#guess who's back (probably for a few days until burnout catches up to me again) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bumbleberrysky · 4 years ago

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alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 02

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: same as before, wounded gabriel & removal of those stitches notes: the fire under my ass burns as strong as ever, hallelujah

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

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Much to your regret, your plans the next morning to continue being a nuisance to Dean are thrown in the bin at his decision to leave early and meet Castiel somewhere a state over for a case that the angel had found. Something about vamps in a mine or something, you’re a bit hazy on the details. You’d only half-listened when Sam filled you in upon your arrival in the kitchen, a good hour after Dean had already departed the bunker.

While you would like to say Dean is completely to blame, the truth is that once you passed out last night you slept like a log and didn’t wake up until mid-morning today, which classifies as a sleep-in of sorts for you. You love sleep, but your body is wired to wake up not long after sunrise, unfortunately. It’s that hunter lifestyle you love to hate.

Sam had huffed a laugh at your face when you found out you’d missed Dean, but otherwise had kept to himself with his healthy breakfast as you went about making yourself a coffee. You tend to be a bit nauseous in the mornings, so a coffee will be enough for you for a few hours. It’s likely your stomach won’t roar in hunger until a bit after midday, as it is wont to do.

“How is your arm?”

Sam’s question breaks you out of the dissociative state you’d slipped into as you sip your coffee, grip on the mug tightening in reflex. It takes a few blinks before your eyes focus back on him, a small smile on your lips.

“Much better, thank you doctor,” you answer, before mumbling into your coffee as you take another sip. “Despite apparent attempts at making it otherwise…”

Sam snorts, not even bothering to comment on that. “I’m glad. Did you have anything planned for the day?”

A contemplative hum escapes you, your gaze wandering to the ceiling. “No, not really. I kind of went hard for a while there, one case after the other, so I’m due for a break. Not much of a fan of burnout.”

Your eyes move back down, meeting his own. “I’m probably going to just hang back, for a bit. Recuperate. I mean, I didn’t get any injury besides my arm, but I’m just… tired, I suppose. Didn’t get much sleep the past few weeks.”

“Of course you didn’t hurt anything but your arm,” Sam rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his smoothie—you’re not a fan of the green tinge it has, but if he likes it then you suppose it must be alright, at least. “You and your stupid good luck. Dean is still mad about last time, you know. When he got splattered in monster guts that just missed you by a centimetre.”

The memory yanks a giggle out of you before you can stop it, almost spilling your coffee as a result of the abrupt movement. “Oh, that was good. I wish I had a picture so I could scrapbook it.”

Sam laughs around a mouthful of food, swallowing it down before he continues. “Dean would kill you.”

“I know, but it would be worth it.” You place your cup down, deciding it a better course of action than continuing to hold it and risking spillage. “Also, I know you think my luck is really good all the time, but it’s kind of just good occasionally. All other times, it sucks.”

“It kicks in when you hunt, though, so I suppose that’s all that matters,” Sam muses, flicking through an article on his phone somewhat distractedly. He hums to himself before turning the screen off and angling his body to you properly, meeting your questioning gaze.

“I’m… I’m gonna need your help,” he says, appearing somewhat sheepish. “With Gabriel.”

You try not to let your sharp intake of breath show, but from the look that flickers through Sam’s eyes you figure he catches it anyway. Your teeth worry your bottom lip for a moment before you can muster a proper response. “Alright. What are you thinking of doing?”

Sam adjusts once more, pushing his plate away, cutlery stacked on top; it’s only now that you realise he’s finished the meal and the only thing left to consume is his smoothie.

“Well, I’m not… entirely sure yet.”

You huff a laugh, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy. It isn’t that you’d forgotten about the battered archangel hiding in a room a few doors down from yours, but it’s moreso that you’d made it a point not to think about it so early in the morning, lest your mood be ruined for the entire day. Thinking of Gabriel… it kind of hurt. You’re not sure you’re ready to sit down and analyse exactly why you’re having such visceral reactions yet.

“I don’t think we can really plan much, here,” he says, features softening with empathy. It reminds you that when it comes to Hell and being tortured, the youngest Winchester isn’t as unfamiliar as you might hope. A pang of something hits against the confines of your chest at his tone and the passing look in his eyes; as always, there’s the useless feeling, the wish you could take away all the bad memories and experiences and make it all better. You know you can’t, nothing can, but you hate seeing your friends in any modicum of pain.

You suppose that includes Gabriel, if the sensations whirling within you at the thought of him are anything to go by.

“We’ll just have to take it as it comes,” you say, taking your mug into your hold and downing the rest of the drink in one go. “Alright! I’m gonna shower and then… I guess we go see him.”

x x

Unlike the Gabriel you were once so familiar with, this Gabriel is decidedly not fond of visitors.

Sam had gone and prepared some things while you’d showered and dressed, and by the time you reappear outside your room you hear shuffling from the direction of the library. Curious, you make your way down the hall, peeking your head in and blinking in only minor surprise at the sight of Sam, his shoulders heavy.

“What’s up, Sam-o-saurus?”

Sam looks up and gives you the closest approximation to a bitch face that you’ve ever received from him, clearly not fond of the new nickname that came to you on the spot like a divine enlightenment. He takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe, though, which is probably for the best considering your mission for the day. It would do none of you any good if he went near Gabriel while all riled up.

“Gabriel is, uh,” he clears his throat, placing down a sterile steel tray in the shape of a bean and small surgical scissors, along with a scalpel. Your gaze strays to the side and sees that it was the first aid box he’d been ransacking as you arrived. “Not very open to visitation from me right now. I think I might be a bit… bit big. He doesn’t really even see me when he looks at me, so I don’t think he realises who I am.”

You wince, trying not to dwell on the information longer than needed to file it away for later consideration. “Oh. Sorry, Sam. You want me to go see if I can bring him out?”

“Please,” the tall man says, gesturing to the tools on the glossy oak table. “I figured we could start by getting rid of those stitches over his mouth, if nothing else. I don’t think he has enough grace right now to stop infection so we should try and reduce the risk.”

His words sadden you, but you know the truth they hold. Your limbs feel a bit heavy as you push away from the doorway.

“Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Gabriel’s allocated room isn’t all that far from the library, and the note on the door sticks out like a sore thumb so you don’t have to worry much about getting lost on the way (ignoring that at this point you know most parts of the bunker like the back of your hand). Once outside his room, something gives you pause though.

Are you ready to see him in that state again? Or is it that a small, tiny part of you fears he won’t recognise you, either?

Ridiculous of you, really. You take a moment to admonish yourself for the thought. If you take a second to factor in the difference in time spent in hell, even without considering all the time he was missing, Gabriel had to have been trapped and tortured for over a century at the very least. Centuries and years might mean nothing to a celestial being who has been alive for millennia, but over a century of fear and torture is a lot even for someone with such impressive mileage.

You shake your head, attempting to clear your thoughts and emotions so you don’t enter his room with an overwhelming aura. Okay, showtime.

A soft knock echoes as your knuckles meet the wood, a moment passing before you speak, attempting to keep your voice as soft and nonthreatening as possible.

“Gabriel? It’s y/n, I’m going to come in now.”

You allow another moment to pass before you ease the door open, blinking in surprise as your eyes are greeted by light—it seems the archangel has every bulb in the vicinity burning its brightest. Understandable, since you presume he wasn’t exactly kept in well-lit conditions.

For a second, you think he’s not in the room. You don’t see him anywhere, and you’re about a split-second away from turning and calling Sam when you catch a glimpse of something shifting in the corner, behind the bulky side of a wooden dresser. You think for a second that you’ve forgotten how to breathe, chest painfully tight, as you realise that the small form huddled and curled in the corner is, in fact, the archangel Gabriel.

You hate that you’d noticed him only because of the filthy scraps of material that stick out against the dark décor of the bunker.

“Hey, Gabriel,” you say softly, keeping the door open so he has a route of escape and moving over as slowly and cautiously as you can. “I’m just gonna come over and sit in front of you, alright?”

You figure that even if he’s not entirely listening to everything you’re saying, it’s better to announce what you’re doing before you do it, for his benefit.

Something painful ricochets off the inside of your chest as you grow close enough to see him around the dresser and you’re confronted with his beaten, bloody and battered figure once more. His gaze is anywhere but you, and the way he presses himself into the corner is like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. It takes all of your willpower to squash down the unexpected sob that catches low in your throat. What is wrong with you?! You need to get a grip.

“Oh, Gabriel,” you find yourself saying before you can stop. “I’m so sorry…”

The closer you get to him, the lower you try to make yourself in his peripheral. It wouldn’t do any good to startle him by appearing big and threatening. It makes you frown when you remember just who it is that you have to think this way about. It’s sad, you think. The Gabriel you’d known was prideful, glaringly bright and loud in his presence, both as a trickster and an angel, and that he’d been reduced to… well, to this? It made your chest feel heavy.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, you ease down onto your knees in front of him, doing your best not to rush anything. It’s hard—you’re a hunter, used to moving with speed and a sense of urgency. So to take your time and really be in the moment for each of your actions is definitely an odd change from the usual autopilot your brain resides in.

He doesn’t acknowledge your presence once you’re still in front of him, not really. You had expected as much though, and as much as he seems unresponsive you do see the occasional flick of his eyes in your direction before they dart away, like he couldn’t believe he’d dared to look at someone instead of the floor.

For a few minutes, you simply let him adjust to your presence, your company. Ever so slowly, you see the tiniest bits of tension ease from his shoulders, his eyes no longer darting around like a frantic squirrel. You take the opportunity to take in the wounds and sores littering his body, doing your best not to get too upset by what you see. Dirt and grime coats him in layers, and you mentally note that your next goal with him would be to get him in a damn bath.

It can’t be comfortable, sitting in all that grime…

“For the sake of transparency,” you begin when he seems like he will be open enough to listening. “I’ll tell you why I’m here. This is your space right now, and I don’t want to intrude on it unless I really need to.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, but you sense you have his attention. “Given that right now you’re low on… strength, and not healing as you usually do, we need to take care of some of the worse wounds you have. If we don’t, it’s a risk of infection, and we don’t know how well you would fight that off in this state…”

You clear your throat, attempting to keep yourself on track. “So, if you’re able, we’d really like you to come out just for a moment, so we can fix up some of your sores. I promise that you can come right back in here afterwards, and that unless we have something really important we’ll leave you alone. Sound good?”

He doesn’t nod, doesn’t really move, but the way his eyes move to yours and hold your gaze for a bare second longer than you expect, you gather he’s not entirely against it. You offer him a smile, oddly proud of him. You’d seen firsthand how hard it can be to get out of these mindsets, even just for a moment. Effort is hard and that he’s making it means everything.

“Perfect,” you say, shifting in your spot so you can stand more easily. “Alright, I can help you up, if you’d like, or you can stand on your own if you want. What do y—”

Your hands had already begun to outstretch as you spoke, and you’re taken by surprise when before you even finish speaking his hand is whipping up to grab your wrist in a sort of monkey grip. You’re left blinking as you help him up, moving on autopilot. You expect him to release you as soon as he’s standing, but it adds to your surprise as he wobbles in place and retains his grip, if anything shuffling a little closer.

“Okay,” you say, angling your body and adjusting your grip so that it’s loose and as nonthreatening as possible. “Let’s go. Thank you for cooperating.”

Of course, there’s no response and he’s silent the whole way to the library. You remember that Sam is in there only as you approach the threshold, but unlike what you feared, Gabriel doesn’t seem to react too poorly to him like he apparently had earlier. Risking a glance his way reveals that actually, amongst the frayed and almost manic energy, he seems oddly… grounded, just for the moment.

Well, this is certainly going better than you’d anticipated.

“I went to bully Dean this morning, but he woke up before me and left before I could get to him.”

You’re in the process of cleaning the wounds around Gabriel’s mouth and removing the ugly stitches that have been sewn into his lips. As something to distract him as much as you from what you’re doing, you’ve begun chatting idly to the archangel, unbothered by the lack of response. Sam sits a metre or so away, researching for Dean who had apparently called earlier when you were coercing Gabriel out of his room.

Still Gabriel doesn’t hold your gaze, eyes averted as he leans forward in the chair for you to reach his mouth, but you can tell from the way his eyes occasionally flick to you as you speak that he is listening, somewhat. It’s enough of a win that you’re willing to take it.

He winces each time your alcohol swab goes over the entry point of a stitch, but doesn’t flinch away too badly. You’re pretty proud of him for that, actually, because it must hurt like a bitch.

“You got him yesterday, though,” Sam pipes in from the side, amused as he recalls your arrival. “Barely an hour after you got here and he was quitting and heading to bed.”

“It’s hard being so naturally talented,” you say, placing the swab down and reaching for the small scissors and tweezers. “I’m an absolute delight, and Dean should appreciate that!”

“Has anyone ever believed you when you told them that?” Sam asks, presumably referring to the ‘delight’ bit.

“Why wouldn’t they, Samuel?” you ask, giving the massive man a light spritz of stink-eye. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Nothing you don’t already know,” he snorts in response, turning a page in the tome he currently has in his lap.

You bite your lip to hide your amused smile, turning back to Gabriel. You place your hand softly on his cheek to let him know that you’re about to go back in for the stitches, before raising the other tool and bringing it to the first of the thick threads woven through his flesh. Wincing, you try and snip it as delicately as possible. Now seems like a better time than any for more distractions.

“If you think I’m bad, you should be glad you never met my grandfather,” you inform the youngest Winchester, successfully severing the first stitch and beginning the icky job of pulling it out. Gabriel makes a muffled noise of pain but remains still, and you pat his hand softly in support. “He could stir the shit out of anyone, man. Like, I’m not even kidding. The bastard gene I got from him was actually watered down by the time it got to me, so count your lucky stars.”

Sam makes a noise of contemplation, like he really is taking the time to thank whatever powers that be— those apparently being Chuck, as you’ve heard— that you’re not more like your grandfather. Honestly, you’re not kidding—they really should be grateful. You loved your grandpa but you’d never met anyone so quick to stir whatever pot may present itself before them. An opportunist with bastardous tendencies, one might describe him.

In the silence that follows, you jump to another topic for the sake of distraction once more—you’re about to move onto another stitch.

“So, now that your mother is here, are you guys actually eating like normal human beings?” you ask, tongue pressed between your lips in concentration as you try to snip the thread as painlessly as possible by manoeuvring the small scissors. “Like, balanced meals with vegetables and shit?”

You hear Sam pause in the motion of turning a page, a scoff turning into a laugh as it climbs his throat. “What—homecooked meals? Our mom? Dude, she’s worse than Dean in the kitchen, and I really didn’t think that was possible.”

You pause your ministrations to face the tall man, squinting. “What? No way. No way is she worse than Dean—”

“We’ve had to replace the fire alarms twice already,” Sam says, meeting your gaze with a look that is full of both fondness and exasperation. He lets out a laugh at your flabbergasted face. “Dude, I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t seen it for myself. You’ll see, whenever she gets back with Jack. She can’t cook but it doesn’t really stop her trying.”

“Another terrible chef joins the ranks,” you proclaim dramatically, pulling the stitch you were working on out and going in on the next one. “Oh, to be able to cook. I suppose this Jack kid is our last hope.”

“He’s not even a year old, y/n,” Sam says, deadpan. “I wouldn’t count on it. Also, you can cook, you’re just lazy.”

You shrug, making a face; he has you there. “I will neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

Once more, you feel Sam roll his eyes behind you—he should get that checked if he’s rolling them so heavily you can feel it yourself. They’re not even eyes that are in your own skull, man.

You proceed to pull shit out of your ass as you take Gabriel’s mouth stitches out, the metal tin to the side soon filled with scraps of thick thread covered in dried blood and muck. The exit wounds where the thread had been have begun to well with blood, the wounds agitated by the removal of the stitches, and you bring a new cotton pad back with alcohol to clean them up. Gabriel hisses at the contact, and you rush out apologies under your breath as you finish up. You’d forgotten to warn him, and it’s only something small but you still feel bad.

“Alright, that’s done,” you announce, mostly to yourself. You look over him, deciding which wound to treat next, when your attention is drawn to the way he seems to be shaking a little on the spot. He’s not as grounded as he was earlier when he sat down with you, and even though you have much more work to do you can tell intrinsically that this is the most he can take right now. Dressing his other wounds would have to wait until tomorrow.

You turn to find Sam already giving the archangel a scrutinising look, apparently arriving at the same conclusion you had. He gives you a nod and you let out a soft breath, turning back to Gabriel and offering your hands should he need them.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. Let’s get you back to the room.”

You can only hope tomorrow will offer the same amount of progress as today.

