#i will be so honest. whenever i acquire a new little guy i usually draw them In Misery (bc theyre usually angsty themselves)

[potatobugz]

bleeh bleh bleh

[missmalice202]

Designing Your Melody: Chapter 04 - Chocolate

Chapter 01 - Chapter 03

“All right, mate?” Luka looks up from his guitar and sees Jagged Stone, rock star extraordinaire, poking his head into the recording studio. “Something’s got your sound all mixed up. So tell me,” he cajoles as he strides into the room, brimming with confidence and larger than life, “what’s got your knickers in a twist, eh?”

Luka stills his fingers and gives his attention the other man now sitting on a stool in front of him. He could literally feel Jagged staring at him, a look of unabashed anticipation on his face. Running his fingers through his teal tipped black hair, he closed his eyes and sighed.

He’d tried not dwell on how utterly frustrated he was. It’s been almost a week since his fateful encounter with his new inspiration, but he’s no closer to finding her. All he has is the mysterious melody playing on an infinite loop in his head and the scrap of paper that he now carries with him everywhere he goes, tucked securely in his jacket pocket. He isn’t sure where to even begin to start looking for the girl. After some serious thought, he contemplated asking Juleka if she would know how to track down a certain fashion designer because if the drawing he had in his possession was any indication, she was obviously very skilled and therefore had to be well known in the fashion industry.

But unfortunately for the guitarist, by the time he had worked up the courage to ask his sister to do some investigating on his behalf, she had been booked for a photoshoot overseas and had left the country. Sometimes he just had the worst luck. Plus, between doing deliveries in the morning and getting some studio time with Jagged to prepare for his next album, he honestly really didn’t have the time to be hunting down a single girl out of the two million residents of Paris. The odds were not in his favor.

In the end, he had resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to wait until Juleka came back and then ask her for help. Until then, the only thing he could do was tweak her melody and keep her design safe. He’s sure their paths will cross again. They had to.

“Nothing has my ‘knickers in a twist’ as you so delicately put it. I’ve just got some stuff on my mind, is all.” His fingers pluck at the strings of his guitar restlessly, the notes contradicting him wordlessly.

“Sorry to tell ya this, bloke, but that guitar of yours is callin’ you a liar. Level with me, man, anything I can do to help a rockin’ musician like yourself out, just let me know. We’ve gotta get that sound of yours back in harmony.”

“Yeah,” Luka responded listlessly, “I know, Jagged. Thanks.”

Luckily, they were interrupted by a knock on the window separating the recording studio from the control booth, signaling that the producer was ready for them to begin their session. The last think Luka wanted was to be interrogated by the flamboyant rocker, regardless of how well meaning he was.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

After their recording session was over, Luka decided to grab something to eat before heading back home to log in and get some grinding done in-game. However, he seemed to have acquired an extremely obnoxious and over-eager shadow.

“I’m telling ya, mate, that’s some of the best playing I’ve heard since I worked with your mum. You could become a superstar if you set your mind to it.” Being ambitious and hungry for attention, someone like Jagged Stone just couldn’t understand that there were some people who preferred to linger in the shadows.

“I’m happy just playing my music, to be honest. I don’t have any grand ambitions of stardom.” A small smile graced Luka’s lips. “I don’t want a record label to try to dictate what I play or how I sound. I don’t mind playing your music because it speaks to my soul, but I want my freedom when it comes to my own music”

Jagged threw his head back and laughed, holding his stomach in mirth. “I feel ya, mate. There’s times I wanna kick some of these record labels prats out on their arses. They have no respect for the artistic process. I can’t just snap my fingers and deliver a chart- topping song. It takes talent and dedication and, most importantly, they gotta feel it in their soul!

“Oh! That reminds me! Penny!” he called over his shoulder at his ever present and long suffering personal assistant, “I want you to send some chocolates or flowers or whatever it is that girls these days like to Marinette. That girl is fabulous and dedicated to her craft and I want her to know how much I appreciate her help.” She nodded, tucking a stray piece of her sleek burgundy hair behind her ear and took out her tablet, tapping a reminder in her notes.

That caught Luka’s undivided attention. The Jagged Stone he knew wasn’t the kind of guy who just gave other people presents. If anything, he expected other people to do things for him, without a seconds hesitation or complaint. For him to go out of his – or rather, his assistant’s – way to offer a gesture of appreciation was, quite frankly, unheard of!

“Who’s this Marinette girl?” he asks. “What did she do for you that was so important that you’d want to send her a gift?”

Jagged reeled back in shock. “Oh, what hasn’t she done for me? Whenever everything goes pear shaped and I’m in a pinch, I know I can count on her to help me out. I mean, one time she made the wicked rock n roll shades for me. Another time, she basically saved my career when she redid my album cover after the bloke who did the first design wouldn’t accept any of my input and came up with this absolutely bonkers cover art. And now this time, she’s really saving my skin. I had to ask a massive favor of her and in such a short amount of time too.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I just want her to know that I appreciate her style and all that fabulous girl does to help me when I’m in a bind.”

Honestly, Luka was a bit surprised. Jagged usually wasn’t one to sing another’s praises, so this “Marinette” girl must really be something special.

Luka looked at his phone to check the time. “Well, Jagged, I’ve got to run. I’ve got somewhere I need to be.”

“Cheers, mate. I’ll catch you next time.” Jagged saluted the younger guitarist. “Do what you need to in order to fix your sound. It’s doesn’t sound right when it’s all jumbled up like that.”

Luka waved goodbye and left the record label, heading home to his boat.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

When got back to home, the quiet slapping of waves against the hull of the boat was the only sound he heard as he strode across the deck, taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful sunset reflecting over the Seine. It was kind of lonely being the only one on board. He couldn’t wait until his sister got back in a few days. Until then, he’d just have to fill the silence in other ways. Shaking his head at his own melancholy, he ducked into the cabin and made his way to his bunk.

