#no proofread whatever the hell i just typed to see it makes sense. just post

[ultimateinferno]

I'm helping my dad out with relocating his shed, and I had to cut a bunch of pieces of 2×4 out of varying lengths. Naturally, I pondered over how to best do this in a way that saves on the number of boards I use up. Very easily I'm sent back to my Operating Systems course in uni, namely our unit on memory allocation. Our assignment was to build our own heap manager (specifically recreate malloc/free from scratch—if you don't know what that is don't worry).

Early on, our professor proposes an issue. At the start, you'll have a continuous stretch of memory occupied, but as various parts of the heap are freed, you'll start to run into fragmentation. For the non-computer people, fragmentation is when you have a lot of open unused memory/storage, but they're scattered haphazardly between used up space, so you can't really use it. He advised us that "Best Fit" (memory allocated in the smallest chunk of free memory) is actually quite wasteful in the long term, and that "Worst Fit" (memory allocated in the largest possible chunk of free memory) or "Next Fit" (memory allocated in the first chunk of viable memory following the preceding allocation (so if you have something like [4,2,7,5,3,9], you store something 5kb in size turning it into [4,2,3,5,3,9] then you store something that's 2kb making it [4,2,3,3,3,9], modifying the fourth space even though it could have fit in the first through third)) are much more efficient in the long run.

For example, to use my board metaphor, let's say you have two boards, one 15 inches long and the other 20 inches long. The first board you need to cut is 10 inches. If you did best fit, you'll cut the first board, leaving you with 5 inches. If you did worst fit, then you'd cut the second board, leaving 10 inches. Next up is a cut demanding 14 inches. Best Fit would have you cutting the remaining 20 inch board leaving 6 inches. Worst Fit would have you cut the 15 inch board leaving 1 inch. Next again is another 10 inch board. Using Best Fit, you cannot git this board anywhere, having a scrap of 5 and 6 inches. Worst Fit meanwhile, has a 10 inch board scrap available.

Of course, with boards, Worst Fit would always have you pulling out the new pieces rather before touching scrap, but if you require using scrap first before touching new, it can still be pretty efficient. Big caveat, of course, is that these strategies are generally optimized for unpredictable allocation. You don't know how big your next one will be so you have to use the strategy that minimizes potential fragmentation. If you knew 100% of every allocation you'll need to make (like say, taking all of the measurements before cutting) you can much more easily optimize usage, but that's still a problem that's NP-Complete (iykyk) (it's officially called the Bin Packing Problem if you want to know more).

That said, if you're doing any woodworking and you want to burn through your scrap pile while maximizing projects but don't want to plan out your projects too much, Worst or Next Fit might stretch them out a bit better than grabbing the smallest possible piece available.

[charismatic-writer]

Because of my lack of motivation, but desire to share my writings, i will be posting some of my WIPs that i never got to finish, and will probably never finish.

Here is one of them.

TITLE: Her

FANDOM: Dream SMP

CHARACTERS: Ranboo, Mumza, Technoblade (mentioned), Philza (mentioned)

WARNINGS: Description of death/afterlife, in deoth description of panic attacks, Wilbur Soot is mentioned once, NOT PROOFREAD

WORD COUNT: 748

Ranboo Died. Ranboo was dead. They stood face to face with a Goddess. She called herself Kristin, the goddess of life and death. Ranboo was confused; they thought that when you die you were sent to some type of limbo. At least, that’s what Wilbur said when he came back from the dead. Limbo. Not whatever this place is. He was supposed to be in some type of hell. With fire! And demons? Is that what being in hell is like?

“Now what happened to you, love?” Kristin asks them, taking their hand and the two of them walk down a long narrow path.

“I'm not entirely sure... Last thing I remember, I was with Techno and Dream. We were leaving... the prison? I think it was the prison. It’s a bit fuzzy after that, but then I remember Sam holding me hostage... and I remember Techno-” Ranboo’s voice breaks, but they aren’t crying. “Techno was trying to get Sam to let me go- but- Sam killed me with his sword.”