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#supernatural gabriel #supernatural #supernatural fic #gabriel x reader #supernatural gabriel x reader #gabriel x you #supernatural gabriel x you #supernatural soulmate au #soulmate au #my work #alexa play candyshop #spn fic #spn gabriel #gabriel fic #gabriel series #gabriel fanfic #supernatural series #wing fic

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blursed-ninjago-ideas · 4 years ago

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I deliberately left some scenes out because I didn’t feel like writing them, and other things I just took shortcuts on cause I have a huge headache, but I want this done.

Hydra is Nya’s hero name with the dragon miraculous.

He was debating what to name his latest Akuma. A jealous girl that resented her best friend’s boyfriend. The two were having a very explosive fight in the middle of the park by Collège Françoise Dupont.

Honestly Hawkmoth wasn’t sure which one he was going to get. They were both pretty upset. His little butterfly was heading straight for the fight, until it suddenly turned and changed course.

Sighing, Hawkmoth was pretty sure he knew what was happening, again.

Kai Smith happened to be walking past. The boy was a walking Akuma trap. It was a frustrating waste of his time and resources. If he could just figure out how to harness Kai’s emotions, the boy would be the most powerful weapon against the heroes. But Kai was too stubborn and spontaneous to control. He was so easy to akumatize. Hawkmoth didn’t have to do hardly any work to get him to surrender. He was just so set and focused on his own goals that Hawkmoth couldn’t get him to bother with the miraculous.

The Akuma settled itself into the pendant of a necklace Kai was wearing, and Hawkmoth was already calling the day a wash, but then the empathy link showed him something new.

It was a different than usual.

Kai felt…fragile. He wasn’t focused on any sort of goal. His emotions weren’t from worry or ambition, it was just raw and directionless.

It wasn’t like he had anything to lose, and it could turn out to be a worthy experiment.

Kai fiddled with his pendant again. It had become a handy fidget to have. Chloe had made it for him, it turned out she really loved making jewelry and seemed to have a knack for it. He was so proud of her and seeing how excited she got to show off a new piece made his heart melt a little. There was no pride or approval seeking, just pure excitement. She didn’t do it for attention, just to share the happiness she had for it.

It was a far cry from her old attempts at creative pursuits, only doing things she thought would impress, regardless of her own feelings.

Course all the growth on Chloe’s part came at a price, and Nya was the one that paid it. Kai hadn’t meant to neglect her. He just didn’t think she still needed him that much. Chloe was so young and in need of guidance, he had thought Nya was mature enough to not need him. But he should’ve really thought about how much it would hurt to not see him as much. Nya may’ve not needed his care or guidance, but she still needed his company. He was her big brother and the only constant she had growing up; it was cruel to take that away from her. Even if it wasn’t on purpose.

And Lloyd of course would always need Kai. That was his job. It was literally a written destiny that Kai would be there for Lloyd while he fought to protect others as the green ninja. Lloyd had suffered plenty and would probably always need Kai as an emotional crutch. He faced trauma and near-death experiences on the regular. If Kai and the others weren’t there to help him feel safe and loved, there was no way anyone, even Lloyd, could go through all that and not break.

But that left three people that needed Kai to be there for them, and there was only so much of him to go around.

He didn’t want to make that their problem. He toughed it out. He pushed himself. He could keep it up for a little longer. He could do a little more.

Nya had ideas for some new vehicles and wanted Kai’s help with them. It was a good way to spend some quality time and, her own confession, Kai was the better welder

Chloe wanted him to set up a challenge for her to test how far she’d come. It was a good idea, a concrete way to self-reflect and a tangible show of progress.

Lloyd had talked him into helping with a school project. It was nice to see Lloyd doing something that wasn’t life and death stakes.

He didn’t know how in the world he let Adrien talk him into modeling, but that was also on his plate.

It felt like there was a deadening static in his head that he had to force all his thoughts through, a buzzing not unlike an alarm. He had noticed his hands had started to spasm at random points. He wasn’t sure how concerned he should be about that.

Like many things, Kai ignored it. He had things he had to do and people that were depending on him. He had no time to deal with it. It could wait.

He was on his way to meet up with Lloyd, but he had to leave in time to make lunch with Nya, and he had to figure out what to do for Chloe, not to mention he had an early morning photoshoot the next day so he needed to get some sleep for that and probably should shower before it.

His hands found their way to his pendant again. He was pulling it back and forth on the chain, making a rhythmic zipping noise as it pulled on the chain links.

“I’M A PERSON! I DON’T HAVE TO BE AT YOUR BECK AND CALL!”

Kai cringed.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL MAKING TIME FOR ME? ANY TIME! AT ALL? I’M SO SORRY IT’S SUCH A CHORE TO HANG OUT WITH ME.”

“Please don’t make an Akuma” Kai though to himself as he passed the fighting girls.

The shouting back and forth was not doing good things for his nerves. He was trying to take even breaths to counter it, but they just kept screaming.

Kai squeezed his eyes shut and pressed forward. He’d get away soon enough, go help Lloyd, maybe help the heroes if that fight attracted an Akuma, meet up with Nya, then head back to Le Grand Paris and brainstorm with Chloe, then hopefully go to bed, then get up, shower, go model for a while, he should probably take the opportunity to talk to Adrien about Chloe, the backstory someone that grew up with her would know might help him with her, and maybe ask about how Lloyd is doing while he’s there.

Probably should do a quick evaluation of Adrien’s mental health too. From what he’d heard from Lloyd, Adrien may need someone to be there for him too.

AND THE GUYS!

He had completely forgotten to check in with the others! Zane, Cole, and Jay! He needed to check on them too, plus he wanted to see them!

Kai was so busy planning out his tasks that he didn’t see the uneven sidewalk. He realized that he’d tripped as soon as he started to fall, but instead of catching himself, his brain decided that it wanted to do nothing instead. The wind got knocked out of him when he limply hit the ground.

Kai opened his eyes and started at the ground ahead of him. Normally he’d get up and brush himself off, and he would in a minute, but some reason he just kept staring ahead. The static stopping him from making any movements.

He felt like screaming, or even crying. He was in pain and he had just fallen down. It wasn’t a big deal, but it felt like Kai was fighting to keep himself in check and not have a full meltdown. The static in his head was blocking any attempts to steady himself.

He was gathering his courage to stand back up and keep going when a familiar butterfly flew to him.

Kai breathed rapidly, trying not to panic, or breakdown, or cry.

“A bit stressed are we?”

Kai didn’t respond, he just kept trying to breathe.

“Stretched too thin. Too many things you have to juggle. There’s nothing more to give is there?”

Kai felt like he was drowning already. Hawkmoth’s intrusion was pushing him passed his breaking point.

“You know who I am and what I want. I’ll give you the ability to make everything go away, all I ask for in return is Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous. What do you say, Burnout?”

Kai’s eye twitched at the name. Why did it feel right? Why did it feel right? He was drowning under his own emotions and Hawkmoth already seemed to have a handle on it all. There were two options. He could continue to fight and struggle, or he could just give up and have some relief.

There was nothing Kai could tell himself that would make the fight look worth the effort.

“Yes Hawkmoth.”

Adrien ducked behind another tree, hoping to get the opportunity to transform, but the tree vanished into smoke against his back, leaving a nasty scorch mark behind.

Adrien had barely got a look at the new Akuma, he couldn’t tell who it was yet, but they knew his name.

Black smudges came down from his eyes and stained his dark grey, ash colored skin. He was wearing a long smokey cloak that seemed to be made of the stuff at the end, a small gold pendant in the shape of a small flame clasped it closed at the neck. Fingerless gloves shot out black fiery blasts and he was slightly blurred with his edges ending in smoke trails.

He looked like the personification of the aftermath of a forest fire.

Adrien jumped behind a bench and coughed from the smoke.

“What’s your deal? Campfire go out?” Adrien tried to taunt, hoping to get the reason for the akumatization out of him.

“I’ve burned too bright for too long and given too much of myself. Well now I’m going to make everything go away.”

Adrien finally caught on to the fire symbolism. It was too strong, even for Hawkmoth. Something was wrong. One more look at the spikey hair Adrien had written off as part of the costume and it clicked.

Adrien knew he recognized the clasp on the cloak. It was the pendant he’d seen Chloe working on. Adrien knew exactly who she made it for.

“Kai.” Adrien said, dodging the next blackened blast.

“It’s Burnout now.”

Adrien tried to get out of sight a few more times, but Burnout just blasted every hiding place he found. He only could grab a few seconds out of sight, if he was lucky. Not enough to transform, but maybe enough to do something else.

“Plagg.” Adrien said, lifting his shirt to let the kwami out.

“What are-“

Adrien cut him off, taking his ring off.

“Find Lloyd. We need Ninja Noir for this.” Adrien said, handing the ring to his kwami.

Plagg almost argued but thought better of it.

“I guess he’d be better for this job anyways.” Plagg said, darting off.

Lloyd managed to get away from the panicking crowd, wondering if he needed to help out with this one, when Plagg floated right into his face.

“Plagg?”

“Ninja Noir.”

“What happened to Adrien?” Lloyd asked, reaching for the ring.

“Doesn’t matter. Lloyd, it’s Kai.”

Lloyd gently pushed the ring onto his finger.

“Then this should be pretty easy. Ladybug might not even need me.” Lloyd laughed.

Kai’s akumatization were almost always joke. Give him what he wanted, and he practically surrendered his akumatized object.

Plagg shook his head though.

“No, Kiddo, this is different.”

“What do you mean?” Lloyd asked, trying to not panic

“I mean this isn’t his usual stuff. I think Hawkmoth might’ve really gotten to hi this time.”

Lloyd’s eyes went wide.

“Plagg, Claws out!”

Chat Noir wasn’t showing up. She was pretty sure she knew what it was going to tell her, but she used her lucky charm just to be certain.

A painting she knew was in Fu’s home. She needed reinforcements.

She was on her way to go find wielders for the two miraculous she grabbed when she ran right into Ninja Noir.

“Ninja Noir!” she yelped, helping him stand back up. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s Kai again, but something is different this time.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ninja Noir said as he brushed himself off.

“Lucky Charm said we needed reinforcements. I grabbed the Bee and the Dragon. I’m thinking Chloe would be a good choice since she knows Kai and has used the Bee Miraculous before. For the Dragon I was thinking maybe Lloyd?”

Ninja Noir coughed.

“Um…No good with Lloyd. He’s caught up somewhere, saw him on the way over. How about we divide and conquer. I think I could get this to his sister.”

“That’s probably a good idea. She should know him pretty well.” Ladybug said, passing Ninja Noir the Dragon Miraculous.

“I don’t need another needy little brat hanging off me!” Burnout shouted as he flung Ninja Noir off of him.

Lloyd tried to not let it show how personal the remark was. Kai didn’t know it was him under the mask.

“We need a plan!” Hydra said.

“Now might be a good time for a Lucky Charm!” Beatrix said as she pulled Hydra out of the line of fire.

Ladybug jumped off the roof to dodge another blast, rolling when she hit the ground and flinging herself upright as she yelled

“LUCKY CHARM!”

A camera.

Ladybug started to look around for anything that stood out.

A gargoyle, an empty ledge across the street where another one used to be before Burnout got rid of it, Beatrix’s top, Ninja noir, Hydra, and the mirrored windows on the office building.

“Got it.” She said, shoving her teammates in the directions of where they needed to go, giving them a brief rundown of their parts as she did.

Burnout came flying around the corner just after Ladybug got her trap set.

“Water Dragon!” Hydra yelled, soaking Burnout before he could line up any shots.

“Say cheese!” Ladybug yelled, clicking the camera and blinding him with the flash.

While Burnout tried to clear his eyes and figure out how to attack again, Beatrix came swinging in from behind the gargoyle, holding Ninja Noir.

“Cataclysm!” he yelled as he swung by, taking out the pendant and freeing the Akuma.

Ladybug quickly caught it while Beatrix caught a now detransformed Kai on her swing back.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybug yelled, throwing the camera in the air.

The magic ladybugs swept across Paris, bringing back everything Burnout had made “go away”.

“What? What happened!?” Kai yelled, trying to stand up, only to fall down on his unsteady legs.

“You were akumatized.” Ladybug explained.

“KAI!” Jay yelled form down the street. “Are you ok?!?”

Cole and Zane were not far behind him and the three were running full speed towards their friend.

“Well I’d better get going.” Hydra said.

“Yeah, me too. I’ll take your miraculous.” Ninja Noir added.

The two jetted off in the same direction.

“I…That was…..what did I do?” Kai finally asked.

“Nothing that couldn’t be fixed.” Ladybug assured him.

Kai didn’t look comforted.

“What got you akumatized anyways?” Beatrix asked.

“I…um….”

“You stressed yourself out again didn’t you?” Zane snapped.

“What?” Kai said.

“Ugh! You Always do this Kai! You are allowed to tell people no, you know!” Jay ranted

“I know that! Besides that wasn’t like that at-“

“Do you? Because sometimes you’re determined to take on more than you can handle!” Cole scolded with a hint of concern.

A beep from Ladybug’s earring interrupted them.

“Um…”

Beatrix nodded to her.

“I didn’t use my ability. I can keep this under control here while you go recharge.”

Ladybug looked a little hesitant, but another beep from her earrings and she was running off with a promise to be back soon.

As she left, Nya came running around the corner.

“Kai!” she yelled, while she tackled him in a hug “I was so worried! Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” Kai said as he gently pushed her off.

“You’re not!” Jay snapped.

“You were akumatized!” Cole added.

“Everybody gets akumatized!” Kai huffed, crossing his arms.

“Yes, but that was significantly more destructive than usual, meaning you were feeling stronger negative emotions.” Zane said.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, I got stuck. Is Kai ok?” Lloyd said, running to them from another street.

“I’m fine!” Kai yelled.

“Stop it!” Zane said.

“You don’t have to fix everything for everyone.” Cole begged.

“I told you guys I was fine!”

“Kai please.” Nya begged.

“I SAID I WAS FINE!”

Beatrix rolled her eyes and made a move.

“Venom!”

And Kai was frozen.

“What did you do that for!?” Jay yelled.

Beatrix put a hand on her hip.

“No you guys can lecture him about selfcare without him arguing. You’ve got five minutes, make the most of it.” She said.

“Oh.” Jay said in surprise.

Ladybug came back into the middle of an improv intervention.

“And I should’ve been a better sister. I was being selfish and demanding and I should know better than that. Sometimes it’s just hard to accept that I don’t have you all to myself anymore. You know I’ve never been great at sharing.” Nya laughed, with tears in her eyes “But you need to tell me ‘no’ sometimes! I need to hear it, Kai. You can’t just let me push you like this; you have to tell me when you’re hurting!”

“Um….” Ladybug muttered.

“We’re just about done.” Beatrix said.

“You can’t just hide ailments from us, and that includes mental and emotional fatigue.” Zane added.

“Alright, I think my work here is done. See you all next time I’m needed!” Beatrix said, grabbing Ladybug’s arm and leading her away.

“You may’ve won this time, Ladybug. But now I know something I didn’t know before.” Hawkmoth said to himself.

He’d finally figured out how to weaponize Kai Smith. That boy was going to deliver him the miraculous if he wanted to or not. It was only a matter of time before Hawkmoth got the perfect champion out of him.

“It will require a very precise touch, but this boy will be my greatest weapon!”

so yeah, that’s done.

-Ivy

#Mod Ivy #lego ninjago #ninjago #blursed ninjago snippets #blursed ninjago aus #miraculous au

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mercuryonparklane · 4 years ago

Text

I just found this one-shot I wrote based on ‘betty’ that has been sitting in my notes since September. I thought I’d share, if anyone is interested in that. The characters belong to Taylor and her co-writers, of course. I just borrowed them for this fic.

‘Please, come over’

Jamie Mann stares at the text for far too long, watching those three little dots appear and, then, disappear once again. Betty hates sending more than one text in a row. Even more than that, she can't stand it when a message goes unanswered.

Still, Jamie can't quite think of what to say. Her mind flashes back to prom two weeks earlier and the boy who swayed Betty around the dance floor while she laughed at his stupid jokes. Betty told her that she isn't interested in boys, but damnit if she isn't very good at hiding that fact.

Jamie throws her phone down next to her on the bed and pulls the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. She fiddles with the strings of the sweatshirt until she hears the ding of a new message.

'I'm in front of your house. Get your ass out here and hop in.'

Jamie fights the smile on her face, but she can't help feeling a little less hurt in the moment. August was the kind of friend who could convince you to do things you would never even think to do. Like the time they hopped the fence at school on a Friday night to smoke in the softball dugout. Or the time August managed to sneak them into some gay club in the city. Or the time they almost ditched the cop trying to pull her over for running a red light. Okay, so maybe they weren't actually going to try to escape and maybe August's uncle happened to be the cop in question. But still...

Jamie grabs her backpack and puts it on as she heads down stairs.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?"

"Mom, I literally just graduated high school last night and I turn 18 next month. I'm basically an adult."