Deciding that he needed to find his center again after such a chaotic week, he toed off his sneakers, settled onto his bunk, crossed his legs and gently rested his wrists on his knees to meditate. Maybe that was why he had been so off lately; he just needed to clear his mind and get rid of the negative energies swirling inside his mind. Taking a deep breath in, he closed his eyes and relaxed into his meditation.

Thirty minutes later, he opened his eyes feeling refreshed and less off balance.

Glancing at his phone again, he figured he had time to get some gaming in before heading to bed. With any luck, Ladybug would be online too. He liked playing with the rest of his clanmates, don’t get him wrong, but Ladybug was just such a badass. Her skill was unparalleled and when they were in the midst of an intense battle, she took command of the situation and always led their team to victory. She fought with grace and made everything she did look effortless. If he were honest with himself, he just enjoyed being in her company. She had such a sweet voice that even when she was barking out orders on the battlefield, she still sounded as clear as a bell.

After logging on, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that luck, for once, was on his side: she was online. That was a relief, especially considering she’d been MIA all week due to being busing working on whatever project she had going. Deep down, he was a little jealous that “real life” was dragging her away from the UMS4, and therefore away from him. But he did have to admit that it was a bit hypocritical of him to be jealous of her being busy when he was bordering on obsession with finding someone who, if he didn’t currently have her design tucked into the pocket of his jacket, he would have thought that the whole encounter had been an extremely vivid figment of his overactive imagination.

Walking up to her avatar, his own waved in greeting. “Hey, Ladybug. Just you and I tonight, huh?”

Her avatar waved in response. “Hi, Viperion. Looks like it. Want to do some grinding and work on equipment upgrades since we don’t have enough people on our team right now to do any major missions?”

He smiled and his avatar gave a thumbs up gesture. “Sounds good. Let’s go”

As they traversed through their online world, she struck up conversation to fill the silence. “So what have you been up to this week? Anything fun and exciting?”

He chuckled softly. “Not exactly. Just working and practicing. How about you? How’s your project coming along?”

Her groan echoed in his ears, making him laugh under his breath. “Oh god, I’ve been working non stop since I last played with you. Five days, working ‘round the clock without even leaving my house. I’m pretty sure my parents were about to send a search party up to my room to check and see if I was still breathing,” she laughed.

“Oh? You still live with your parents?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “We have a very good relationship, so it works out well for us. I help them out with their shop from time to time when I have time and they give me food.”

Luka laughed, shaking his head. Sometimes she really was too cute. “That’s nice. I live with my mom and sister, but they’re out of the country right now, so it’s just me. I never thought I’d think this, but with them gone, it’s too quiet here and the music in my head is a bit overwhelming in the silence.”

There was a brief pause before she responded, “the music in your head?” He could hear the confusion in her voice.

“Yeah, I’ve had this song stuck in my head for almost a week now and I can’t get it out of my head until I find what I’m looking for.”

“Uhh- Okaay, I’m not sure what you mean, but I wish you the best of luck finding what you’re looking for.” He heard her yawn audibly through his headphones. “And on that note, I’ve got to go. I have to get up early to help my parents with their shop since I have some time before the next phase of my project.”

A little disappointed that he wouldn’t get to spend more time with Ladybug, but he understood that she had prior commitments. “All right. Will you be on tomorrow at all? I had fun just messing around with you tonight.”

“I should be able to get on for a few hours tomorrow night. I had fun too,” she admitted. “Well, goodnight, Viperion.”

Smiling softly, he replied, “Sweet dreams, Ladybug.” And logged off himself.

-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-xXx-

Turning her console off, Marinette plugged her controller into the charge cable and turned off her desk light. Stretching her arms over her head as she walked over to the ladder leading to the loft where her bed was located, she giggled as when she realized that she had learned more about Viperion in that one conversation than she had in the months she had been playing with him since he’d joined “Miraculous Kwami”. She enjoyed playing with him. He was just so calm and collected, completely relaxed even in the most stressful situations. There were many occasions where his level head had really helped keep her calm enough to figure out how to defeat an especially tricky boss. Plus, it didn’t hurt in the slightest that his voice was really hot. Idly, while she changed into her pajamas, she wondered if his face matched his voice.

Shaking her head, she thrust that thought right out of her mind. Online was online and reality was reality. It wouldn’t do to confuse the two. For all she knew, he was a 45 year old bald man with a pot belly and a handlebar moustache. Shuddering at the thought, she shook her head again and made the decision to just leave things as they were. There are just some things that are better of not knowing.

Chapter 05

*Not going to lie, I had a lot of fun writing Jagged Stone. I also tried to stuff in as much British slang as I possibly could while still having it sound relatively natural.

Oh, and if you want to understand a little bit what Luka’s music sounds like when he’s confused and stressed out, this is what I listened to when I wrote the first scene of this chapter.

Until next time Lovelies XOXO*

[aj-draws]

Our Heartstrings

July 18th was the day Sly made the sacred post. I suppose you could consider this a one month anniversary for The Heart Squad! 

So this is a short story that explains how it feels like being on Tumblr, and how lucky I am to have such amazing friends. Because I like mixing fantasy and magic with my writing to make it more exciting, there’s a bit of a...twist that you’ll see :)

If you wanna scroll past this, feel free to, I don’t mind! This is personal writing of mine that I wanted to share, and if you’re curious about me (since this reflects me as a person as well), then you can go ahead and read this.

