anyway so It’s hard you know because i know we have to no longer be priorities in each others lives (coz we’re ex’s) and thats sad truth…for me at least. But when I get a meme or a snap from you i get my hopes up and I get all hyped and shit (like really happy) and then i start thinking and i start sending stuff back and after the hype i get so mad at myself for it coz i was doing so well giving you space and and myself space. But pedro when it takes you more than a day even longer sometimes to respond to a simple message (for past 3 months) reality sets in that i’m no longer a priority at all in your life and the little happiness i got from communicating with you disappears and it's like going through everything all over again. It’s hell, and i’ve been hell and back and i’m still trying get out.

Don't get me wrong we used to be best friends while we were together, it was an amazingly open friendship i knew i could count on you. Relationships last a long long time when two people are best friends first, and i’m glad we were. Our communication was one for the record books..but our friendship right now is a bit awkward. I can tell we both do not feel as comfortable messaging like we used to, it’s normal. We small message( haha basically like small talk ) like two people who don’t know each other at all, it is so cringeworthy because i’m pretending :/ The truth is you don't truly know how I’m doing emotionally and physically you don’t know anything and you haven’t for months and since you broke up with me you don’t want/need to know, and I don't know that about you either because we don’t talk about the important things with each other anymore and i guess we are not meant to b/c that’s what gf & bf do. I don’t go to you when something super exciting, funny or sad happens in my life but i’ll be honest i do think about you sometimes when it happens. God so much has happened, all i can say is oh well, i can’t really say much just gotta close my mouth and forcefully move on.

Sometimes when you break up with someone, you can try and be friends right after like that’s the dream, but sometimes it’s just too difficult and you can’t pretend. Pedro I can’t be your buddy or pal or friend right now, because i don’t know how to, it’s just to difficult knowing how we used to talk and how we talk now it’s disappointing really. I care a lot still, and it feels pointless and it’s draining really getting my hopes up like a loser. Fuck man i deserve more, you know i deserve to be happy and to find someone that wants to spend time with me not just for a month or a year but a long time that’s all i want just to find someone that will love me for me you know. I i’ll be able to open my heart again and love unconditionally and be hyped and live a full life haha because i am a fucking good partner and i know that about myself and i love so much sometimes i forget to love myself! Here’s a life lesson you taught me..it’s that you can’t always get what you want! I know that now, and i can’t force things as things just happen the way the universe or god or whatever makes it to be. But what i can do is make sure i’m trying to take care of myself, i have to because no one else care as much as i do for myself but me and other this summer i learnt my parents. I’m sorry if i sprung this upon you but it has been great communicating a little with you it really has, it made me happy for a bit.  

I hope you understand. Like i’ve said 1,000 times I’m here for you if your ever in need me for any help or if anything big that happens in your life and you need a good friend to openly talk too. If you are ever down and need someone who really knows you, and you want to talk freely and openly i’m just a phone call away. I will put anything i am doing down to be your best friend like i once used to be. I know you know deep down in your heart I’m always here for you, even if we drift apart and meet new people and live separate lives. But other than that pedro, i gotta cut all communication i don’t want to but i have to so i can move on with my feelings. I can’t keep living in the past or waiting for a dream (in this case a man being you) to come true, coz reality it’s not going to happen and i want to move on now and try like at least try to enjoy being single. I can’t be hungover a guy who doesn’t feel the same way. I truly believe we could have fought every battle together, but you wanted to be selfish with your time (you  wanted to be free of me for your early 20s) and i can respect that i really do. I hope you find what you are looking for, because i gotta start from 0 it’s scary but hey haha i’ll definitely have fun doing it haha.

I will say this one thing tho (may not make any sense now) but one day you’ll know everything (i’ve made sure of it with this posts, i just thing it’s the most loving thing i could ever give to you) and i hope then you’ll realise everything so clearly! That i truly without a doubt believe and still sort of a bit believe through everything that i’ve been though that you are my soulmate fool. haha i’ve watched too many romantic movies, but hey yo haha we’ll see right. But for now all i can do and say is adios and i pray you find what you are looking for in life even if it’s not me. 

I wish you good fortune and happiness, always!