Her mom pulls her into a hug. Jamie lets it happen for a few seconds before escaping her grasp. Mrs. Mann runs her fingers through her daughter's hair trying to fix it best she can.

"Hmm... that will have to do. Now, truthfully, where are you going? Yeah, yeah, I know you're all grown up now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to stop worrying about you."

Jamie rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. "I'm staying over at August's. She's outside waiting for me, so can I go now?"

"Of course, dear. Have fun."

"Sure thing. Night, mom."

Jamie heads out the door and jogs to the midnight blue '67 Mustang idling in front of the driveway. She throws her backpack in the backseat before taking her spot in the passenger seat.

"So, what's the plan?"

"I was thinking we could go to that party Betty Davis is throwing."

A lump forms in Jamie's throat as she tries to come up with some excuse as to why they shouldn't go. August knows that Jamie is a lesbian, but she doesn't know anything about Betty. It was not something Betty wanted anyone to know about.

As far as anyone at school knew, Betty and Jamie were acquaintances at best. Betty was head cheerleader and Jamie was basically a skater burnout. Betty was class president and Jamie wasn't even on most of her teacher's radars. Betty was going to Yale next year. Jamie was going to a state school. Betty came from money. Jamie's mom worked two jobs to send her to private school. They weren’t exactly the likeliest of friends and no one would ever guess they were more than that.

"Come on, please? Don't you want to know what the popular kids get up to on the weekends?"

"Nah, it sounds pretty lame. I'd rather hang out just the two of us before you take your little road trip around the county, which I still can't believe your parents agreed to."

"You should come with me."

"What?"

"We would have so much fun. Besides I'm a little scared about driving around by myself."

Jamie scoffs, "You? Why, August Adams you are the bravest person I have ever known. What could possibly scare you?"

"I don't know... a car accident, rapists, serial killers, muggers, creatures..."

"Okay, I get it. I just mean... you've been planning this trip for two years. Wasn't it supposed to be some great big adventure of self-discovery?"

August shrugs. "I already know who I am. I'm a bisexual goddess, who is going to be the CEO of a major corporation someday, and no one can stop me. But also I'm just a girl sitting in front a girl, asking her to join me on the trip of a lifetime."

Jamie's heart skips a beat. She loves Betty so deeply, but being with her was torture. It would have been four more years of hiding. 'Just until we graduate college,’ Betty's words echo in her head. Four years is a long time and Jamie is sick of hiding. August came out Sophomore year and didn't care about what anyone thought of her.

"You know what, that sounds amazing."

August squeals and leans across the center console to wrap her arms around Jamie. "We're going to have so much fun, James!"

They never went to Betty’s party. Instead they drove to 7-Eleven, bought snacks and slurpees, and spent the rest of the night at the one skate park in town.

It took a bit of convincing before her mom felt comfortable letting her go on the five week trip. The fact that August had family sprinkled along their route, with whom they would be staying most of the time, helped to reassure her. August created an itinerary for Jamie's mom, so she would have an idea of where they would be and with whom.

A week into the trip, Jamie gets an unexpected text.

'I heard you left town with August Adams. Thanks for the heads up. Hope you have fun.'

The three dots show up and disappear, then reappear once again.

And finally, after almost a minute, 'I hear she's a great lay.'

Jamie doesn't even reply. Her blood boils just a bit. They'd never officially broken things off, but seeing Betty kiss that boy on the dance floor was the last straw. Jamie didn't want to hide anymore. She wanted a girlfriend who's hand she could hold while walking down the street.

So, she got one. Sort of. The text kind of sent her into overdrive and she may have decided to see if all the rumors about August were true. They were. She definitely knew what she was doing and it was nice, but it wasn't the same as it had been with Betty. It was lust. There was no romance in it. At least not on Jamie's part.

Unfortunately, she had no idea the other girl had wanted this since they were Freshmen. It killed Jamie to tell her the truth. August was beautiful and fun and clever, but Jamie's heart belonged to someone else. She confessed everything about her relationship with Betty and how she wished she had gone to that party the night after graduation.

August won't tell anyone. She might be hurt, but she wasn't heartless. She'd never out someone nor would she ever try to get back at Jamie. They did decide to give each other some space. In fact, they only met up once more that summer. It was the day before August was set to leave for school. They hugged awkwardly and promised to keep in touch and to hang out over Thanksgiving break. They didn't keep those promises.

Betty doesn't message her again. Jamie rides past the girl's house on her skateboard almost every day for a month before she finally gets the nerve to text her.

'Hey, I'm near your house. Can we talk?'

She sits on the curb across the street from Betty's house for an embarrassingly long amount of time before she finally gives up. She stops riding by her house.

It's not until her mom drags her to the mall insisting she needs a new wardrobe for college that she finally sees Betty again. She catches sights of the girl from the store across the way and she tells her mom she'll be right back. She's about to step into the store, but someone grabs her by the wrist and drags her towards an empty service hallway. Jamie's heart stutters until she realizes who exactly has a hold on her.

"What the hell, Inez?"

Inez roughly releases her grasps once they are out of the earshot of passersby.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Me?! What do you think you're doing."

Inez rolls her eyes. "Stay away from her, you freak!"

"What gives you the right to tell me what to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe the fact that Betty told me all about how you're desperately in love with her and tried to put the moves on her and that's why she had to switch homerooms. Which I said was weird because as far as I knew you were off playing Thelma and Louise with August Adams. So just, like, leave her alone. She's not... like you."

Jamie bites her tongue. There is so much she wants to say, but it would only make things worse. "Whatever. Maybe you should tell your friend not to flatter herself."

Occasionally, over the next few years, Jamie checks Betty's social media accounts, looking for any hint that one of the girls in her pictures were more than just a friend. Jamie thinks about the night after high school graduation often. She fantasizes about what would have happened if she had gone to Betty's party. Would the girl have finally kissed her in front of their classmates? Was she already drunk when she sent that message? Had she finally been ready to say 'fuck it all' and let everyone know she wasn't who they thought she was?

Jamie will probably never know. But she spends her college years chasing the feeling she had when she was with Betty. There were a couple of women who she thought she had been in love with. Maybe she had been, but there was always this one piece of her heart that hung on to past love.

She dates quite a bit the first couple of years after college, until she eventually gets into a committed relationship. It's great for a while. It lasts four and a half years. She's devastated when it ends. But also, a part of her is relieved. It doesn't really make sense until that next Thanksgiving weekend when her high school class is having its ten year reunion.

She contemplates not going, but she's already R.S.V.P.'d and she's already going to be in town to celebrate Thanksgiving with her family. So, she musters up the courage to go.

The first person she recognizes is August Adams. The other woman greets her with a tight hug.

"James! How are you? God, it's been too long."

"It has."

It really has. Jamie missed her friend. She screwed it all up so much back when they were kids. But the woman still had this brightness that radiated from her and Jamie let herself bask in it.

"Oh, you have to meet my wife," August wraps her arm around the waist of a gorgeous brunette, "This is Autumn. I know, I know. Don't even start."

Jamie chuckles, but keeps quiet. After catching up and seeing way too many pictures of August's kid (she was a proud mom and it was kind of cute, to be honest), Jamie was left alone when the other woman found another old friend to talk to. She didn't mind. It gave her a chance to finally get to the bar and get a drink.

Jamie orders a whiskey on the rocks.

"I'll take one of those too, please," a voice speaks from beside her.

Jamie turns her head and takes in the sight before her. Betty hasn't changed much. If anything, she's even more attractive than she was all those years ago.

"Hi."

"Uhh..." Jamie clears her throat, "Hey."

Betty bites her lower lip, a smirk forming on her face anyway. "You look..." Her eyes scan Jamie's body and Jamie shifts a bit under her gaze, "good."

"That's all." Jamie elbows her playfully. The bartender sets their drinks in front of them. Jamie lifts the glass to her mouth.

"Let me try that again. You look incredible in that suit, but all I can think about is what you'd look like out of it."

Jamie chokes on her drink, pounding her chest with her fist as she coughs. Betty quirks her eyebrows and smirks smugly, while Jamie tries to gain some sense of control over her own body again.

"Umm... wow, that... I wouldn't mind..."

"Are you here with anyone?"

"No. I'm actually single at the moment. You?"

Betty doesn't even bother to answer. Instead she kisses Jamie. It takes a moment for Jamie to register what is happening, but eventually she gets a hold of herself and reciprocates the kiss, matching the passion of the woman in front of her.

There are a couple of 'whoops' from former classmates and a 'Get it, Davis' before Betty pulls away.

"Do you want to get out of here?"

How could Jamie say no to that? After that kiss? After ten years of dreaming about this moment? She couldn't.

"Definitely."

'Out of here' isn't very far. It's actually a room at the hotel where the reunion was being hosted, but really it was better than Jamie could have ever dreamed.

As they lay together in the afterglow, Betty runs her fingers through Jamie's curly, golden locks. Jamie rests her head on Betty's chest, her fingers tracing random patterns across Betty's toned abs.

"You're still as fit as you were back then."

Betty buries her face in Jamie's hair. Jamie feels the laughter rumble through the other woman's chest at the comment. "Really? Those are your first words after everything?"

"I can't help it, when you look like this."

"You're not so bad yourself."

Jamie looks up at Betty incredulously, "I'm sexy as hell."

"Hmm... I mean, you're attractive, sure. 'Sexy as hell', may be a touch too far."

"Oh, yeah?" Jamie smiles up at her as she moves her hand down Betty's abdomen. "Let me show you a touch too far."

Being with Betty makes Jamie feel like she's 17 again. All the years away from the girl did nothing to quell her desire to be as close to her as humanly possible. Somehow it was like a part of Jamie's heart had finally found its place again. It was a part that she thought had long been lost and she had resigned herself to the fact that the puzzle would sit there in her chest missing that one piece forever.

Maybe she didn't know much back when they were kids, but she knew one thing that would always ring true: Betty Davis is, has always been, and will always be her person.

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stonebreakerseries · 4 years ago

Text

Day 4: Ambush + “That didn’t stop you before”

Another piece for @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, also incorporating the Day 4 #Fictober20 prompt.

Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction) Characters: Delver & Sylda Warnings: Language

____________________________

Where in the Divider’s name could she have run off to?

Muttering darkly, Delver peered down another alley, shook his head, and continued onward, boots scuffing against the dust and grit that coated Yelen’s streets. When he’d left Sylda, she’d been half-dead at best, barely able to move, her body a mess of hastily bandaged injuries and deeper, less visible pains. It wasn’t that he blamed her for taking off the second his back was turned; all things considered, it was fair enough. Waking up to a complete stranger eating soup beside her bed - especially a man from the Allied Kingdoms - would be alarming at the best of times. But particularly for a young woman who had spent her previous waking moments hanging by the neck in the gallows courtyard. How she had managed to get out of bed, yet alone sneak out the second storey window, was nothing short of baffling.

Or it would have been, if he hadn’t already witnessed her do far stranger things.

Whoever she was - whatever she was - he needed to find her. Apparently, convincing her to uproot her entire life and travel the length of the continent alone with him was going to be difficult.

Who knew.

Alleys and side streets drifted past as Delver continued his nighttime hunt, the middle moon, Rhana, kind enough to bathe the streets in her pale blue glow. Part of Delver knew what he was doing was foolish. His innkeeper, after some creative haggling that left Delver short an iron drem and his belt knife, had offered vague directions towards a section of the city infamous for housing thieves and cutthroats. Apparently, it was an area civilians knew to avoid, especially after dark. Which just happened to be the exact place a runaway thief like Sylda was likely to go.

Of course, that meant Delver had to follow, and despite it being a well-lit evening, he couldn’t keep his gaze from snapping towards every faint movement in the corner of his vision. This particular tangle of streets would make the perfect site for an ambush.

It was going to be a long night.

What if she’d collapsed in an alley, somewhere? Divider, he hoped not. Burnout was a severe risk among thaumists - even highly trained ones. If she pushed herself too hard too soon, it could be enough to succeed where the gallows had failed.

After his wanderings along the main road bore no fruit, Delver sucked in a breath, shoved aside his self-preservation instinct, and began to search the side streets. The even narrower alleys, swathed in a near impenetrable darkness, could wait until he was truly desperate.

Of course, as he was quick to discover, even the side streets held their dangers.

“Well, what’ve we got here? You’re a long way from home.”

Delver came to a sharp halt as a voice carried up the street behind him. Turning, he found himself approached by two figures, one as tall as he was, the other about a half-head shorter. They ambled almost casually, which seemed an odd tactic for a robbery. Or a murder. That or he posed so little threat that they were happy to take things slow.

How thoughtful.

“Easy,” Delver said, swapping to the local dialect, hoping its might earn him some kind of favour. He raised his hands, proving he was unarmed, although he doubted it made much difference. “I’m looking for a friend, not for trouble,”

As expected, the tall one snorted. “Right.” He gestured to his partner. “He your friend?”

Delver blinked. “No?”

“What about me?”

“Ah, no.”

“Well...” The shorter one smiled and drew a knife from his belt. “Then I guess you’ve got trouble.”

Great. Thieves and fucking comedians to boot. He must truly be the unluckiest man alive.

Sighing, Delver lowered his hands. “I guess I do.” He made a show of stretching his back, using the movement to quickly scan the nearby alleys. There didn’t seem to be any more movement. The two of them must have been running as a pair, probably on the way back from an unsuccessful hunt somewhere else in the city. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to just leave me alone?”

The tall one shrugged. “You could try. Most folks do.”

“I take it that didn’t stop you before?”

“Nope.”

Delver sniffed. “Fair enough.” He went to put his hands in his pockets, only to find a second knife being thrust menacingly towards him. Jaw tight, he froze, then returned his hands to their former position. “Listen - I’m only here because I’m looking for a woman.”

“Yeah? Ain’t we all.”

“No, not like… her name is Syldana.”

There was a pause. The pair shared a glance, brows raised, their knives still raised threateningly. “Hey, wait,” said the taller one slowly. His dark gaze drifted back to Delver. “You the one that bought her off the rope?”

Realistically, telling the truth could go one of two ways. Luckily, Delver had always been a gambling man. “I am,” he replied, raising his chin, doing his best to look more important than he was.

Again, the two shared a look. Then, the smaller one grinned, crooked teeth flashing.

“Well, you’ve got more coin than brains, dontcha?”

Exhaling, Delver closed his eyes. Of course it went the wrong way.

The taller one stepped forward this time, boots crunching, advancing until he was almost within arm’s reach. “It’s our lucky day, Raoul. C’mon. Let’s clean his pockets.”

Well, there was no helping it. Shoulders stiff, hands still raised, Delver waited as the man started patting down his sides, hunting for hidden pockets, jewellery, treasures sewn into the lining. His knife hovered menacingly by Delver’s throat at first, so close that when he swallowed, he could feel the steel brushing against his skin. But the man was distracted, busy running a rough hand down the side of Delver’s leg. The knife wavered… pressed closer for a moment… started to dip away…

The second he had an opening, Delver swung, cracking the man across the temple with his elbow. He went down with a shocked yelp, red dust springing up around him. The knife skidded from his hand, but Delver was already moving, dancing out of his reach and away from his partner, who appeared to still be processing what had just happened.

“Krom!” the short one cried eventually, then turned a hateful glare on Delver. “You bastard - get back here!”

“Alright, alright. Just take it easy.” Delver continued retreating, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. Reaching back, he slid a wooden rod from his waistband, its twelve inch length concealed beneath his loose shirt. Just as well Krom hadn’t gotten too handsy, or he would have easily found it. With a jerk of the wrist, Delver extended the weapon to the side, doubling its length, then twisted to lock it in place. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Krom was already getting to his feet and Raoul had seemingly regained his addled wits. “How about we all just walk away?” Delver pressed, eyes flicking between the pair. “No one has to get hurt.”

Their response was simple enough.

Grunting, Delver ducked to the side, the sound of Raoul’s dagger whipping past his ear barely registering as he swung the rod, striking the shorter man across the back. The thief grunted, the momentum of his overeager lunge sending him stumbling past, buying Delver a few seconds to plan his next move.

Or it would have, if there weren’t two of them.

A low grunt gave Krom away, but only barely. Heart lurching, Delver whipped around, his movement unnaturally fast. As he spun, something inside him burned away, the sensation sending a shiver of discomfort racing through his body. Still, he managed to slap Krom’s fist aside and follow through, ramming the end of the rod into his gut. It’s been too long since I did this, Delver thought, breathing hard, hands trembling slightly as he backed away from his assailants. He’d grown too reliant on the anchor fastened to his wrist; too willing to use its reserve of thaumic essence than tap into his own. Now the disc was empty - possibly even broken. He was on his own.

The rod, handy though it was, wasn’t doing the damage he needed. Even with its unnaturally hardened wood, the two thieves just weren’t staying down. He was starting to think the obscene amount he paid for it in Tel Shival might have been a mistake. However, before Delver had time to dwell on his poor financial decisions, he found himself accosted once more.