(Note! Some things I write about not might be necessarily true. The way I describe things might not be accurate, but behind the screen, that is what I see and interpret. It’s just my way of seeing things, my perspective, so uhh don’t get mad if I’m wrong lol??) 

(Another side note! This is completely related to the story involving The Heart Squad that we’re working on. Just wanted to make that clear)

Either way, have a lovely day, everyone! :D

@danyulsdimple @sly-is-my-name-loving-is-my-game @bubblseri @phlying-squirrel

(I’m gonna put a cut because this actually became really long? Whoops I still don’t regret a thing lmao-)

But first, an explanation. 

I...have this weird habit. I guess it stems from me being a detail oriented writer, but whenever I meet someone new and get to know them after an extended period of time, I have specific ways to describe that person. Similarly, this also happens for characters from new shows that I watch. For Sanders Sides, well, there’s that ‘Describing Sanders Sides Ships’ that I wrote. For Analogical, I think of an evening sunset, or for Logicality, the sun and the moon comes to mind-things like that.

Writing has always been very personal to me. Most of my art comes without thought, you see, there usually isn’t some secret message hidden in it. But whenever I write, it’s always to tell a story. Writing has posed a difficult and unpredictable, but rewarding challenge for me. I haven’t been able to write something so passionately for quite a long time, so thank you for that. <3

You all are awesome. Creating this little group has been so much fun, and having you guys be there means a lot to me. Sometimes it’s hard to express that, so I hope I can make that a little more clear with this little story. 

This is for my dear friends.

To Lea, whose openness and humor lets me smile and laugh with ease. 

To Piper, whose positive impact on others has caused me to admire her from afar.

To Sly, whose fascinating, patient personality provides comfort and stability. 

To Sienna, whose bright and kind nature has warmed my heart. 

This one is for you. I love you guys 💜💜💜

The red string of fate. 

It is said to be an unbreakable string of scarlet that binds soulmates. Just like how fate is more than what people make it out to be, so are the strings. 

I’d know. 

Because love comes in so many different forms, I’ve already had several strings when I was little. 

On my left hand was the comforting kind of love. The kind that gave me a small, soft smile when my mother kissed my head. Or when I couldn’t stop laughing over something my father joked about. Not just that, but even how proud I get when my sister compliments my art. Two strings tied to my parents wraps around my index finger, to lead me in the right direction. On the other hand, a string from my sister is looped around my thumb, which assured me that I could do anything. 

I’m glad the strings are weightless, because my right hand would feel as heavy as a dumbbell if they weren’t. My right hand symbolizes platonic love. A string instantly becomes attached the moment I interact with someone. It first starts around the wrist, and as you get to know the person, the string moves. The middle finger is where hatred for that person resides, the thumb for those that are simply acquaintances that cheer me on from afar, and the index finger is reserved for good-natured, honest best friends that bring out the best in me. 

My ring and pinkie fingers remain untouched. 

Now, the ring finger, I understand. If I were to feel affection toward a friend, perhaps a string might find a home around my ring finger. But my pinkie? What does such a tiny, trivial finger represent? 

Now back to the myth. As you can see, there is truth behind what is only known as a legend. 

But there is one thing that they got wrong.

Tapping the power button on my laptop, I lean back in my chair. I sigh, long and quiet, all the while tugging and massaging my fingers. Faint aching at my joints causes me slight discomfort, but it’s nothing unusual. After finishing seven drawings in a hour or two, what do you expect?

I rest both hands atop my keyboard and let all of my fingers stretch in front of me, admiring the strings. I smile, I really do...I can’t help but flinch when I feel my grin dissipate. 

The strings are a fading white, completely empty of color. 

All the rich, vibrant shades of red that they talked of was untrue. Seeing the strings makes my heart soar, but their colorless, bleak nature is bound to bring a bit of gloom from time to time. 

I constantly wonder why. Was I supposed to see color? Do I see colors when I reach a certain age? Am I broken? Why-

The screen comes alive, and the light that radiates from the letters on the keyboard bring me back to reality. Clicking on the blue logo that I know all too well, I find myself smiling right away. 

Online friends are an interesting case. Since I’ve never physically met them, they don’t have strings. I can leave asks on as many people’s blogs as I want, but not a single string appears. 

...There were four exceptions. Let me tell you about them. 

-

She is the countryside. 

She is the short walk to a nearby town, where the buildings huddle together and lights reflects off each other’s windows. There are quiet voices, the occasional booming cackle and the clinking of glasses. The streets and roads are mostly empty, but it is inside the stores and shops where laughter and chatter belong. 

There is a homely feeling to this small town. You could always find her wandering around, going from building to building leaving smiles and bright faces. Whether it’s complimenting others or joining a protection squad, she is there with the town, reveling in the closeness of their companionship.

And then you are home. You are where the houses become scattered and the concrete roads become gravel or sand. Gazing out over the horizon, there is only the gentle swaying of tall crops and a setting sun. 

You remain outside, sitting down and watching the sun fade away. Light falls and darkness rises, covering you with a blanket of constellations and glittering stars. With no factories or skyscrapers close by, the sky can breathe. 

When your back drops against the ground and the grass meets your hair, she grins beside you. She laughs along when you point out the constellations, remarking that they look like things they definitely aren’t supposed to look life. She is the lift of your lips, the sparkle in your eyes.

Lying down with the smell of fresh grass and cool air lingering upon my nose, I feel calm. Her presence, though it is not entirely familiar, is peaceful.  

But she is not always peaceful. In a place where there are nothing but fields and flatlands, you are bound to find something to liven things up. 

When the colorful leaves drop from trees and a chilling breeze settles in, you could be chatting with friends in that bustling coffee shop in town, or be in a library, immersing yourself in an interesting book. Even indoors, you are sitting by the fireplace or watching movies. You could be smelling the blooming flowers and morning dew, visiting gardens and climbing trees. Then all of a sudden, you’re dancing, barefoot, with the stars hanging over your head, a popping firecracker in your hand as you take in the warmth of July.