One knife, one fist, two angry men. Delver wasn’t a fighter. Not really. As Krom swung a punch at his stomach, Raoul darted forward, slashing at him from the side. He could only hope to stop one of them, so he swung the rod towards the dagger, barely catching it before it sunk into his shoulder. That left him open to Krom, and he acted on sheer reflex. Concentrating, sucking in a breath, Delver reached for the hum that resonated inside his body. Then, without the time or practice necessary for any finesse, he dragged it all to one spot at the center of his torso.

Krom’s fist connected.

And the bones in his hand shattered.

The man’s scream was enough to curdle Delver’s blood. Cradling his hand, at least three fingers bent at jarringly unnatural angles, Krom stumbled away, tears pricking his eyes, a string of panicked curses bubbling from his lips. “Y-Y-You! You rat-bloody-bastard!” He groaned loudly, sounding almost nauseous as he curled over his ruined hand. “K-King’s eyes as m... my fucking witness... I’ll kill you!”

Normally, Delver would have had a snarky remark for that. You’ll have to catch me first. Tell The Errant King I said hello. Try aiming a little higher next time. But instead, he found himself also staggering, heart pounding, head spinning. Almost immediately after Krom’s fist connected with his stomach, the area briefly hard enough to rival stone, Delver had lost his concentration. What remained of his essence suddenly dispersed, like a cloud collapsing under its own weight into a fine mist. He could barely feel its hum now. It was weak. Very weak.

I need to get out of here.

Sweating, Delver backpedaled, stumbled on a broken cobble, and barely caught himself against a nearby wall. His arms were shaking something terrible, the rod in his grasp wavering laughably as he brandished it between himself and the advancing Raoul. “Last chance,” he rasped, blinking, fighting to clear his vision. And to think he’d been worried about Sylda pushing herself too hard. Divider’s Own, he was a fool. If he burned out now, that was it. He was a dead man.

“Y-You’re one of those freaks,” Raoul spat. He was shaking too, although for a very different reason. “A fucking aberration's what you are!”

On a regular day, Delver would have been impressed that Raoul even knew such a long word. But as it was, he could barely keep his feet under him, familiar shivers starting to tingle across his skin. That damn girl, he thought, an irrational anger washing over him as his remaining attacker warily advanced. She just couldn’t stay put for one night. Couldn’t even do me that one fucking favour after I---

“Raoul - stop!”

Suddenly, there was another body in front of him. Short. Brown haired. Familiar.

Delver stared, speechless. He must be dreaming. Or dead. Or both.

With a knife in each hand, Sylda jabbed one towards Raoul, who had halted mid-step, eyes wide. She was still injured, the bandages around her wrists, stomach, and throat all stained brown from old blood.

But she was there. Awake. Alive.

“Enough,” Sylda continued, her voice surprisingly firm. Far stronger than it had been just a few hours ago. “He’s with me.”

“Ahh…” Raoul glanced back at Krom, who was clearly the leader of the pair. Unfortunately, he found him barely conscious, slumped against the wall of a boarded up building. No help there. Slowly, he turned back to reassess the situation for himself. An aberration and a miracle, both apparently on the same side.

What would he do...

“He’s your friend, is he Sylda?” Clearing his throat, Raoul’s eyes flicked to Delver. “Why, ah… why didn’t you say so?”

Delver blinked. He almost argued, then realised that this was his way out.

“Must’ve slipped my mind.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Sorry?”

Huffing, Raoul rolled his eyes. Despite his over-performance, it was no small relief when he sheathed his knife and took a step away. “Gotta keep a better eye on your friends, girl. Nearly killed this one. He doesn’t belong here.”

Sylda just nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.” There was a pause. “Uh… what happened to Krom?”

The man in question had started whimpering, rocking slightly, hand curled against his chest.

“He punched a wall,” Delver said hurriedly, then shot a meaningful look at Raoul. The other man, clearly looking for someone to follow, nodded.

“Oh, yeah. Got a mean temper, he does. Really shouldn’t let it get the better of him like this.”

Sylda glanced back, and Delver nodded sagely.

While it was pretty obvious that Sylda wasn’t buying their composite lie, it didn’t really matter. Sighing, she lowered her blades and shook her head. “Fine. You’d better get him back to the nest. Davros has been asking about you two.”

Raoul stiffened. “He has? Did he say...”

Dizzy and about one sharp turn away from throwing up on his shoes, Delver let the rest of the conversation wash past him, focusing on his breathing, willing his body to comply. With the threat apparently over, he twisted the rod, the two halves sliding back into themselves. By the time he’d managed to stow it away again, Raoul and Krom were already limping away down one of the nearby alleys, their forms vanishing into the heavy dark.

“You’ve...” Delver coughed, throat painfully dry. Another fun side-effect. “You’ve got some timing.”

Sylda just exhaled, clearly as relieved as he was. She turned, regarding him for a moment; his clammy skin, his shaking hands, his over-reliance on the wall. Then she reached up, fingertips brushing over the bandage he’d wrapped carefully around her neck earlier that day. As she did, her expression softened.

“Guess I could say the same about you, huh?” Slowly, she moved closer, concern tinging her round face. “Are you okay?”

Delver grunted, offering a conciliatory nod. As much as he’d been cursing her just a few moments ago, he had to admit, she had practically saved his life. Which meant…

“I suppose this makes us even.” Delver chuckled weakly, tipping his head back against the crumbling stone, closing his eyes. Just for a moment. “A life for a life. Pretty fair trade, if you ask me.”

Sylda hummed, and the pair lapsed into a strange, heavy silence. They both knew it wasn’t the same. Not really. What Delver had done - reckless and archaic and irrational - went a little beyond intervening in an alleyway brawl. When he’d saved her life, she’d been a stranger. A murderer hanging for her crime before a crowd of thousands.

But, as it turned out, they were both willing to ignore that fact. At least for now.

“Come on,” Sylda said softly, her voice coaxing Delver’s eyes to open once more. Blurry at the edges, she held out her arm - an offer of support. It was a gesture of peace, even if only temporary. “We’d better get out of here. I’ve... got some questions.”

Nodding, pulling in one last steadying breath, Delver didn’t even have to swallow his pride for once. He just accepted the offer.

#oc tober #oc-tober #fictober20 #stonebreakerseries #day 4 #delver #sylda #prompt #delver prompt #sylda prompt #other location #yelen #delver writing #sylda writing

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aesthyuckic · 5 years ago

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AVENOIR | l.dh - UNUS

(gif not mine - credits to rightful owner)

Genre: High School AU (at beginning) ; Tarot Reader!Witch!Hyuck

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: (for future chapters will bold if in use) belief contradictions, mentions of r*pe, blood, swearing, violence, mentions of abuse, slow but with a purpose

Pairings: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan) x Reader (F)

IX OF WANDS IN REVERSE - exhaustion, fatigue, reaching burnout

Lee Donghyuck, better known as Haechan Lee by everyone at Nova high school, was a popular junior that everyone loved. He was in the art program for choir and rock band. He was one of the top basketball players on the high school’s team. He was handsome and charming, who wouldn’t love him? Though his grades weren't too hot and he was on the verge of getting kicked off the basketball team for not meeting the required gpa to play sports. No one knew other than him and school staff which was a saving grace to his reputation.

Truth be told, he only joined the basketball team because he wanted to get out of physical education. He wasn't about to run ten laps a day for the rest of year. He tried to get into the dance part of the art program at school but was rejected after he audition. They preferred the girls. At most, there were two guys in each level every year. Apparently, those spots were filled already so he decided to do basketball and tennis to avoid the high school physical education class ever again. So here he sat, in front of the basketball coach in his red uniform. He wasn’t paying attention much either as he sat in the chair, uncomfortably, with his arms crossed while he looked at the gray concrete below him with a frown.

"Please just try to get Biology or Algebra up a letter grade so I can keep you on the team." The coach sighed. "It seems like you won't be able to get to college by the look of your current grades. Try to pass high school, at least."

His head snapped up with his coach’s words. He sounded like one of the counselors and Donghyuck hated that. He had speech before, many times, every year, every few months. The boy had managed to put on a sickingly sweet fake smile in that moment, “I’ll try my best.”

He exited the coach's office and went to change in the lockroom since he was excused from practice until further notice. He cussed under his breath as he looked at the grades on his phone while walking out of the locker room, frustrated. Most of his classes were as good as they could be in his standards. He failed Algebra and Biology every year which pouted at.

He slid his phone back into his jean pocket with a sigh. He felt stuck and unable to go any further. He didn't have time to do homework or even school these days. He felt so burned out at the age of seventeen but what else would a junior like him feel when he had so much to do in such a little timeframe? He knew this year was important for colleges but it seemed it had already gone down the drain. At this point, he considered dropping out next year.

The next day at lunch, he went around school asking teachers for extra credit even though he knew full well he didn’t have time to do any of it. When he went to his math class he found the door locked and saw that no one was there through the tinted windows so off he went to his biology class. Once he had step foot into the room, he was hit with freezing air. It was already cold outside with winter just around the corner. The room still always managed to be freezing though. It was also too eerily silence for the amount of people in there who were scattered around the room. He ignored that fact and apporched his teacher’s desk.

“Hey, Ms. Nelson...” His whispered, trying to keep the awkward stillness. “Is there anyway, I don’t know, that i can get my grade up in this class before the semester ends in a few weeks?”

“Well,” She started. “Haechan-“

“Donghyuck is fine.” He interrupted, knowing most of his classmates called him Haechan.

“Okay, Donghyuck, you could do test corrections with the last test... I don't have any extra credit right now so I'll let you know when I do have that. Its alsp very clear you don't understand the subject so I can help you during lunch or class but you have to avocate for yourself and communicate.”

“Oh, no that would work.” He shook his head

“And why not?”

“Whenever I get help from a teacher, I end up arguing with them. A lot of those teachers hate me now... Anyway, I rather have you not hate me.”

She sighed at his comment to suppress her chuckle, “Would you like to work with another student then?”

“Yes,” He nodded, small strands of his hair softly bouncing with his movement. “They are easier to argue with.”

She rolled her eyes at his words before she called out to someone, “Hey, Cosimia.”

Donghyuck turned around to see who his teacher was calling over. There was a girl that sat at the very back against the rough, white bricked wall. He knew her, not by her name but rather her title. She had multiple title but the ‘weird freshmen’ was the simplest to call her. She barely spoke to anyone but the teachers, when she did speak to her classmates and she apparently said things that sounded off and creepy, like she was a stalker or threatening them almost. He was never truly sure the accusations were true, they could’ve been rumors but that still didn’t stop him from bad mouthing her along with the rest of the students whenever she wasn’t around.

She typed away on her cheap, school provided, computer while she had her earbuds in. It seemed like you could hear faint indie music from them in the silent classroom. Her eyes were wide with dark eyebags that laid under them. Her long hair draped around her in soft looking waves. The color resembled that of a redwood tree’s. She finally pulled an earbud out to make sure she heard the teacher call her.

“Me?” The girl asked, he had never heard her voice despite being in the same Biology class with her since the beginning of the year.

The teacher nodded.

She was quick to get out of her chair and follow the authority figure’s wish, rather obediently he might add. It seemed like she treated it like her life depended on it. From what little information that he knew about her, it could’ve also just be her being the teacher’s pet but for some reason, he felt it was something else...

Even though he hadn’t talked to Cosimia the entire year, little things he noticed about her cane to his mind. She always finished her projects early and Ms. Nelson gave her candy for it, no matter how childish that sounds. She also always managed to get first place in the Kahoots they played occasionally as well. No doubt she was smart and the closer she got to him, the less he dreaded the thought of having to work with her.

When she came to stand beside Donghyuck, he noticed she didn’t seem happy, not fine either. She looked tired, not just physically but emotionally and the split moment he caught her eyes, he felt overwhelmed. He saw so many emotions, felt so many when he looked into her eyes. Sadness and fatigue seemed to be the most prominent he could see and feel. She wore muted colors that contrast compared to her rather colorful hair. Her clothing was too big for her body in the way that it covered up everything she had to hide underneath. He was quick to see a sickening yellow color that surrounded a deep purple in the crook of her neck from he stood. It could’ve been a hickey, which was none of his business but somehow he felt it wasn’t that.

She caught him staring at it, locking eyes with him once again for a second as she pulled her oversized gray sweatshirt up to cover it. It overwhelmed him again to look her straight in the eyes, he seemed to be able to see more each time.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to help Donghyuck with Bio?” Ms. Nelson asked.

“Probably,” Cosimia shrugged.

"She is one of the best in all my classes, she should be able to help you." The teacher turned to the boy. "You guys should talk about when you should get together and everything so I'll let you get to it."

By the time his Biology teacher stopped talking, the girl had disappeared from his side. He found her back in the corner, packing up her things. She was also quick to sling her backpack over her shoulder and flee the classroom which left him to run after her. He had no idea how to approach her, it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with him. He came to stand in front of her after he stopped chasing her.

“Are you available at lunch?” She asked, calmly and oddly enough with how she ran off.

“That’s the only time I get with my friends.” He shook his head. “What about after school? Your house?”

“I’m not allowed to have people at my house.” She moved passed him to continue down the hall.

He huffed out of fustration as he had to catch up to her again. He was so confused as to why she had to make things difficult. She wasn’t creepy, just straight up frustrating and a mystery. Then again, why was he so hell bent on her tutoring him? There’s always other people.

“Okay, my place I guess?” He suggested.

“I’m not allowed to go to other people’s houses either.” She said.

“Library?” He questioned with an annoyed expression.

“I can’t, I’m suppose to go straight home after school. All I have is what’s available during school hours which is third period with you and lunch. That’s it.”

She pushed passed him, in a hurry. He watched her continue down the hall. Her hair flowed out from behind her, when the sun hit it just right it looked like fire, tailing behind her. Judging by what she said to him, she had no place to be. Some thing was off about Cosimia and her life, the things she said, wasn’t normal. Everyone knew her by her title and not her name just for that. Donghyuck didn’t see her as weird anymore, she seemed more scared by what he saw in her eyes only minutes ago. The only thing weird, possibly dangerous about her to him was the way she living even if he didn’t know most of it...

#hyuck #hyuckie #lee dong hyuck #nct hyuck #haechan fanfic #haechan fanfiction #haechan fic #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck au #haechan au #donghyuck imagines #haechan imagines #donghyuck drabbles #haechan drabbles #haechan x reader #avenoir #witch!hyuck

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mariosomething · 5 years ago

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MISTAKES I MADE AS A COMIC OR NOTICED AS A BOOKER...

(NOTE: Never say never, but I can’t imagine getting back on stage again. However, now that comedy is returning to clubs--and potentially booming here in Austin--I think this is worth repeating. Especially #15. Enjoy!)

So, I might be hopping on stage again for my own, personal reasons. Number one being distraction from the crushing loneliness that comes with self-employment. Woo! On the first page of my newly-purchased comedy notebook, I started making a list of things I don’t want to do this time around. The comic I don’t want to be, should I continue performing. Getting in my own way with unfounded beliefs about my abilities or lack thereof. I will—NO DOUBT—repeat some of the following blunders out of muscle memory, and if you catch me doing so, by all means, call me out! In no particular order:

1- Worrying about who’s heard this bit before. One cure for this is to never stop writing new stuff. Also, it’s the JOB of a comedian to repeat the same shit with the same zeal and sincerity for different crowds…crowds that probably don’t attend comedy shows as often as we perform on them.

2- Worrying about making the comics laugh. This is still the hallmark of a great comic to me…the person we’ve all seen before but stop the chit-chat when they get on stage. It’s the opposite of a “crowd-pleaser.” In a perfect world, I can please both—as some do—but ultimately, we don’t get paid to make the back of the room laugh. If I’m building a half-hour, those comics may ‘check out’ during my set, and that’s to be expected. If I concern myself with their approval, I’m ignoring the audience, and by extension, disrespecting them. THEY bought a ticket. They deserve my best attempt.

3- Starting your act with a risky joke. Are there exceptions for these “rules” of mine? Absolutely. But they are just that…exceptions. This one always drove me nuts when I ran the Velv. Especially when the rest of one’s act is relatively benign! Would you lead with your “crazy” on a first date? Talk about all of your flaws on a job interview? Or with music you like…if I wanted to get you into Tom Waits, I’m not gonna recommend The Black Rider—an album only die-hard fans might appreciate. I’d start with something accessible, like Small Change or Rain Dogs. Get them on your side first with your palatable stuff, then give ‘em what you want. (Now go listen to Tom Waits’ Small Change and Rain Dogs.)