Whatever it is, it is new and exciting. Taking something so simple and making it worthwhile is an admirable feat. 

You do not know this place well, that is for sure. But you wish you do. You wish you could. The countryside is filled with wonders that you hope to explore and learn about in the future.

As you sit upright, you glance down. That faint swish on your wrist was indeed not the grass, but a string. 

All you can do is hope she feels the same. 

We are connected, the countryside and I. 

-

She is a city. 

Sometimes she feels distant, just like how New York City is to me, but I don’t mind. She isn’t constantly a part of my life, and yet every time I drive down that bridge, look into the river and see those shining buildings, I’m filled with excitement. 

The city is an acquired taste, something that you maybe wouldn’t enjoy unless you’ve visited it on multiple occasions. Even for me, a person who was born and raised in such a place for most of her life, the city takes some getting used to. 

In some parts, the buildings glitter like gold. With its polished glass windows, allowing sunlight to grace its surface all too perfectly, and elegant architecture, you are almost fooled by its facade. 

Then you could turn your head and see tired, drooping eyes, voices yelling into phones and people crossing streets with a red traffic light hanging over their heads. 

Insecurity disguises itself within beauty. 

And she is always there. 

The sun begins to set, bringing upon the shadows, the people and the lights. I’m stuck within a crowd of people, and I’m still alone.

After not being in the city for several months, things don’t seem all that beautiful anymore. 

Suddenly the echoing footsteps of the people around me doesn’t sound so soothing. The buses roar, lions that snarl and growl intensely. Cars screech to abrupt stops, paying no attention to the rapid honking or the blinking stoplights. Above me, the trains let out bellowing cries as they bang against the rickety steel tracks.

She is there, pulling me to safety. Away from the dreadful noises, from the crowd, until there is tranquil silence. In order to ease the tension, she cracks a small joke.

Now, just for a moment, I can laugh in peace.

There is a tug at the corner of her lips as she sets off into the city. I follow alongside her. For a little while, things don’t feel overwhelming anymore. There are no due dates, no drawing requests to get done, no stories that are begging to be written. I can see the city for what it truly is.

Just like her, the city is real. Its raw, imperfect magnificence is bound to stun anyone, as long as they take the time to get to know its delighting qualities. 

She is the embodiment of stupid, but brilliantly amusing conversations in the middle of the night. She speaks in the language of references, using words in a way that will make you giggle. Her words come quickly, in a rush that ends as soon as it appeared, but that refreshing feeling of a car speeding past you will never stop being exhilarating. 

She tends to change a lot. One moment she’ll be bubblegum pink, a rose dripping in paint. Then the warm tones of golden sunflowers, or even a cat stalking through the night. All the colors and scents shift from one theme to another-her love for aesthetics never ceases to impress me. 

She moves quickly and easily, but she will never completely abandon you. If she disappears for a couple of minutes, you can rest assured that she’ll come running back bearing a smile and a funny story. As fast as a subway train, she will jump from one topic to another, whether it’s about crazy school stories or cantaloupes. 

Her relatable humor will lift a chuckle from one’s throat, lightening up someone’s mood like how the lamp posts along the sidewalks come alive at night. Light pours in through the windows of buildings, illuminating the jet black sky. In the same way, she, with her exciting personality, is able to brighten one’s day. 

Only when you’re sitting on the roof of a building will you be able to appreciate her. When you sit still, taking in the view, just listen. She will be there. Not everyone enjoys the city the first time around, but I promise you, there’s always something there that’ll make you smile. 

She doesn’t even live in a city, so for all I know, she could have no idea what I’m talking about.

But as a person who has lived in one and loved it with all her heart-that’s saying a lot. 

She smiles softly, saying goodbye before turning her head to the city. She stares, almost in a daze, at the skyscrapers and flashing lights. She rises, jumping off the ledge, hitting a metal staircase attached to the side of the building. Rushing down the steps, she doesn’t look back once.

You aren’t worried. She will return, one way or another.

The wind picks up, a light breeze that mirrored her swift movements. I stand up and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, noticing the tingling sensation that momentarily crossed my wrist. I look down and grin. 

We are connected, the city and I. 

-

They are a forest.

Personally, I haven’t spent much time in forests, so I think of them are rare. Unique. Where I live, there’s always been random patches of trees here and there, but never forests. 

I think forests have plenty of hidden beauty. There’s just something captivating about entering a forest in the midday, seeing the light filtering in through the trees. Every tree’s branches spreads out far and wide, their long arms stretching out to embrace the glorious, radiant sun, but also weaving together to create a blanket of protection over the forest floor. 

Forests means freedom. You could run, run, run: fast, far and even a little careless, but the support of the forest is always apparent. As you dash through the woods, you notice everything you could ever love about being able to express yourself. There’s the scent of pine cones and dirt, the gust of air that blows your hair into a tornado, and the babbling brook that you easily soar across.

But when the night fell-everything all of a sudden became more terrifying. 

It isn’t the forest itself that frightens you-it’s what surrounds it. There are howls of stalking predators, jaws snapping wildly. Voices come from the swaying trees and whistling wind, rapidly increasing whispers that made your legs tremble. Their vile words yank and snatch at the remnants of my sanity, draining all of the energy and hope out of me. The sounds are not there to hurt you necessarily, but sickening feeling persistently tugging at your stomach isn’t the most comforting thing either. 