4- Worrying about looking stupid. This is the big one for me. Even though I KNOW the audience WANTS us to look foolish; even while I KNOW they want us to be both vulnerable and confident about it, I have a crippling fear of embarrassment. And this is NOT a good quality for any comedian. I learned that words account for only 7% of communication. The rest is body language, facial expressions and tone. I’ve always hidden behind my words, and have given up on bits that require me to be more animated. So dumb. Which leads me to…

5- Not doing enough ‘act-outs’ in bits. When I watch amazing comedians, they all have this in common. They perform or act-out dialogue. More show than tell. They don’t just recite jokes or one-liners. Even Steven & Mitch & Todd do/did act-outs in their own, low-energy styles. When you start looking for them, they’re everywhere. So much rolling, sustained laughter derives from act-outs. They don’t have to be BIG, they just have to be well-delivered.

6- Writing what I think they might like, not what I like. Another big ‘duh’ but worth repeating. I fell in this trap on the road. I was lovingly told to “write a dick joke already!” when I was a new, quasi-clever comic. And man alive, did I ever make up for it! Some may have had a fake nose and mustache, but they were dick jokes nonetheless, and I wasn’t proud. But they got laughs, and more laughs meant better comment cards, which meant return visits. Awesome way to remain a road comic…shitty way to evolve or get industry to pay attention. It’s also a fast track to burnout. If you’re not doing stuff you like, resentment builds and ambition wanes.

7- Not having goals. A new, tight 10 minutes is my goal today. If that goes well, a new 30. Then maybe an album. When I DID have things to strive for, they “magically” happened. I kept comedy goal lists on my wall, and most came to fruition. Then I got in my head and stopped making those lists. The more I was learning about the biz, the more inadequate I felt. I stopped writing, stopped going to mics and eventually stopped touring. With no new goals, I lost steam and confidence. I was a competent middle, but a spotty headliner…THAT is my ceiling for now. I’d love to be a rock-solid, reliable closer with at least one killer album to show for it. It’s feasible, but I need to start with that initial aim of a new, polished, consistent 10 minutes that I like.

8- Not watching more pros. Something that baffles me about so many new comics. You have the option to catch A-list comedians for FREE at Cap City, your home club, etc…why would you not take advantage? You learn by watching pros, even if it’s what NOT to do. Or what’s being done to death. You can learn structure, pacing, opening and closing. I used to watch comics I knew I wouldn’t like, but came away with respect for how they did things. People forget or don’t know that the late, great Bill Hicks used to be a clean-ish, set-up/punch kinda comedian. He learned the rules so he can break them effectively. Even at his viscous best, he was still super-polished. It’s respect for the craft, dammit. All of your heroes have it.

9- Getting jealous of your friends’ progress. There is sooo much leap-frogging in this business, there’s no need to denigrate yourself for not keeping pace with a peer. “Comedy is the closest thing there is to justice,” according to Colin Quinn, and I 100% agree. If you’re funny, consistently funny, you will get work. Period. When producers run and book shows, they want reliability more than anything. There is no island of misfit-but-actually-brillant comedians out there, waiting to be discovered. Funny gets noticed by EVERYbody. If you’re not getting booked, start looking inward. Seriously. When Cap City demoted me from headliner, I didn’t fight it. I thought they were right to do so because I knew my 50 minutes was about 15 shy of reliable material. Challenge your beliefs about your own act. Maybe you’re better than you think, but maybe it’s just the opposite. It’s worth asking, “What am I doing wrong?” if you’re having trouble getting past open mics. Maybe you are indeed funny, but still too green or inconsistent. Maybe you had a bad showcase set and your friend killed. Your friend may get Montreal before you, but you might get a manager first. You just don’t know! Keep plugging away, because there’s too much out of your control.

10- Not being humble. Jeezus H. Christmas, where did all of this unearned confidence come from?? Not only will I never relate to this, I will continue to chastise and scoff at it. Don’t assume your shit is crushed fruit, especially when you’re new. Don’t trash talk other comics, it WILL bite you in the ass eventually. Or immediately in some cases. Don’t think you’re immediately entitled to the same things that other comics took years to obtain or achieve. There is always something to learn, even from people you disagree with…it’s the definition of being open-minded. There are comics I detest personally, but goddamn if they aren’t great performers/writers. And I’ll probably get push-back for this, but I never called myself a “comedian” until I was able to quit my day job. Until that happened, I was just a dude who “did comedy.” I wanted to earn that title, don’t you?? Skip the business cards and build your act.

11- Not taking chances on stage. I’ve heard from too many comedians that if you’re always killing up there, you’re not taking chances. When I booked a room, I wanted to reward comics who tried new stuff every open mic, or was tweaking it. If a comic kept going up with well-worn bits, I ignored them for a few weeks or longer, even if they got laughs. It’s open mic, the point is to experiment! When I worked the road, I stopped doing mics when I was back in town. Big mistake. I was afraid to try untested jokes in clubs on the road, and too lazy or complacent to take chances at open mics. I stunted my own growth.

12- All agenda, no punchlines. I remember watching a well-known comic in NY struggle with Jesus jokes. He could NOT have been in a more welcoming arena for such, but he wasn’t funny, just angry. So he said, “Oh, I guess you guys don’t like religious jokes,” To which my friend replied, “We do! We keep waiting for one.” I think comedians can be the most insightful people on the planet, and the great ones don’t berate, they put funny first. It just makes sense! If you really really really want your message to be heard, then it’s in your best interest to make it funny. Funny cuts through. Or maybe you just wanna use the stage as a soapbox, in which case, quit comedy.

13- Not presenting both sides. I once told an established headliner he couldn’t return to the Velv, despite the numbers. In fairness to us, it was Valentine’s Day weekend, we were packed anyway. He never gave me a chance to explain why, but here’s why: he was too angry about women and wasn’t self-deprecating enough to balance it out. Conversely, I had a female comedian come through a couple of times, and the bulk of her act is male-bashing, BUT, it’s tight and well-crafted and funny as shit…AND she sprinkles in enough self-effacing humor so as not to divide the crowd. If the guy I banned was her parallel, I would’ve re-booked him. But I’m a freak about balance. While I don’t believe ANY person or group of people is above criticism, you can’t just point fingers at others while patting yourself on the back.

14 - Not putting more of ‘me’ in my act. Trends are fun as a reference, but full bits built around them have a tiny shelf life. It’s fluff and filler at best. Relationships will never be hacky. Aging will never get old. Folks! We all have specific quirks or approaches to life in general, why not explore those approaches? That’s when a ‘comic’ graduates to ‘comedian.’ When they stop saying funny things and start saying things funny. Not my line, but damn accurate.**

15- Knee-jerk hating and never asking WHY? Okay, this one’s a personal lament. When I found comedy, I found harmony. Anyone funny was welcome. I didn’t see us as men or women or gay or straight or black or white, we were comics, and I fucking loved it. We were equals from every walk of life, and no jerks allowed! I found a circle of curious, liberal-minded pals who were always asking why. Friends who would call out each other’s bullshit or hypocrisy or bad bits, then laugh about it at Mugshots. Friends who preferred brutal truth over blowing smoke. It was bliss for someone who values sincere feedback and funny, earnest people. Comedians we respect and adore are always challenging norms of behavior and tradition. Pryor, Chapelle, Carlin, Rock, of course, but even Larry David, who’s the king of offending people by rejecting small, societal niceties.

I’m starting to see too much division and moral cowardice in comedy--on and off stage--and this is antithesis to its value, in my opinion. Everything I hated about high school. Cliques and whispers and spiteful exclusion. I will echo what I wrote earlier: NOBODY IS ABOVE CRITICISM. This is the salty to the sweet of “Everyone welcome.” Comedy is a LOT of failing, tons of real-time rejection, and that SUCKS. But if you think it has anything to do with anything but your act, you’re not asking Why. It’s easier to say, “Well, it’s clearly ‘cos I’m ________.” Really? Maybe it’s ‘cos you’re not funny, or not funny YET. Maybe it’s because you haven’t written a new joke in months, or refuse to change the ones that never work. Maybe you think there are no rules to comedy, and you can just get up there and people will love you because so-and-so does it that way. Maybe you don’t have so-and-so’s natural talent or likability. Or work ethic. Or self-awareness. If your first response is to blame a crowd, a booker, society, or whatever, ask yourself: are there successful comics who look like me? Why them and not me? What are they doing differently? My first guess is: they’re addicted to the craft so they keep their head down and write and tweak and fail and ask why and learn from mistakes. Stop complaining and start paying attention. At the end of the day, you and you alone are responsible for your career. If you believe women aren’t funny, I pity your ignorance and sheltered life. If you think men have it easier, tell that to the thousands of male comics who go nowhere in this business.

Maybe I’m an idealist hippy dippy doofus, but I believe that what we admire about others is pretty universal stuff. Regarding comedy, we all like someone who’s fearless on stage. Confident but not cocky. Capable. Quick. Genuine. Someone who keeps writing and honing their act. Someone who connects with people. Someone who comes back once a year with 30 new minutes. Someone who plows forward, not consumed with the opinions of others. Are these gender or race-specific qualities?? Hardly. And when you’re a top shelf, A-list comedian who’s paid their dues, it’s all preference at that level. It’s Gin vs. Vodka vs. Bourbon vs. Tequila, no one is “better” than the next. Maria Bamford is Bill Burr is Dave Chapelle is Carrot Top. They’re all pros who never stop working.

I’ll leave you with this…Comedy is a powerful and special thing, and I’ve always been crazy-grateful to be part of this tiny, uniquely rewarding world. Even if this experiment crumbles after a few months, even if I can’t vanquish some personal demons, it’s been a pursuit I’ve yet to regret. If you’re just starting out, or five years in, or going on the road, relish every minute. Meet all the people. Make all the friends. Get over your fears, get over yourself and get better. xoxo mario

**This is how I first heard it. Comic/comedian or vice versa. You get it. Though I personally feel that “comedian” sounds more like an official title, while you can’t spell “comic” without “mic.” Just sayin’ is all.

#standupcomedy #comedy

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dendrite-blues · 6 years ago

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The Pace Gremlin

My writing pace is something of a personal gremlin.

Most days it doesn't bother me. I'm proud of the work I do. I put deep thought into every line.

When I hand it off I have zero anxiety about the feedback, because no one could ever pick it apart as thoroughly as I have.

I beta for opinions, not quality. To have someone else check my character's logic (they have a tendency to make snap decisions without explaining themselves adequately) and to find my infamous typos. By the time others read it, my prose is already at my current personal best. If it wasn't, I would still be writing it.

But when something brings me down emotionally, the pace gremlin is always right behind. Vulnerability has a pheromone that insecurity can't resist. It smells your self doubt and comes running.

I'm sure everyone has their own personal wounds. I'm sure lots of people struggle with the "I'm not creative" demon, the "I never finish anything" demon, the "someone else already did it better" demon. All valid. But not what I struggle with in writing. (Art is different but that's another post.)

The trouble with the pace gremlin is, everybody has a magic trick to "fix" slowness. I've read them all. Good advice, if speed is beneficial to you. I'm sure some people feel very good about a fat word count, and for them such advice is probably a life saver. A few common points in these advice posts:

1) Stop procrastinating. Make a schedule and stick to it. Write everyday.

I'm sure this works if you happen to have fully developed ideas on a schedule. I don't. I need time to gather my thoughts. I burnout, I get stuck, I mope because I'm a bit melodramatic about being stuck. But if you do have endless ideas and energy that never end up on the page, it's solid advice.

2) Stop editing while you write. Force yourself to write without stopping. Time yourself. Don't ever stop to research. Don't ever stop, period, until you've reached your word count.

Because a word count is the end all be all, right? Never mind prose, diction, attempts at originality and style.

People love to blog about this point because there are so many apps to cure it. It makes for good top ten lists, which always get more hits than actual content.

Advise blogs will tell you to turn your monitor off so you can't see what you wrote. They will tell you to put a coin under your backspace so you can't even press it. They will recommend you apps that track your output, apps that mimic typewriters, apps that block your internet usage, apps that punish you for failing. (shudder)

I don't see how any of this promotes quality writing, personally. I don't agree that all writing is good writing. I think of you input half baked crap you get out half baked crap. Who cares if you cover it in buttercream, it's still got raw eggs in it.

I don't buy that it's a bad thing to stop and rearrange the structure of a sentence, to find the exact right word, to question if there's a better way to reveal this plot point. I don't think word counts should be the goal.

3) Let go of perfectionism, "all first drafts are shitty."

Again, I understand that this is important advice for people who are paralyzed by self doubt. The compulsion to rewrite continuously and never progess is strong for some. But there's a difference between finessing and fixating. This advise shouldn't be taken as gospel.

Perfectionism is not an addiction, and it's not something I can quit. It is ingrained in how I evaluate myself. In preschool I arranged my Legos by color. I was literally born this way. Its not going away now.

If I make crap, I feel like a crappy writer. Which makes me hate the crap I made, which discourages me from writing more. Rushing to write crap is the fastest way to sabotage myself, I have learned. (Painfully.)

If someone is genuinely struggling with perfectionism, this is THE WORST advise you could possibly give them. Perfectionists need to feel confident in what they do. They need to produce good results. No, the first draft is never going to be perfect. But it can be good. It can even be great. And the feeling of writing something great can fuel my motivation for weeks.

Which is not to say that it's okay to indulge in endless editing loops. There's a limit. But it's also not okay for me to "write crap and fix it in revision."

I can't polish an paragraph if the paragraph is incoherent, if it has no unique qualities, if its just a meandering line of words I regurgitated to meet a quota. When I come back to edit I will just delete it and rewrite... In which case I'm actually spending more time than if I just wrote it slowly to begin with.

Which brings me to my real point:

There's nothing wrong with slow.

When people talk about slow, all of these other accusations are automatically made. Because it must be that there is something wrong, we are capable of zooming if only we weren't stunted by some hidden inefficiency that prevents us from joining the fast fiction master race.

Nonsense. I'm not slow because I edit too much, or because I don't know what my story is about, or because I lack discipline. I am capable, if given something to copy, of typing 60 words per minute. But I can't think at 60 words per minute.

(In fact, according to my sprinting stats, I think at about 10 words per minute...14 if I'm rushing. Please, hold your applause. Haha)

I'm a slow writer...because I'm a slow thinker. I don't "waste" time spinning my wheels on stuff that doesn't matter. I don't need an app to trick me into being productive. I just need time to think.

When I don't give that to myself... When the pace gremlin catches me unable to defend my insecurities...I make crap. I feel crappy. I convince myself I am the problem and I would already be published if only I let myself write "crappy drafts." If I wasn't held back by my toxic "perfectionism."

Enough. I'll always be slow. Its not a condition, it's the way my brain works. As far as I know, there's no cure for being a tortoise.

And that's fine. In my right mind I am proud of my pace. I take pride in considering every word in every line. I care about craft.

I find drafting sentences at a snail's pace satisfying. It's deliberate. It has gravitas. It's laced with complexities I hope others will detect and appreciate. And when I place my pages in stranger's hands, I know I have raised them with the ability to defend themselves. I have no fear.

I know I will still feel bad about it at some point. That's the nature of creative life. But now I have a post to remind myself why slow is okay. And I guess if anyone else had the same problems, then this post is here for you too. Don't get discouraged. Do it your way and make stories with meaning.

#writing #writing advice #advice meta #in defense of slow #slow writers #critical

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tsfanart · 7 years ago

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The Scarf

Some brainstorming sessions ended well. Others, not so much. And Virgil was the most likely of all of them to leave a meeting in a bad state of mind.

On one particularly bad day, Logan gave Virgil a simple but questioning look on their way out. Virgil shook his head, and Logan put an understanding hand on his shoulder. They rushed into Logan's room, and quickly closed the door. Logan knelt down and pulled out the pale green box that was hidden under his bed. He pulled out the needles and yarn, as well as the scarf that Virgil had been working on, and placed both in the latter's lap. Virgil didn't budge.

"Hey," Logan said gently. "You've got this. C'mon, you know how this works."

"H-hands," Virgil responded, holding up his trembling hands. Logan shook his head and guided Virgil into the right position, beginning the first couple stitches for him.

"See? There you go. You're fine."

But Virgil kept looking towards the door. "Roman could still come in here any minute," he hissed.

"The door is closed," Logan pointed out. "For all of Roman's flaws, I don't think he's the type to barge into a room that's closed."

Finally Virgil calmed down a bit, and before long he was back into the swing of things. Logan smiled, and got out his own project from his desk drawer.

"So, rough brainstorming session, huh?" Logan began after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah, it was," Virgil admitted. "It's just, how many new things can we possibly do? Almost every single episode has had something new in some way. Roman is just gonna push everyone towards burnout."

"I definitely get that," Logan replied. "But we're not the only ones who are doing the thinking. We have Joan, too. They're a perfect example of two heads being better than one."

"Yeah...that they are," Virgil admitted. "Fair enough. Thanks."

"Anytime!" Logan replied without looking up.

Two weeks later, it was thundering outside. Virgil sat on his bed and buried his head in his pillows, but he couldn't block out the sound, nor could he get rid of the sinking feeling in his stomach. After trying to take deep breaths for a few minutes, he finally gave up and went over to Logan's room.

When he got there, he found Logan standing outside his open door, the green box in hand.

"Oh, hello!" Logan said. "I was just about to invite you over. Come on in!"

Virgil smiled and ducked his head as the two went inside Logan's room. Logan shut the door behind them.

Virgil pulled out the scarf, now much longer, and tried to make the next few stitches. But they didn't look right, and the yarn just got tangled, and finally Virgil threw it on the bed in frustration. He sat down on the floor and covered his ears.

Logan glanced towards the window, and looked down at Virgil sympathetically. He got up and closed his curtains, and pulled out his phone. Turning the volume up all the way, he scrolled through all his music until he found some Mozart. He pressed play, and slowly Virgil uncovered his ears.

"I know it's not exactly MCR," Logan began, "but it might help you regain a sense of peace."

"No, no, I like it. Thanks." Virgil smiled and got up again, picking up the scarf from the bed. Now that the sound was blocked out, he was able to focus on untangling the yarn and getting back on track.

"I really like where I'm going with this," Virgil said after ten minutes or so of silence. He smiled up at Logan shyly.

Logan smiled back, looking up from his own scarf. "I do, too! You really do have a great eye for color."

Virgil tilted his head. "Really? You think? I...I didn't really think that was exactly my forte...if you catch my drift."

"Well, maybe he's rubbing off on you! You two really aren't as different as you think, you know."

Virgil frowned and looked towards the door. "Do you think he's--"

"I am about 95% sure that Roman is fast asleep right now, yes."

"But he has to know that something's up by now, doesn't he? I mean, what does he think we do in here all the time?"

Logan blushed a little, and Virgil snickered. "Okay, sorry, that came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that." The two erupted into nervous giggles, which, if anything, lightened the mood.

"But really though," Virgil said after they had calmed down, "He's got to find out sometime, right?"

"Well, would that necessarily be a bad thing?" Logan questioned him.

Virgil jumped back. "Um, yes, it would be! What, you want him to start making 'needling' jokes? Because you know he will." He threw the scarf down on the bed again.

Logan got up and put a hand on Virgil's shoulder. "Hey, just hear me out here, alright? Maybe it might not end well if he finds out by accident. But if you take it upon yourself to tell him, then you would have more control over the situation."

"What do you mean...?" Virgil asked warily.

Logan picked up the scarf from the bed again. "You know, now that I think of it, this scarf of yours is just about done. You want me to show you how to finish it?"

"Um, sure, I guess, but I don't see what that has to do with--"

"I think it would look great on Roman, in fact," Logan said as he tied it off. "If you're comfortable with that, of course," he added.

Virgil shrunk back a little. "No, you're right, I get what you're trying to say. I'm just not really crazy about getting laughed out of the Mind Palace."

"I think you should have a little faith in him," Logan insisted, shoving the scarf back into his hands. "Trust me. Okay?"

Virgil looked down at the floor. Logan put his hand back on the other's shoulder and gave it a little shake. "Okay?"

"Okay," Virgil said, looking up at Logan with a watery smile.

"Good," Logan replied, giving Virgil a side hug. "You should probably get to bed now. We'll talk more tomorrow." He gently shoved Virgil out of the room and closed the door.

The next morning, Virgil woke up and lazed around for a bit, having completely forgotten the conversation from last night. But when Logan knocked on his door at around 10:00, it all came back to him.

"Oh...hey," Virgil said quietly. He rubbed his arm. "What's up?"

"Not much! But, um, hey, I don't think Roman's doing anything right now. How about we get this over with, maybe?"

Virgil looked over at the scarf, which was laying on his desk, and picked it up. "Yeah...maybe."

"Well, let's go then!" Logan said, slinging an arm against Virgil's shoulder and shoving him out of the room. Virgil followed Logan reluctantly, and the two walked a few steps down the hall until they stood in front of Roman's closed door.

Virgil stared almost blankly at the door and looked back at Logan, who gave him a nod. He lifted his hand, poised to knock, but then lowered it and pressed his ear to the door. Logan let this go on for a few moments before pulling Virgil back and knocking on the door for him.

They heard rustling from the other side, and Virgil tensed up again. But Logan just squeezed his arm and waved before dashing off.

Before Virgil could object, Roman opened the door. Virgil spun back around to face him and then held out the scarf like a hot potato, looking off to the side.

"Here, I made this for you," he said quickly. He was about to run back to his room when Roman put his hand up.

"You made something for me?" Roman asked softly.

"Well, yeah..." Virgil said. "Logan's been teaching me how to knit, which is why I'm always in his room every time I'm freaking out, 'cause it makes me feel calmer, and I've been making this over the past few weeks and I'm kinda proud of it and I thought maybe you'd like it. I'm sorry though, it's stupid, I'll just--"

"You made something for me?" Roman said again, clearly having barely heard any of Virgil's rant.

"I...I guess I did, yeah."

"No one's ever made anything for me before." Roman looked down at the scarf in awe.

"So...you don't think it's weird?" Virgil asked cautiously.

"No, of course not! I love it. Why would I think it's weird?" Roman asked, now caressing the scarf.

"I mean, it's not exactly...like me to do that," Virgil began. "It's not exactly a tough guy thing to do."

Roman shrugged. "Well, what does that matter? If it helps you feel better, I'm not gonna get in the way of that."

"Aren't you going to start calling me things like, 'Negative Knitter' now?"

Virgil winced as soon as he said that, cursing himself for giving him new ideas, but Roman just frowned slightly. "Not if you don't want me to, no."

Virgil looked up. He'd never heard Roman say anything to that effect before.

Roman continued staring at Virgil with a concerned gaze, and they stood like that for another few moments before snapping himself out of it.

"Um, wait, what am I thinking, do you wanna come in?" Roman asked, stepping to the side.

"In your room?" Virgil asked.

"Yeah!" Roman said with a grin. "I have something I want to show you."

Virgil shrugged and followed Roman inside. Roman put the scarf down on his desk, and pulled open the bottom drawer. He pulled out a ball of deep, purple yarn and handed it to him.

Virgil looked down at the ball in his hands. Roman smiled at him. "You like it?" he asked. "I don't know what colors you have, but I thought you might like this one." He rubbed his own arm.

Virgil looked back up at him. "Yeah, I do! Thanks."

For the first time that either of them could remember, they smiled at each other fully.

Maybe Logan was right. Maybe he just needed to have a little faith.

#my fanfics #thomas sanders #sander sides #sanders sides fanfiction #analogical #prinxiety #fluff

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kokomatcha · 6 years ago

Text

Vigilante!All Might x Reader snippet

Here’s a snippet of the first chapter of my Vigilante!All Might x reader AU. Again, it’s self indulgent, but I’m not sure if I’ll be focusing on this one, or my other ones, but this is the one that kind of just started flowing so I went with it. Again, I only have my iPad and touch keyboard, which gets very moody so sometimes it’s hard to type. I just wanted to post a sample of my writing so people know what I offer and not get too excited so they won’t get their hopes up because I haven’t even really posted anything and have people following me/liking my posts, but I guess I’m worried about being disappointing as a writer so here’s a sample for you to decide if you like my writing or not! Cheers!

*edit* whoops forgot a synopsis that might help!

You’re an ER nurse, quirkless, and on the verge of burnout.

At least, you thought you were quirkless until an opportunity arises that shows you were never quirkless, it’s just that you were never in a situation that utilized your quirk. All your childhood dreams of being a super hero with an amazing quirk were effectively dashed at a young age, but upon the horrifying truth of your quirk, you realize that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie and that being quirkless was not the worst thing in the world.

Now you’re mandatorily enlisted to support the supposed law enforcement that was meant to protect and serve civilians and the general population, but you find yourself entangled in the corruption. You’re only hope is a chance meeting with a strange man, and the infamous villain All Might. But is he really the villain that the media and government paints him out to be?

You repressed what would have been an obscenely large yawn, briefly raising the back of your hand to hover over your mouth, a strangled noise resulting in the back of your throat and the warmth of creeping tears welling up behind your eyelids that you blinked away before they threatened to spill over. You let your hand drop limply back to your side as you stepped out of the emergency room into the waiting room, or what you and your coworkers most commonly referred to as ‘The Pit,’ with a clipboard clutched to your chest.

It was packed with a variety of different potential patients, all of whom jerked their gaze to you the moment you entered, you’re stethoscope hung around your neck over you’re patterned scrubs (it was the only real choice you had to show your individuality so you’re damn right they were cute) marking you like a giant target out in an empty field. It never failed to make you feel like a piece of meat on display to a pack of wild animals. You could practically feel them humming with anxious energy as they all individually willed you to their direction, to be the lucky ticket holder to be able to walk through those double doors and have their emergency dealt with.

‘Sorry,’ you thought dully with no real sincerity as you walked past a few people before stopping at your intended target, ‘but the lucky contestant is—‘

“Hello,” you greet with a smile plastered onto your face, stretching the corners of your mouth turning it into more of a grimace than a genuine expression of greeting. It was a sort of instinctual mechanism you’ve developed over time in your career, all teeth and no tongue, a reminder of the harsh reality that the medical world cared less about actual medical practice and more about customer service (and money). However, you had plenty of time and situations to practice pulling off that award-winning smile of false assurance in even the most dire situations that could fool most.

For example, it had the intended effect on the young boy with a mess of wild dark green hair and freckles dotting over his small cheeks, still rounded with residual baby fat. His already impossibly large eyes widened as you now stood before him, a nervous smile returned in response to yours as he fidgeted with a tattered note book in his hands, something he clearly used to distract himself while waiting. Your smile softened a small bit out of genuine concern. He was probably a preteen, barely even twelve, but admittedly you found looks and age never coincided well in your line of work.

He seemed to sense your sincerity, his smiling becoming less stiff and his shoulders relaxing as the hands in his lap were no longer ringing the poor notebook to confetti.

Your gaze drifted over to the man at his side just in time to see him double over in a coughing fit. Without even batting an eye you grabbed a box of tissues sitting on top a table full of outdated magazines, as well as fished out one of the unused disposable mask from your scrub pocket. You held them out to the man as an offering, but he kept his gaze down and only glared at your proffered hand in response, opting to use a closed fist as his means of infection control.

It was clear who your patient was as the scent of copper assaulted your senses, and it was fairly obvious how your shift would play out if this would be your first patient.

Wonderful, you thought without any trace of humor as you placed the mask and box of tissue on the table and waited patiently for his coughing fit to subside.

The boy seemed to jump to his feet, hovering over the clearly emancipated form of the man hunched over in his seat. His eyes were heavy with dark shadows, cheekbones and chin sharply defined from his sunken cheeks, his teeth bared and stained with blood as he struggled to control his coughing fit. Your assessment was running through your head, assumptions already swimming to the surface of your mind as you surveyed him from head to toe.

Loose, ill-fitting clothing hung from his skeletal frame, decorated with an array of damage and stains from long term use. His skin stretched thin over bony prominence in his joints, including the nape of his neck and down his spine that you managed to catch a glimpse of while he was hunched over. He wore a long sleeved black shirt with khaki colored cargo pants, cinched together with a belt around his thin waist with a large, gaudy looking belt buckle. His blond hair was unkempt, probably dry and fragile from poor nutritional intake, sticking up in all directions aside from two distinctive locks that flopped about his face during his coughing fit.

Drug user? Addict? With his long sleeves you couldn’t tell if there was any injection sites. Hemoptysis indicated something with the respiratory system or maybe digestive system? Obviously lung issues were present. Pneumonia? Cancer? Definitely need to start IV fluids—

“—fine.”

You must have been lost in your thoughts because the man was now standing and you had to take a step back, your eyes widening as you took in his full height. His posture was poor, but god, he still towered over you. He was clearly well over six feet, maybe seven? Now that he was standing, you almost flinched at how obviously malnourished this man appeared to be. The shirt he wore was three sizes too large and hung very loosely around his neck, giving you glimpse of his clavicles protruding sharply above his chest.

But his eyes were still what unnerved you the most.

You realize that the sound of his voice, a deep rich baritone that you hardly expected to come out of such a fragile looking man, was what pulled you from your reverie. He had been brushing off the young boy when he waved the tissues out to him almost frantically.

You realized you must have been staring, frozen in place from his gaze, but the moment he turned to address the boy at his side, you seemed to regain your senses, feeling a bit shaken. You really didn’t think you’ve ever met someone with an eye color that was such a shockingly bright shade of blue.

Slightly intimidated by his height, you regained your composure as you put on your best assertive, yet friendly customer service voice.

“If you could please follow me? I’ll guide you to your room and then we can triage you, Mr—?”

You already knew his supposed name (from the shoddily attempted paperwork that was scribbled in by the boy at his side. You highly doubted this man would have bothered to even look at the paperwork given his current attitude) but you trailed off, giving him a chance to fill in the blanks to try and build rapport in the short amount of time you would have to assess him. However, judging by his posture and resistance to the offer of even a small tissue, you could already tell how smoothly this interaction would go.

He scowls in response, those shockingly bright blue eyes contrasting sharply with the dark shadows overcasting his gaze, piercing you from their depths.

Right.

“Alright, Himawari-san, if you and your son would just follow me,” you motioned them towards the silver double doors.

The expression on the man’s face was absolutely priceless and you thanked the higher powers above you to help turn your day around, because this reaction alone was definitely enough to help you handle whatever would be thrown your way the rest of the day.

You really should have known better than to jinx yourself like that.

“My name’s not... He’s not—“ the man didn’t seem to know where to begin, his protests flying at the same time as the boy spoke, but a coughing fit overtook the rest of his response before he could finish.

“I-I’m not his son!” The boy supplied quickly, flustered as a dark hue spread across his cheeks, his freckles even more prominent in his embarrassment.

You felt a little bad for teasing. You knew this was obviously not the man’s name, and it was probably a struggle for this boy to find a suitable name to use in the interim. In addition to the ridiculous (yet ironically, strangely fitting) name chosen, you knew this could not be the man’s son. But it did put into question why this boy was trying so hard to help some stranger who didn’t even seem to want to give him the time of day, let alone his own name.

You’ve been surprised before, but this time your assumptions were correct and you were more than entertained by the results.

Your patient was less than amused by the way he gruffly passed his sleeve over his mouth to wipe away the remnants of blood dripping down his chin and shot a dark look at both you and the boy, who flinched in response.

“Alright, my apologies,” you attempted to placate the man as you directed him in the direction of the emergency room. Surprisingly, he let you lead him by the elbow with no resistance, though a glower was still present on his face. You heard movement from behind you and saw the young boy was getting ready to follow. You paused before turning to the boy with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not family and he doesn’t consent to your presence, I think you’ll have to go home,” you told the boy, a twisting in your chest at the drop in his expression. “But thank you for your assistance. You’re very kind.”

“O-oh, you... you don’t have to thank me, I just... uh,” the boy stuttered, flustered by your praise, gaze darting to his shoes as he fiddled with the straps of his backpack. “I-I understand. But, um... c-could you update me later? Just... just so I know he’s okay?”

His voice sounded so hopeful and you felt your heart sink. Due to legality, you couldn’t very well volunteer any information to anyone that wasn’t approved by the patient unless they were incoherent or had some sort of power of attorney, and even then it could be complicated. Especially if your patient was a stubborn gentlemen who refused to even give you said basic and pertinent information.

The dour man was already at the emergency room entrance and was looking at you impatiently, ready to get this experience over with. Quickly you grabbed the boy’s hands and offered your pen as you gestured to his notebook.

“Tell you, what, kiddo. Write your name and number on a piece of paper and I’ll give it to Sunshine over there so he can call you and update you himself?”

The young boy beamed at the suggestion and hurriedly scribbled down the information before ripping out the piece of paper and handing it to you excitedly before giving you and your patient an enthusiastic wave. Turning and stumbling out of the waiting room, he waved once more from outside as the doors closed, effectively cutting him off from sight.

You carefully folded the piece of paper and placed it in your scrub pocket before turning to your patient. If possible, his expression had darkened significantly with his hands clenched into fists at his side, most likely at the promise you had forced upon him.

“Ah, sorry. Did you prefer to give me your real name after all?”

As expected, your only response was a glare with those unnerving, piercing blue eyes.

You tilted your head and walked over to him before pushing open the doors, gesturing with a flourish to keep the doors open for him as you smiled widely. For once, it was genuine and this seemed to catch the man off guard, his expression relaxing from its furrowed brow to that of wary confusion.

“Himawari-san it is then! Shall we?” You gave an exaggerated bow, attracting the attention of your coworkers and patients alike who began to giggle at the display, amused by your antics.

The scowl back in full force, your patient shoving open the doors roughly, probably hoping they would slam in your face or on one of your limbs after he passed through. You couldn’t hold back your sigh, catching the doors so that they would swing gently closed behind you.