They tell you that you’re not supposed to be there. Maybe you don’t deserve to discover any of the forest’s intriguing mysteries, or experience the gorgeous lights of a city, or even the simple excitement of the countryside. What if you’re being bothersome, or overbearing? What if-

The forest does not like ‘what ifs’. The forest does not mean to scare you, or make you feel out of place. 

The wind begins to ease up, the steady breeze soothing your shaking hands. As you look down, you close your eyes and listen once more. To the faint chirping of the cicadas, the rustling leaves and swishing branches. 

They appear at your side in your moments of unexpected, excessive doubt and panic. When your eyelids flutter open and you see them beside you, you are grounded. Safe. You start to talk to them, their tone hushed and quiet, as if they’re afraid of scaring you. You could never be scared of them. Perhaps worried that these conversations might be too time consuming for them, yes, but never scared. 

They show you the forest as it is: fascinating, patient, understanding and even showing a bit of fear from time to time. The forest is as welcoming as it is calming, and you enjoy that.

You never expected that you would ever experience happiness from a night as horrible as that one, but you did. The thoughts never destroyed you because the forest was there to protect you. 

Within the pitch black, there was light. Fireflies danced throughout the forest, their luminosity making me smile that night. 

When your eyelids felt heavy and your yawns grew longer, they told you to sleep. It was late, they spoke, and you need rest. You reluctantly gave in to this request.

Just before you were pulled into a deep slumber, something brushes against your wrist. The ghost of a smile graces your lips as you lose consciousness.

We are connected, the forest and I.

-

She is a meadow. 

I wish with all my heart that I could travel more often. I’ve only seen meadows through videos and pictures, but as an introvert that appreciates nature, I’d love to see one someday. 

All I can imagine is light and beauty. The ground dips into smooth, elegant valleys and rises in the form of rolling hills. The sky mirrors the sun’s movements, changing its colors as it dances across the heavens. If you only you were there to see it-the dazzling, radiant meadow at work, stunning you with its abundance of warmth.

After wandering around momentarily, you shiver, turning around and stiffening. The wispy, cotton-like clouds that were just drifting through the sky had transformed into something worse. You tremble in sync with the ground beneath your feet, feeling your breathing become choppy and unsteady. The loud, booming, angry noises sink into your mind, not giving you a chance to recover. All you can hear is the regret, all you can feel is the doubt and all you can see is the fear. 

You see her. Never once had she not been there for me. 

Hearing her footsteps, the noises disappear. The grey clouds linger for a second, before giving in to the blue skies and sunshine. The storm does not come for the meadow, whose genuine joy is something that cannot be easily purged. 

She comes with words-happy, lovely words woven together in the dandelions that surrounded her. She sits down, a smile on her face as she invites you to pick the flowers with her. The flowers’ colors are grounding and gentle to the touch. 

For every flower that you take, her kind words flood your eyes. One tells you that you are amazing, the second that you are talented, and another that you deserve all the happiness in the world. Each one carries laughter, brings excitement and makes you grin. One after another, as the dandelions fill your lap, her compassion fills your heart. 

There is one more dandelion. Once your fingers brush against its petals, you can hear it right away.

It reminds you that you are loved. 

Pressing that one to your chest, you can feel your smile grow, which was almost impossible considering how wide it was beforehand. You like that specific flower a lot, you admit. Sometimes you forget.

Her arm rests along your shoulders, her smile comforting you. She knows, and that is precisely why she says it.

The meadow, in all of its glory, embraces you. She whispers, telling you how sorry she is, and how much you are loved. You can smell it in the dandelions, and you can feel it in your heart. You do not deserve her. 

Are you okay, she asks with worry still lacing her voice. Upon spotting a string twirling around your wrist, you giggle and let yourself breathe. Without a doubt, you are alright, you answer.

We are connected, the meadow and I.

-

You might be asking, what about me? If one’s the countryside, the second’s a city, another is a forest, and the other is a meadow, then what am I?

The thing is: I had no idea.

I never saw myself as anything extravagant, or special. I don’t have the brightness of a city, the homely feel of the countryside, the soothing nature of a forest, or even the warmth of a meadow. What do I have? 

A tug on my wrist. Faint, but urgent. I glance up at the screen. 

I am...wanted...? Hm. I wonder. 

I’m walking, blind. My eyes are closed and I cannot will them open. But the four are by my side, so I know all is fine. 

The darkness clears, bringing in light. 

Dunes of soft sand spreads out in a blanket of golden as far as I can see. The sunlight casts its rays over the shoreline, causing glittering, hidden shells to reveal themselves. I stare in utter awe at the waves-at how, with every passing second, the colors seem to change. First, it’s turquoise, then azure, and suddenly cerulean. The shades of blue shift and churn peacefully, emitting the scent of salt. 

A beach. 

Maybe...Maybe I do belong. I don’t doubt it as much anymore. 

I stretch my hand out to the sea. I long for it, after all. Then, instead of focusing on the ocean, my gaze travels to my wrist. 

Four strings lift from their place and begin to move, following the movements of the gentle breeze. Once unfurled from my wrist, they leap-

And find a comfortable spot around my pinkie. 

Each string is filled with a color. 

Green for the city.

Pink with flecks of gold for the countryside. 

Red for the forest.

Yellow for the meadow. 

Purple for the beach.

Once upon a time, five colors met. They have never been the same since. 

They made a promise. It wasn’t too real or serious, just a dream that they hope with all their might would come true. They wish to one day meet each other. 

When this dream was made apparent that all five of them shared, purple smiled. Purple’s heart sung with joy, for she was once again reminded that she belonged. She sits, in front of her screen, closing her eyes and extending her pinkie. Purple wishes to meet the four vibrant, wonderful colors. 

One day, purple hopes. For now, she will remain at her screen: pencil to paper, fingers to keyboard. She is content with sharing herself this way, but...perhaps, with time...she will not be afraid of posting that picture. 