If looks could kill, you’d probably be dead a thousand times over.

Thank you for taking the time to read and I hope you enjoyed it! I take a while to write tho given my situation with my iPad also I have an old man back with no desk or chair so I hunch over to write which can be tiring, haha.

Also I decided to keep the Japanese honorifics to keep things uniform for later because I’ll probably use things like ‘-kun’ ‘-chan’ and such and it’s kind of hard to find English equivalents for them so I hope that won’t be a huge issue to some. Also, Himawari means sunflower which is, of course, a little jab at how the Vigilante!All Might in my fic is kind of grouchy compared to use usual sunflowery authentic self, but he’ll become warmer, if I ever get around to it!

And of course sorry for grammar and spelling errors, but other than that thank you for taking the time to read! Have a wonderful day!

#All Might x Reader #Yagi Toshinori x Reader #AU Vigilante!All Might #BnHA #All Might #Yagi Toshinori #kokofic #self-indulgent fic #Boku no Hero Academia

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trbl-will-find-me · 7 years ago

Text

Every Exit, An Entrance (8/?)

There are two (and only two) possibilities: either she led XCOM to victory and they are now engaged in a clean up operation of alien forces, or XCOM was overrun, clearing the way for an alien-controlled puppet government to seize control of the planet.

She’d really like to figure out which it is, but asking hardly seems the prudent option. Read the rest here

To say the call with the Council does not go well is an understatement.

No matter how she approaches the matter, there is no escaping her rather glaring oversight. That, combined with her continued refusal to hand over the weapons research, leads to a very pointed questioning of her fitness to continue as the project’s Commander.

So, with two hours until her shift starts, yes, she feels justified in playing darts in her office.

Someone knocks on the door as she’s yanking them out of the board for another go. “Come in!” She calls.

“I’m taking it your meeting went poorly?” Central asks.

“Let’s see,” she says, chucking a dart at the board. “No funding, no Fog Pod, and oh, maybe no more commanding.”

“What?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, chucking another dart. “You heard me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” a third dart. “And I quote ‘you were recruited for your strategic aptitude and expertise in biological defense procedures.” A fourth. “If you no longer meet those requirements and you are unwilling to honor other sections of the charter as signed, then,” she hurls another dart, missing the board entirely and wedging in the cork tile underneath. “It may be time to reconsider your command.”

“They’d have to have the backing of the other senior staff. They’ll never get it.”

“Not you or Shen,” she says, yanking the darts from the board again. “But Vahlen?”

“You’ve put your foot down once. I still think you made the right call on that, by the way.”

“Yeah, but if they don’t?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, it can’t be our focus now. We’ve got a bigger problem. Who are we still on good terms with?”

“Country-wise?”

She nods.

“Peru, Chile, Italy, Ireland, Kenya, Morocco. Belgium, Switzerland. Probably more, but that’s who comes to mind.”

“And every one of those countries, except for Belgium, saw alien activity, yeah?”

“I believe so.”

“Good,” she says, stepping back and readying another throw. “My next question is strictly off the record.”

“Understood.”

“How fucked are we if we go behind the Council’s back?”

Central considers this for a moment, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door. “There’s nothing that strictly prohibits it. But they’ve probably got a close eye on you.”

“So, we’re out of luck.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She pauses mid-throw. “Are you … are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“I’m not on the Council’s radar.”

“If they catch you, that’s a dishonorable discharge at best, a court martial at worst.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Central---“

“Commander, you do your job. I’ll do mine.”

Her shoulders slump. “It’s an awful risk.”

“Think I’ve earned getting to say I’ve survived worse. Besides,” he shrugs. “What’s the point of an intel officer who can’t handle a covert op?”

She offers him a small, worried smile. “You’re sure?”

He nods. “Give me a few days. You’ll have your Fog Pod.”

“What do we tell Shen and Vahlen?”

He laughs. “Come on. When has Vahlen ever asked where something came from?”

“Fair. But what about the Council? What do we tell them?”

“Who says they have to find out?”

A storm rolls in just after dinner, low, deep rumbling and the promise of a good soak. The air is hot and muggy, settling heavy over their corner of the universe, making her head throb a little worse than usual. She’s settled herself on the Avenger’s ramp, mug of tea in hand, to watch the show.

“Commander?” A voice calls from behind her. “’m I intruding?”

“Even if you were, pretty sure the errand I sent you on today would earn you a pass, Royston.” “I guess asking if you’re okay is pretty dumb, but ---“ she shrugs. “It feels weird not asking.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s all long enough ago --- sorry to dump that on you, by the way. Wasn’t exactly fair. How’d he take it?”

“He took it … okay is probably not the right word, but he didn’t throw anything,” she offers, sitting down. “And last I heard from Jane, he’s not passed out on the bar.”

“How did Kelly get babysitting duty?”

Royston brushes her hair behind her shoulder. “Well, originally, it was me and Lily and Lily’s dad who made up the entirety of the list of people who could reason with Central. Dr. Shen’s gone and I’m pretty solidly not on that list anymore, so that left it to Lily, which is sort of a tall order. When Jane showed up, she was fresh from fighting her way halfway across the US. She was smart and capable and completely external to the history everyone else had with each other. Throw in the fact that she’s a good shot and was willing to trust him, and well. The list of people who can reason with him when he’s drunk is now Kelly and Shen, and Kelly’s farther from burnout.”

In the distance, thunder rumbles, low and insistent.

“Hell of a job,” the Commander offers.

“Don’t envy her.”

It’s then that the Commander really registers the younger Royston’s legwear. “Sally, not that I’m complaining here, but what’s with the fishnets?”

Her face lights up. “Snatched them out of a house somewhere in … Missouri, I think? They drive Central nuts, but he let Thomas into the field in a pair of leather booty shorts, so he can’t complain about these.”

“Weren’t they … a little less colorful earlier? A little less … neon?”

The girl grins. “Yeah, but these are my off duty ones.”

The Commander laughs, burying her face in her hands. “Sartorial passive aggression. Clever.”

“If I ever wanna see the field, it’s not like I can openly flout his authority again. Besides, he’s had, like, four years to build up a tolerance to them.”

“You must’ve given him a run for his money, growing up.”

She nods. “Yeah, I could be a pain in the ass. “ Slowly, the smile fades from her face. “Uh, Commander, is that open door policy---“

“Out with it, Sal.”

“What were you two like before the Invasion? Were you, y’know, happy?”

It’s the first question to really catch her off her guard. “What makes you think there was ever an ‘us two’?”

Royston bites down on her tongue, trapping it between her teeth. “If I tell you, are you gonna kick me off the ship?”

“That’s a hell of a lede.”

“Are you?”

“No, but I’d really like to know where this is going.”

Thunder booms in the distance.

Sally groans. “He always said I’d overplay my hand one of these days.” She shakes her head. “Okay, so Papa had the gift, yeah? Maman developed it when she was pregnant with me. So, surprise, surprise, I’ve got it too. But, after what happened to him, and with what happened to other people who had it, well, Maman was adamant about my hiding it -- It’s why she wanted to make sure I wasn’t on my own when … you know.-- so I’ve got almost no control and, well, you would be amazed how much people just … broadcast.”

The Commander can feel her eyebrows rising towards her hairline. “Oh.”

“Yeah, that’s not it. I mean, it’s not just that. I’ve, um. I’ve got memories that … aren’t mine? I mean, they’re my parents’ so it’s not totally foreign, but um. Yeah. Please don’t kick me off the ship. It’s the only home I’ve got. And I’d worry about Central.”

“I’m not … you may be grounded, but you’re still an XCOM operative. Who else knows about your situation?”

“Just Central and Lily. And even then, I think it’s really only Central who knows the full scope.” She shrugs. “He kind of had to field a lot of questions about ‘whose memory is this’ after Maman. Well.” She shrugs.

The Commander nods, considering the admission. “I’m not kicking you off the ship, Sally. This is home. And, about your question,” she sighs, biting her lip. “It’s hard to give you a straight answer. There were always … complications. But yeah, I’d say we were happy.”

Outside the ship, rain begins to fall.

Sally nods. “I think … I think he’s gonna come around. I think he’s still gotta pout for a while because he’s himself, but ---“

“I don’t pout, Sally.”

“It’s always nice to announce yourself,” she grumbles, twisting to face him. “How long have you been lurking there?”

“Long enough. Scoot,” he says, gesturing back into the ship,

She rolls her eyes, but there’s not the hostility that usually accompanies the gesture. “Good luck,” she says to the Commander, standing. “Throw’im off the ship if he’s an ass again.”

“I can still hear you, you know.”

“Good,” she says, stopping to pat his arm. “You’re supposed to.”

“In. And take the damn fishnets off!” He calls after her.

“Soon as you tell Thomas he can’t wear leather booty shorts into the field. It’s a combat zone, not a sex dungeon!”

Central rolls his eyes. “Can I sit?”

She nods. “Sal’s cute.”

“She’s a pain the ass, but yeah, she’s a good kid. Gonna owe her mother a thank you one of these days.”

“Not in the near future, yeah? Don’t think anyone else could keep us running.”

Lighting splits the sky and the downpour intensifies.

“You’ve always been a quick study. You’d adapt.”

She shakes her head.

“I went through the files,” he says after a few minutes. “Pretty sure Sal did, too.”

“I … sort of told her to. I thought totally blindsiding you would be … in poor taste.”

They sit in silence again.

“Commander, I don’t know how to have this conversation.”

“We’re not yelling, so that’s a start. You feel better after what you saw?”

“Better isn’t the word I’d use.”

“You get your proof?”

“I shouldn’t have needed it in the first place.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He shakes his head. “Yeah, I got my proof.” He swallows hard. “How long did they…?” “Two weeks is my guess, but I wouldn’t trust it. I’ve got things that are missing, things that are out of order. It’s all pretty fragmented. More flashbulb than continuous. Don’t know if I’m grateful for that or not.”

“You’d rather remember it all?” She shrugs. “There might be good intel. But, no. I’d really rather not.”

They’re quiet again.

“What was it like?” “In the tank?”

He nods. “It felt real. It all felt real,” she shakes her had. “You were there. And Shen and Vahlen. Royston, Martin, Hershel, Bernard, Molchetti, everybody. I look at it now and …” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like some fucked up Wizard of Oz. Except swap out the ruby slippers for that goddamn suit and the tornado for a brain implant.”

“’m afraid Toto might have to be a Chryssalid.”

“No, thanks,” she chuckles.

Thunder rolls in from the distance.

“I’m glad you didn’t … you know. Find a way.”

“Now you sound like Sal.”

He shrugs. “Comment was over the line.”

“That’s sometimes the nature of honesty.”

He shakes his head. “Spent twenty years trying to find you. Would have been a little put off if I’d found out you’d …”

“Found a way?”

He nods. “I would have missed you.” A moment passes. “I did miss you.” He stares out at the storm. “I’d also like to retract that statement about you having blood on your hands.”

“That … that’s arguable,” she sighs. “Base fell on my watch.”

“Kind of hard to command mind-controlled personnel.”

“Still. I should have seen something like that coming.”

“The whole point of a surprise attack, Commander, is that it’s a surprise. That’s not on your head.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Doesn’t feel like it though.”

“You’re not … you’re not responsible for it. Or the things that happened after.”

“But if I’d been able to head it off in the first place? We might have a lot more of our people with us.” “Don’t go down that path.”

“It’s true, though. I’m sure you’ve thought it.”

“I saw what they did.”

“Like I said, if I could have headed that off…” She trails off.

They’re both quiet again.

“You’ve run damn good ops,” he says after a few minutes.

“You put together a good team. Colorful, but a good team.” She chuckles. “Where did you pull Thomas from, though?”

He grins, sheepish. “Some bar in a haven outside of Montreal. He got tossed out on his ass --- literally.”

She nods. “Somehow, that’s fitting.

The rain hardens into a downpour.

“Commander,” he asks, turning to look at her for the first time since he sat down. “How do we … how do I unfuck this?”

She meets his gaze, considering him for a minute “Well, you’re talking to me. Wasn’t sure we’d even get that far.”

“Yeah, neither was I.”

“I’m guessing I probably have to re-earn your trust, for starters. That’s fine. Nothing gets fixed over night. We both know that. Just … do me a favor, and don’t cut me out like that again, alright?”

“Deal.”

“Good,” she says, letting out the tension she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

#xcom #fic #commander/central #look! communication skills #every exit an entrance

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prorevenge · 8 years ago

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Shady hotel business.

WARNING: This post is looooooong. If you want a quick fix, this isn’t the story for you. If you want to dive deep into the layers of corruption where it’s all about the little things, then please read on. Also, I'm fond of lists.

This happened two years ago. I was twenty and a recent university dropout. I needed a year to empty my head, recover from imminent burnout, and make some money to help support my single mom and my younger sister (who’d just given birth with no father in the picture). I was a very insecure person at the time. I really wanted to work, but without a degree life sucks balls... until I got contacted by Mr B.

Mr B found me on a federal website for job-applicants, where I was registered. He was looking for a manager to help manage his small hotel: a beautiful establishment with six lofts located in the heart of a medieval city (my city). I answered him immediately, saying that I had no prior experience with management and that my qualifications didn’t exactly lie in that area, but thank you very much for the consideration. He answered back, saying ‘just come take a look and we’ll talk about it.’

First thing I did was Google Mr B. He had an architectural firm and was coaching a professional football (soccer) club, which is kind of a big deal in my little country. Secondly, I Googled the hotel. It was indeed really small and fairly new; an old underground mill transformed into six luxury lofts, but with the medieval style and feel kept intact. I decided I had nothing to lose by simply visiting and hearing him out. I was extremely curious, too. Why me? Well, you can probably guess, but I couldn’t. I was naïve, terribly insecure and in desperate need for a job, to prove to myself and to the world that I hadn’t taken a gap year for nothing.

Long story short, I met with Mr B that same week. He was a short, business-like, fairly handsome man, friendly enough, didn’t sweat the little things, showed me around and explained to me what he expected. It was a slow season so I’d have some time to learn the ropes. Before I knew it I was employed. Mr. B made me three promises:

a salary between €1400 and €3000 that would increase depending on the hotel’s (my) performance

a job as a manager + receptionist, since the place was small enough to combine the two

my own room in the hotel, so I wouldn’t have to commute daily

The work started immediately. I was designing stickers to put on the doors, translating letters in German, French and English, working with the booking software, making schedules for the weeks to come… it was a rush, like nothing I’d ever done and I was loving the experience. Finally Adult Life, Responsibility, a way to prove my worth!!! As business started to pick up and all lofts were opened for rent, I was soon working from six in the morning ‘till ten in the evening, doing administration until it was time for check-in, then checking people in, communicating with clients and suppliers, checking people out again, preparing rooms for the next visit, grocery shopping at the market nearby and preparing breakfast for clients, etc, etc.. I also had an old work phone that I couldn’t turn off under any circumstance. If clients called, I had to be accessible.

PHASE 1. REALIZATION

Soon inconsistencies started to rear their ugly heads:

1. There was only one cleaning lady for the whole hotel. She had a second job at another, bigger hotel, so I could never be certain if she’d be available. I realized I’d have to jump in to help with the cleaning. I hadn’t been informed of that. I pressed my boss about this and he gave me the name of some African girl who ‘cleaned his house sometimes’. Off the books.

2. Only then did I realize that I hadn’t signed a single piece of paper. He said he’d fix that as soon as possible. I didn’t push my luck, since I was a new recruit and very eager to please.

3. The room he promised me (where I would be living) turned out to function as an office/supply room/washing room. In other words, the cleaning supplies were stashed there, as well as the washing machine, the keys and documents for all the lofts, etc.. I would be living at work, literally. Also, there was no bed. I was to sleep on the floor.

4. Mr B had disappeared from the face of the earth. Or, well, he acted like he had. He lived in a luxury apartment only 5 minutes from the hotel, but he didn’t like to be contacted about ‘all the little things’.

5. I soon figured out there had been a reason some of the lofts only became accessible once I moved in as a manager. They weren’t finished. Some bathrooms needed extra insulation, one of the faucets made a horrible noise, locks needed fixing, cables and insulation were visible in some spots, wood clippings were raining down from some of the beams (I would later discover there were WOOD BUGS in the beams, something he hadn’t informed me about and that he’d left untreated for months! Guess how I found out…)

6. Mr B started to ask little favors. Like could my mom fix some curtains for his daughter’s bedroom, or couldn’t my uncle help with the repairs in lofts 2, 3 and 4… all of it for a little price, if you catch my drift. I was the manager after all. I was supposed to fix that stuff. And if my family could do it for cheap…

7. At the same time, he managed my budget. This is understandable of course, but let me elaborate: managing a hotel costs money. The only money he gave me was on a credit card that was constantly empty. Be that as it may, I did the best I could, saving money by doing most of the washing and ironing myself (the laundry service he’d hired was extremely unreliable, but he didn’t want to change because it was cheap), being frugal with the food (every room had luxury coffee machines they were free to use and the coffee cost me a fortune), not making expensive phone calls, etc.. I handled huge amounts of money coming in (most of the guests were rich people), but wasn’t allowed to go to the bank and put more money on the hotel’s credit card.

Once we needed an extra mattress because more clients would be coming in than anticipated and they all wanted to stay in our biggest loft. I had already begged him for an extra foldable bed (the one he told me to use was so cheap it bent sideways if you put weight on it, so he reluctantly, after much begging, supplied me with a new one). I drove all over the province on my day off, hunting for the best, cheapest mattress. I found an incredible one, bought it with my own money, and informed my boss of the cost. I received a very angry e-mail, basically telling me I better watch what I spend…

8. As I became a more capable manager, Mr B became more demanding. I have a friend with severe schizophrenia that I visit in prison from time to time. You might know how harrowing a process it is to visit someone in prison. I had planned my visit meticulously to make sure I’d be back in time to relieve my sister who, with her little baby of a few months, was holding the fort for me, managing check-ins and phone calls. When I entered the waiting room, I had to turn off my work phone. This was no big deal, seeing as the fixed phone at work would always ring first and my sister was there to pick it up.

When I exited prison and jumped into my car to rush back to work, I had a few missed calls from my boss. I rang back, only to be cussed out for not picking up my phone. I hadn’t been at the hotel, either. I told him my sis was there in my stead. He said he didn’t want to talk to my sis, he wanted to talk to me – insert berating tone, short, angry sentences and a whole lot ot guilt-tripping.

9. Furthermore, since the card was so often empty but rooms needed to be cleaned every day (by a group of off-the-books cleaning ladies that I’d rounded up left and right, since I had no other choice) I was forced to pay these ladies out of my own pocket, which left me broke half the time.

10. Aside from hotel-related phone calls, Mr B had started to connect some of his personal calls to my phone as well, namely the ones he didn’t want to deal with himself, aka disgruntled companies asking for undue payments, creditors asking for his phone number and address, etc.. As he was my boss, I didn’t give these people his information. Occasionally, I got a call from a fancy pansy company in France, telling me it was time for Mr B’s bi-annual ordering of luxury wines.

11. The money didn’t come. My money, that is. My salary. My bread and butter.

12. Lots. More. Shit.

PHASE 2. DETERMINATION

Finally, I realized I needed to get out of this situation. Or rather, I’d known for a long time, but I had hoped things would settle, he’d give me my contract and I could start making demands. Pssssht, naw.

So I made plans:

1) The Turkish cleaning lady. Since this woman had been at the hotel from the very beginning and was way more experienced than I was, she didn’t like me at first (understandable: I was a stupid youngling but still technically her boss). However, all it took was a few questions about her kids and a whole lot of admiration (not fake) for her cleaning skills, and she opened up to me like a floodgate. I paid her more than Mr B had told me to pay her (out of my own pocket) because she really was the most reliable person I worked with and she could clean a loft like nothing I’d ever seen. She taught me a lot. Soon she was loyal to ME instead of him. And once that happened, the little secrets started coming…

2) My Turkish cleaning lady told me about the girls who’d worked at the hotel before me (all young, non-white and inexperienced, just like me). They’d all quit within the span of a month (there were six of them). I was the only one who had stuck around (probably because I lived with my mom so I wasn’t dependent on my salary to survive). I soon got hold of one of them. I visited her and did a cross examination. She told me about Mr B’s treatment, his refusal to make the job official and how he still owed her quite a bit of money. This was useful information, because I now knew for sure that this guy wouldn’t give me my contract, ever. I still had hopes, because he’d found me though a federal channel, which at the time I took to mean that he wanted to do things the right way. FALLACY.

3) I had my family behind me. At this point, my uncle had done lots of big repairs (insulation, plumbing, fixing furniture, etc), my mom had worked on most of the curtains and some of the flooring, my sister was pulling FREE SHIFTS to help me carry the enormous workload that no person in their right mind would give to a single employee...

Thing is, my family had only been keeping their mouths shut because they love me and want to support me. I was a bookish, introverted, insecure, eager to please little girl. My mom is a criminologist who works with very scary people on a daily basis. She knows a crook when she sees one. My uncle is the most brutally honest, short-tempered, intimidating repairman you’ve ever seen. He loves me, but he hates entitled little shits who call themselves businessmen. My mom’s calm and collected powers of logic combined with my uncle’s brash ruthlessness was a death trap waiting to happen. But that wasn’t all.

Let me tell you a little something about my sis. She’s fierce. In high school, she was a super popular bomb shell who got thrown out of two different schools for bad behavior and whom I witnessed cussing out a police officer on more than one occasion. Uhu, that kind of delinquent. All of that changed when she got pregnant. She cleaned up her act in a spectacular way and is now working as a human rights advocate. She’s also one of the best mothers I’ve ever seen. In any case, back then, when the mother things had only just started, she redirected her efforts towards her family. I guess she felt guilty for messing up my life for so long (I developed OCD because she used to stress me out so much – I’m fully cured now, though) She was helping me at the hotel because she knew I needed her in case things got bad.

4) Lastly, there was the thing that made ME angry. I’d been experiencing some difficulty with the administration of the hotel, mostly booking-related. When I went digging through emails and online payments, I noticed inconsistencies, and eventually concluded that Mr B was messing with my shit. He was cancelling services and contacting people behind my back, without telling me anything, leaving me to desperately search for bugs and fix last-minute bookings. That’s when I snapped.

PHASE 3: REVENGE, FINALLY

I convinced the Turkish cleaning lady, as well as all the other cleaning ladies, to stop working at the hotel. The Turkish lady had better prospects anyway, but she hadn’t been sure about leaving. I asked her to keep it a secret. I would inform Mr B.

I contacted the creditors who’d been bugging me for months, as well as the companies who were still waiting for their money, and gave them Mr B’s phone number and home address. Because, you know… business is business

I wrote a very honest review of the hotel on one of the major booking sites, telling everyone all about those giant bugs in the ceiling…

I basically told my family they could be themselves now, I was quitting the hotel anyway. So my mom sent the bill, my uncle made his phone calls and my sister, well…

I made sure the hotel was fully booked for the upcoming month (every year my city holds this huge street festival that people from all over Europe flock to, so that wasn’t too difficult

I sent Mr B an email saying I was quitting on Sunday. I was valiant enough to finish my work for the week. Oh, and the cleaning ladies would be quitting, too

I gave the work phone to my sis, reclined in my seat and listened to the beautiful conversation that unfolded when Mr B called. My sister didn’t disappoint. She spared no expense.

I thought about reporting his shady antics to the police, but decided against it (for my own sake, as well as the cleaning ladies). I did report him to the federal service for employment and told them he was using their site to lure people into undeclared work against their will. The person I spoke to made sure our conversation was confidential. So no further legal action for me. I was satisfied with the knowledge that on Monday morning, Mr B would have to drop everything and rush to the hotel to serve his snotty guests, prepare breakfast, struggle with his faulty administration, receive complaints from kookoo clients, write shitty emails to his angry suppliers, do the washing, the ironing, the cooking and the cleaning, and all the other stuff I had been doing for months, unpaid and underappreciated.

Thanks for making me a thousand times stronger, jackass. I regret nothing.

PS: The hotel is no longer in business. Whoops.

(source) (story by OpheliaoftheRipples)

#pro revenge #by OpheliaoftheRipples #prorevenge #pro revenge stories #revenge stories #pettyrevenge

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laurelkrugerr · 4 years ago

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The 3 Lessons I Learned After My Clients Refused to Pay Out 5-Figure Contracts

July 27, 2020 9 min read

Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own.

I don’t think anyone has ever gone into business thinking it was going to be smooth sailing all the way to the top. But we also have a tendency to believe that if we work hard and we do all the right things, we will eventually make it there — that with our tenacity, courage and a bit of persistence, we will reach a day when we reach our goals.

Unfortunately, one thing we fail to recognize until it’s too late is that tenacity, courage and persistence aren’t always enough.

As Captain Jean-Luc Picard said in an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, “It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose.” I was 13 years old when I saw this episode, yet those words have stuck with me ever since. They represent a truth we sometimes forget about — sometimes, you can do everything right and still suffer a major setback.

Back in 2015, I had two clients who, back to back, decided to skip out and disappear without paying their entire five-figure invoices. I had signed contracts, I had their deposits, I had emails from them complimenting my progress on their projects, but when it came time for them to accept the final work and pay their final invoice, they disappeared. So I did what any scrappy freelance writer with a lawyer and a signed contract would do: I went after them.

Months later, I had drained our savings, missed several payments on other bills and even though the court agreed with my stance and those clients were not allowed to publish or profit off those works, I still had no money. There was still no way to force them to pay me the money they owed me for the months of work I had put into their books. I held onto those clients for far longer than was safe, to the point of not doing other work because I kept chasing those unpaid invoices. Which, in turn, meant I had no money coming in even while I was cruising through our savings to try to recover these funds.

It’s easy to get caught up in our principles and stand by what’s right. And money tends to bring out our emotions much more than we would like to admit — especially when we need that money to pay for our living expenses, like our rent or our food. But what I learned was that hanging on too tightly to that principle cost me much more than the lost revenue did. Those emotional states are not the right place from which to be making business decisions.

People ask me all the time: What should they do if a client ever disappears on them without paying? And looking into legal action is still on the list. If a client disappears on me now, I will still contact my lawyer with all my contracts and be ready to go after them. However, one thing I learned after that disappointing year is that it is far more important to be ready to bounce back than it is to go after those unpaid invoices.

So, here are three tips for getting your business back on track after a major setback.

Related: 5 Strategies for Dealing With Business Setbacks

1. Reevaluate your mission and your goals.

First and foremost, you need to evaluate just how much of a setback this “major” setback actually was. How far off track did it really knock you from your goals, and did it endanger your ability to carry out your mission? This is an important step because it will help you frame the setback into actual value and set up the first steps you’ll need to recover from it.

When something happens that’s beyond your control, such as a client failing to pay an invoice, it’s easy to dig in your heels and start passing blame, keeping your focus squarely on that incident. Doing so, however, robs you of the opportunity to see a path forward. When those two clients disappeared without paying me, I was so focused on the amounts of money they owed me, the hurt that they decided not to pay me and the guilt of feeling I should have seen it coming, I failed to realize the real impact of those lost funds on my business. I chased after them with a lawyer, which cost me money and time. I showed up in courts, and I took time to write up affidavits and statements — all of which was time I could have been better spent finding new clients.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20. If I knew then what I know now, I would have paused and seen that while, yes, both unpaid invoices were five-figures, which is a lot of money, it also would have taken just two new clients to catch back up — maybe a third and some hustle at worst.

Other ways to catch up might have included reevaluating my service rates, adding new services to my offerings or even putting together another offer or product, such as a template, that new clients could benefit from. But because I never took the time to analyze the loss in revenue or what that meant for my goals, it seemed immeasurable, and even when friends and colleagues mentioned some of these potential solutions, I dismissed them as not being enough.

2. Learn from the setback but don’t dwell on it.

This might seem like a no-brainer, but at some point in time, you have to turn away from the setback. There’s value in analyzing what happened and seeing what you can learn from it, of course. As I said earlier, you need to evaluate just how far off track this setback has placed your business from your goals.

But that’s where it should end.

When I finally paused to look at the situation I was in, I knew I never wanted to be in that place again. So, I did what any of us would do: I implemented changes in my workflow and policies to help protect myself in the future. And that’s where it should have ended. Instead, nearly every business decision I made for the next two years was rooted in fear, going all the way back to these two clients. I thought:

What if this client turns down my pitch? I better send out more than usual.

What if this client changes their mind partway through the contract? I better shorten my delivery estimate and finish faster.

What if this client does accept my pitch but then doesn’t pay? I better take on another client.

What if both clients hire me and then don’t pay? I better take on a couple more just in case.

At one point in time, I was working on four books that all had deadlines of only 6 weeks, plus a few other side projects and blog posts. And if you’re thinking that this was a fast track to burnout, you’re right — it didn’t take long at all, which led to a whole new set of problems.

Fear is not a good space from which to make rational, day-to-day business decisions. The fact of the matter is, I can’t control whether or not a client pays me. The best thing I can do is to have appropriate insurance and a plan, not to try to stop what is unavoidable.

Related: Why True Entrepreneurs View Setbacks As Opportunities

3. Manage your self-talk.

Setbacks often cause self-doubt, especially when you think you should have seen it coming or that you could have done something to prevent it from happening. While it’s important to recognize how much of a role you had in the setback, it’s also important to remind yourself that your role in the setback was limited.

After my clients disappeared on me, I went through every negative position my mind could muster, from blaming myself for not seeing the signs to doubting whether or not I was even cut out to continue running a business. And every mistake I made after they disappeared on me only seemed to feed into that negative self-talk. As you can probably guess, it was that negative self-talk that helped fuel some of those bad decisions I was making that led to burnout.

Here’s the really great thing about running your own business: You only start from scratch once. Even if the biggest catastrophe in the history of the world comes and wipes you out, you are never really back at square one. You have colleagues, ideas and experience all under your belt to help you rebuild and to do it better. And as you already know from the first time you built your business, self-talk is a crucial factor in your success.

There are a couple of things you can do to help manage your self-talk:

Revisit your client testimonials praising the impact you’ve had on their lives and in their businesses.

Review your mission and the value you’re bringing to your industry.

Read through your favorite motivational quotes, stories or books.

Rekindle your passion for your business by going back to the moment that started it all: Why did you go into business in the first place?

You can never be guaranteed that you won’t come across hardships and setbacks in your business — we all know that. And we do our best to prepare and plan for as many of those setbacks as we can before they happen. But the best thing you can do for yourself and for your business is to plan for how you will recover from those setbacks.

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source http://www.scpie.org/the-3-lessons-i-learned-after-my-clients-refused-to-pay-out-5-figure-contracts/ source https://scpie1.blogspot.com/2020/07/the-3-lessons-i-learned-after-my.html

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riichardwilson · 4 years ago

Text

The 3 Lessons I Learned After My Clients Refused to Pay Out 5-Figure Contracts

July 27, 2020 9 min read

Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own.

Unfortunately, one thing we fail to recognize until it’s too late is that tenacity, courage and persistence aren’t always enough.

So, here are three tips for getting your business back on track after a major setback.

Related: 5 Strategies for Dealing With Business Setbacks

1. Reevaluate your mission and your goals.

2. Learn from the setback but don’t dwell on it.

But that’s where it should end.

What if this client turns down my pitch? I better send out more than usual.

What if this client changes their mind partway through the contract? I better shorten my delivery estimate and finish faster.

What if this client does accept my pitch but then doesn’t pay? I better take on another client.

What if both clients hire me and then don’t pay? I better take on a couple more just in case.

Related: Why True Entrepreneurs View Setbacks As Opportunities

3. Manage your self-talk.

There are a couple of things you can do to help manage your self-talk:

Revisit your client testimonials praising the impact you’ve had on their lives and in their businesses.

Review your mission and the value you’re bringing to your industry.

Read through your favorite motivational quotes, stories or books.

Rekindle your passion for your business by going back to the moment that started it all: Why did you go into business in the first place?

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/the-3-lessons-i-learned-after-my-clients-refused-to-pay-out-5-figure-contracts/ source https://scpie.tumblr.com/post/624860541476864000

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scpie · 4 years ago

Text

The 3 Lessons I Learned After My Clients Refused to Pay Out 5-Figure Contracts

July 27, 2020 9 min read

Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own.

Unfortunately, one thing we fail to recognize until it’s too late is that tenacity, courage and persistence aren’t always enough.

So, here are three tips for getting your business back on track after a major setback.

Related: 5 Strategies for Dealing With Business Setbacks

1. Reevaluate your mission and your goals.

2. Learn from the setback but don’t dwell on it.

But that’s where it should end.

What if this client turns down my pitch? I better send out more than usual.

What if this client changes their mind partway through the contract? I better shorten my delivery estimate and finish faster.

What if this client does accept my pitch but then doesn’t pay? I better take on another client.

What if both clients hire me and then don’t pay? I better take on a couple more just in case.

Related: Why True Entrepreneurs View Setbacks As Opportunities

3. Manage your self-talk.

There are a couple of things you can do to help manage your self-talk:

Revisit your client testimonials praising the impact you’ve had on their lives and in their businesses.

Review your mission and the value you’re bringing to your industry.

Read through your favorite motivational quotes, stories or books.

Rekindle your passion for your business by going back to the moment that started it all: Why did you go into business in the first place?

Website Design & SEO Delray Beach by DBL07.co

Delray Beach SEO

source http://www.scpie.org/the-3-lessons-i-learned-after-my-clients-refused-to-pay-out-5-figure-contracts/

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