They all have their differences, yet they are still friends. 

They are The Heart Squad. ❤️💚💖💛💜

[liray-stylespk]

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[misssophiachase]

More Than a Feeling

Thanks for your reviews last chapter. If you hadn't noticed I'm going with an 80s theme given the song titles (been watching too much Stranger Things obviously).

Synopsis: Six former teen actors find themselves thrown together ten years later for a Netflix reboot of their TV series. Given the way things were left, what's their rationale for coming back and can they get past their issues? 28 days of stifling Californian heat, copious amounts of tequila and enforced bonding rituals will make deep seated secrets emerge and change things forever.  PART ONE HERE 

Part 2: You Give Love a Bad Name

SC Village, Corona CA

"Paintball, really?" Klaus drawled, looking around the army themed battlefield complete with dusty paths, a bullet riddled helicopter, camouflage coloured tanks, green barrels and an abundance of black, mesh netting. "What are we? Five years-old?"

"I don't know; I think it's fun." Kol replied, offering his brother some war paint he'd managed to acquire, god knows how.

"That's because you have the mental age of a five year-old."

"Why do I suddenly feel like I've been transported back to our childhood complete with incessant squabbling but set in a Steven Spielberg film?" Their eldest brother asked dryly.

"You always did know how to ruin everyone's fun, Elijah," Kol shot back. "Why is he here again?"

"Because we were young and naïve and let mother convince us to go into acting as children."

"You were twenty-one when you agreed to do Roswell Elijah," Klaus offered. "Surely you're not still blaming mother for that decision."

"And even if you are big brother, you agreed to this reboot in the first place," Kol argued. "To be honest I'm still extremely curious about why you signed up given your animosity towards this show." Elijah attempted to interrupt before Kol continued. "And don't even try telling me that it was a financial decision, Mister Millionaire."

After the show, Elijah had used his earnings to invest in a number of capital ventures making him his first fortune in just over a year and then the millions flowed. Klaus had been curious himself about Elijah's reasoning but thought it better not to pry given the same questions could be thrown in his direction.

Klaus was the only original member of the cast who'd pursued his craft and gone on to decidedly better acting roles in the process. Both his agent and publicist had begged him not to do the reboot given they thought it would ruin the reputation he'd built in Hollywood the past ten years.

He could still remember Rebekah's shrill voice through his cell phone when he told her his decision all those months ago.

New York, NY – 9 months earlier

"You're going to do what now?"

"If you're planning on deafening me then you're well on your way to succeeding, Rebekah," he growled.

"You are Hollywood royalty Niklaus. You've made Scorsese, Cameron and Scott films, you've acted alongside De Niro and Nicholson, you've…"

"I don't really need a synopsis of my resume nor my IMDB account, little sister," he interrupted.

"My point is that this decision will ruin what you've worked so hard to achieve. Roswell was…"

"Quirky and received mixed reviews, yes. But it's where I got my start and what propelled me to where I am today even if you don't agree," he pressed. "Have you even bothered to look at the script?"

"Lucien may have showed it to me," she grumbled.

"And we all know how much you like to taunt my agent and disagree just for the sake of it," he replied tartly. "But the writing is…"

"Alright, it's good," she conceded, albeit gruffly.

"And last time I checked Kol and Elijah had both agreed to sign on for this project," he argued. "It would be pretty cruel even for you to deny your siblings employment."

"Kol just wants the limelight and some more mindless conquests, Elijah's reasons for this decision I'll never bloody know." Klaus had thought the same thing but decided it was best not to engage with his highly strung sister. "Are you sure there's no other reasons for wanting to do this?"

"What exactly are you getting at?"

"You know exactly what I'm getting at but it isn't a what but a who. Blonde, blue eyed about 5'8? Goes by the name of C…"

"Enough," he growled. "That was ten years ago and I have no interest whatsoever of revisiting that particular part of my life. The fact you would even doubt my professionalism is outrageous."

"I seem to recall a Shakespeare play about someone protesting too much," she murmured sarcastically. "You can't deny the history."

"That's exactly what it is, Rebekah, history." Before she could argue Klaus had disconnected the call.

"Really Kol, my motives are none of your damn business," Elijah scoffed, breaking Klaus from his memory. "You know we're not all narcissistic, attention whores like yourself."

"I resent that."

"You have to admit that you like your picture taken a little too much, little brother," Klaus chuckled.

"Great, it's just like old times, you two ganging up on your poor, defenceless little brother." Before either could respond they heard a snort, turning around curiously to find out where it originated from.

"Poor and defenceless," Bonnie said, her eyebrows furrowed. "Now that's an interesting take on your personality. I would have just stuck with narcissistic and left it there."

"Why am I not surprised, Bonnie? You always were my most vocal and worst critic."

"Okay children," Caroline intervened, making her presence known, along with Katherine. Klaus was trying to ignore just how adorable she looked in head to toe camouflage gear but it was extremely difficult. He could still remember tracing those delectable curves with his tongue all those years ago. "Let's break it up."

"That's rich coming from the girl who needs a referee from Niklaus whenever they're in the same bloody scene," Kol scoffed. Klaus couldn't miss how her eyes flickered towards his before attempting to unload on his brother.

"Well..."

"Oh my god, do you people ever stop?" Alaric interrupted, placing himself strategically between the two warring factions. "I deserve a pay rise for having to put up with your pretentious behaviour."

"But…"

"No buts, Katherine," he fumed. "For once I just want you all to shut up, can you do that for more than five seconds?" He didn't wait for them to reply and continued. "It's obvious there are some deep seated issues here and after two days of filming within this horrible nightmare I decided we needed to take some drastic action."

"But…"

"Kol," he growled. "Shut it. Yes, you may fancy yourself as actors and your ability to fake chemistry but the camera never lies. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with your precious asses and we need this reboot to look genuine and not like you want to kill each other every scene. So, I've decided you need to get that hatred out right now on this makeshift battlefield. Go your hardest because if I have to deal with your dramas on Monday morning I might just shoot you all myself."

They were all silent, unsure of how to respond to such a strong threat. "Oh, so now you're all going to stay silent? Unbelievable."

"It's dark out if you hadn't noticed, Ric," Caroline offered, gesturing towards the black sky and dimly lit course.

"Makes it all the more interesting, don't you think?"

"You really are evil."

"I have this weird feeling you are relishing in our discontent," Elijah muttered, agreeing with Katherine, which was usually unheard of.

"And you would be right," he replied. "So, it's time to pair up kids. Three teams, two on each side."

"It should be two teams, the girls versus the guys," Bonnie objected stubbornly.

"Only if you want to lose, darling," Kol teased. Katherine raised her paintball gun towards his smug face in defiance and maybe a touch of impatience, she never was one to put up with drama if it didn't involve her of course.

"Do I get extra points if I shoot his pathetic ass right now?" Alaric intervened before she could go through with her threat, lowering her dangerously pointed weapon.

"This is how we're going to do it, children," he instructed. "I took the opportunity of drawing some randomly selected names out of a hat earlier and that formed the basis of the team pairings tonight."

"Randomly selected?" Klaus asked just as Caroline spoke.

"Where the hell is said hat or the names?"

"I'm the Director of this production, so right now I have ultimate authority."

"Last time I checked we weren't on set but in this questionable neighbourhood," Katherine hissed. "You do realise Chino is right around the corner? Ew."

"I didn't realise we had our very own Summer Roberts in the group tonight," Elijah joked, earning a curious glance from the rest of the group. "What?"

"You know the OC?" Kol asked, his mouth agape.

"Yeah, I mean I took you for the stuffy news and finance channel kind of guy," Bonnie added.

"Forget the OC, I think I've been transported back to kindergarten," Alaric groaned. "So, without further ado. The pairings are; Bonnie and Kol."

"No."

"Klaus and Caroline."

"Never."

"Katherine and Elijah." Those two didn't seem pleased but also didn't object as strenuously but it was obvious the other headstrong four weren't budging.

"Randomly selected hey?"

"You know what? Fine! I'm so sick of your childish antics that I'll let you pick your own teams, how about that?" They all regarded each other wearily wondering who they would pick under duress.

"What if we don't want to pick anyone?" Kol asked.

"I'd say you're all bad sports and for the love of god just pick someone," he pleaded. They all looked at each other obviously weighing up the least worst option in the process. Klaus had initially wanted Caroline but being that close to her so soon was also too much to deal with this early on during filming.

He was paired with Bonnie but given their history, Klaus knew she was a damn good shot and her animosity towards Kol would mean she wouldn't stop until he was riddled with paint. They may have been related but Klaus would pay to see his cocky brother brought down in a blaze of glory.

"You okay, love?" He asked, looking at Caroline curiously during prep. She'd all been about the bravado but as they were about to venture onto the battlefield she seemed almost nervous. Klaus would have been too if he was paired with Elijah.

"What did I tell you about calling me that?" She answered shakily, her creamy skin seeming more pale than usual.

"Force of habit," he murmured, his blue eyes searching hers for some sign. She looked away immediately, any unresolved feelings between them lost.

"I just hope you're ready to surrender, Mikaelson." She was gone before he could come up with some sassy response, her taut ass wiggling in retreat as she left.

"Game on, Forbes," he sighed. As much as joked, Klaus couldn't have been happier to have her so close again. Even if she did hate him. He'd take what he could get.

On FF HERE

[terrible-tentacle-theatre]

The Bestiary: Coconut Octopus

Disclaimer: This article, while founded in scientific fact, contains conscious exaggerations for the sake of comedy. Do not take it seriously. List of sources included at the end.

Hello again you beautiful fuckers! The dread claws of higher educations have passed over me for the time being, which means two things: Jewish celebrations involving matzo and new articles. (Mostly just new articles because Passover is not actually in the winter, but I couldn’t pass that pun opportunity over. Oops, I did it again.)

And how better to celebrate surviving my first midterms than writing about the objectively best sea animals: octopuses?

Yes, there is an objective list of sea animals from best to worst. Yes, it’s scientific. Yes, octopuses are at the top. Trust me, I’m a scientist.

Let’s be honest here for a moment: octopuses fucking rock. They come equipped with eight tentacular arms tipped with powerful suckers that help them adhere to any surface or prey item, they can change colors in ways that give chameleons a run for their money, they spew ink into your face when you get too tiresome, and they have fucking chitinous beaks in place of mouths. Not bad for something so closely related to garden snails. But coolest of all is their intelligence: if sea life was a superhero comic, the octopus would be the evil genius. They have great big honking brains packed into their non-existent skulls, capable of operative learning, problem-solving and even exhibiting personality; but even better than that is the fact that their arms each come pre-packaged with their own sub-brain - all invertebrates have ganglia distributed at each major body part but with octopuses these knots of nerve tissue inflate into much more complex structures, that among other things give each arm its own separate “personality” - one arm might be more aggressive, the other more curious, the third more cautious, etc.

Octopuses are an outlier - there are some molluscs that don’t even fucking have heads, and these guys come out of the blue and start being laughably intelligent. They probably got shoved into the locker by the snails all the time, like the fucking nerds they were.

Now let’s stop for a moment and consider what’s the finest and most clear-cut imaginable example of intelligence. No, it’s not art. No, it’s not Tumblr. No, it’s definitely not Superbowl.

Instead, it is tool use. The capability to utilize something that is useless or even holding you back until the perfect moment it is needed. Just like Aquaman.

I think you already know where I’m going with this. That “where” being, of course, that octopuses are genius enough to figure out tool use, because of fucking course they would. However, only one known species has achieved this first feat towards conquering human civilization so far, that being the magnificent coconut octopus.

Yo.

Amphioctopus marginatus, also known as the veined octopus, is an excessively pretty and decorative, but vicious creature, somewhat resembling a magical girl in that respect, except magical girls usually don’t have sucker-tipped tentacles or chitinous beaks, but I digress (then again, its webbed tentacles lined with colorful suckers do give off the impression of a frilly skirt). It is a tropical littoral octopus, meaning it lives in shallow water near the shoreline in equatorial waters where it’s hot and damp as fuck. It most often occurs in China and Indonesia, and leads a benthic lifestyle, meaning it’s too much of a lazy ass to swim, preferring to move around on the sea floor instead. Generally it’s a well-rounded, ordinary tropical Pacific octopus with a pleasing color scheme and ridiculously specific needs for survival... OR IS IT??? *dramatic chord*

As it turns out, it is most definitely not. In a sense, it’s the most special octopus ever. Just like Batman, during the day it’s an ordinary cephalopod of wealth and taste, but at night, it is the protector of... well, itself in this case, but just like Batman it achieves this goal using its pricey toys. In Batman’s case, it’s shit like the Batmobile, Batarangs or the utility belt, but the coconut octopus resorts to a much easier kind of tool: coconut shells.

To the Batcave!

When you think about it, coconut shells are some of the best tools for protection, provided you’re small and squishy and betentacled enough. They are hard, thick half-spheres that come in pairs and few things can ever break through them thanks to their high resistance to breaking and shattering force. Of course they can’t stand a chance against, say, a predatory fish thirty times your size with giant jagged teeth, but if one of those takes a fancy to you then you’re fucked anyway, whatever you do, so in the meantime coconut shells offer good defense against anything that you could reasonably defend yourself from.

Here’s how it goes: the octopus crawls around on the seafloor, idly just looking around for a suitable pair of half-spheres to inhabit. When it comes across such an object, it scampers over to it, dives in and fastens the base of its tentacles all over the two half-shells and starts just awkwardly carrying them around. According to the wonderful scientists researching them, it actually hinders their movement quite a bit, as they have to “stilt-walk” on their arms with the half-shells tucked underneath the tentacles, making them look like they are carrying the biggest pair of balls around.

However, when danger draws near, the octopus simply snaps the shells shut, transforming them from handy-dandy ballsack-holders to something not unlike a Morph Ball.

A coconut octopus will often utilize these Morph Balls when exploring some sort of no man’s land that doesn’t hold many possible shelters, letting them sphere up immediately if danger draws near. Try to open me up now, fucker.

“But Admin”, I hear you say, “How does an octopus, even one living in shallow water, acquire a steady source of coconut shells?”

The answer, of course, is humans. Lots and lots of humans who settle by the coconut octopus’ habitat, climb up trees, eat coconuts and throw the shells into the ocean. The octopus jumps on the opportunity like the shells are filled to the brim with cocaine.

Of course, it’s unlikely the octopus evolved such a complex behavior just in the little time humans were there, especially considering that the Metroid franchise didn’t exist yet, so it needed another source of inspiration. That source, say the scientists, might have been sea shells, which also occur in high density around the parts where this guy lives, and indeed they have been seen using sea shells for the same morph ball reasons, making them look like a slimier, less spine-possessing version of the Birth of Venus.

Try me, I’m the most fabulous motherfucker around these parts

To make this little scamp even better, even its way of locomotion is hilarious. You know that little meme octopus that NOPEs out of here whenever you feel it’s an adequate use for a reaction image? That’s, in fact, a coconut octopus. Observe:

That motion is as useful to the coconut octopus as laughable it looks from the outside. by this weird-ass walking movement, the octopus can mimic a floating coconut, approximating the object of its obsession even closer. This offers it the coconut’s protection even when it doesn’t have one, because really, who would want to bite into a hard floating hairy ball? (Aside from coconut crabs of course, but once again, if one of those wants to eat you you’re already fucked beyond belief and no tricks will help you.)

However, don’t confuse the coconut octopus’ arsenal of defensive tricks for peaceful nature or anything like that. This guy is vicious, and hunts for a living. Those coconut and sea shells don’t just acts as ballsacks and protective morph balls, they also allow the octopus to lie in wait.

Oh yes, in case you forgot, pretty much all octopuses are predators, and all of them are venomous. This guy isn’t an exception either, and to make it better it uses its coconut shells as aids in its hunt.

This is how it goes: the octopus chooses a promising hunting spot, sets up shop inside its coconut shell, and waits patiently, until something suicidally dumb enough comes along. Then it puffs up its mantle, using the water suction to quite literally launch itself out of the coconut and strike the suicidally dumb thing from above like a betentacled incarnation of rage.

That fucker crab didn’t even see it coming. That’s what you get for being a dumb crab and not a tactical genius like the coconut octopus, I guess.

The suicidally dumb thing is then engulfed by the octopus’ arms, and then injected with paralyzing venom and digestive enzymes in rapid succession, allowing the octopus to suck out its liquefied insides spider-style.

Here you suckers thought this guy was just adorable coconut tricks and Ministry of Silly Walks. But no, they are actually quite ruthless and calculating hunters - both clownish and deadly, which is already the norm over here at the Terrible Tentacle Theatre.

Sources

Encyclopedia of Life

Smithsonian Institution

Wikipedia