Kristin stops and pulls Ranboo into her chest. “Oh my, I’m so sorry that happened to you dear. I promise that here, all that pain will go away.” But then she pauses. “Techno...? As in Technoblade?”

This gets a nod from Ranboo.

“Ah, Techno, he’s lovely, isn’t he?” Kristin smiles. “Now... we should probably find you a place to stay.”

“Ms. Death, I don’t want to stay here. I want to go back to Earth. I-I mean, I have a son, and a husband! I mean... I think I have a husband...? I need to go back and see my son! And I never helped Phil build the potato farm for Techno... I need to go back. I have to.”

Hearing her husband’s name catches Kristin off guard. “You know my Phil...?” Kristin asks the teen. “How do you know him?”

Ranboo looks confused. "You're 'Her'?" Ranboo asks. "I thought your name was Her, not Kristin.”

Kristin laughs softly. "No, Ranboo. My name is Kristin. I'll make sure to teach you about pronouns at some point."

“ Ms. Death. I really think I should go back to Earth. I need to see Phil and Techno again- I mean-He and Techno took me in after the war in L’Manburg. They let me stay with them in the Arctic, I even joined the Syndicate. I have so much with them back on Earth Ms. Death. I’m so scared; I just want to go home.” The teen’s face contorts as tears well in their eyes, trailing down their black and white cheeks

“Is that really what you want Ranboo?” Kristin asks with a sense of sincerity in her voice.

The teen nods. “I want to see them all again.”

“Okay, it’s settled then. I’ll take you back to Earth tomorrow morning. Until then, let’s get you settled.” Kristin led them back towards a humble cottage that sits in the center of a circle of trees, smoke flowing from the chimney, and a path of flowers leading to the front door. It was beautiful, and it fit perfectly with the gorgeous landscape of this place. Tall green trees, bright green grass and a big blue sky full of fluffy clouds.

“This is where you will stay for the night, and I’ll come get you in the afternoon to take you back home.” Kristin tells them, opening the door to the cottage.

“Thanks.” Ranboo states simply, walking into the foyer.

“Of course, love. I’ll let you get settled, and I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Ranboo lets out a sigh as Kristin closes the door to cottage leaving them alone in the large house. Reality hits Ranboo like a semi-truck. They were dead. And they were in some sort of.. Limbo? Or is this heaven. But either way they are dead. Sam killed them at the prison in front of Dream, and Techno. Michael is god knows where and probably in danger. It was so much to take in at once. Before they knew it, they were hyperventilating. Their breaths labored an uneven as he gasps for any amount of air he could get. He was dead- murdered in cold blood all because of Dream, and Sam, and the whole situation!

Their lungs ache as they continue to gasp desperately for oxygen. Their mouth was dry, and vision spotty. They felt like they were dying. Which- they were already dead so that couldn’t be possible, but it sure as hell felt like it.

[lukabitch]

Danny Johnson x Male Reader

It’s the idea I came up with from this post. :)

Tw: Violence, blood, reader is stabbed, Danny being Danny.

Working closely with someone you’re interested in was a new and difficult situation. Jed Olsen was a weird dude but the good kind of weird. Whatever it was the charm he had was working wonders on you. He made the days at the gazette a little more interesting.

“So what do you think?” The sudden question broke your inner thoughts. Jed would always insist that you proofread his articles for him. You were always good at catching spelling errors for him. You shake your head and give him a sweet smile.

“It’s perfect I didn’t catch anything.” He smiled at your words. You felt a weird sense of pride about that. Maybe it’s because you’re the one that made him smile. “Is staring really necessary L/N?” Shit he caught you staring that’s embarrassing.

“Oh sorry you’re just very nice to look at.” It didn’t really hit you that you had said that. He laughs and leans in getting a bit closer. “You can take a picture you know?” His tone was very cocky but still light hearted. You leaned back in your chair wanting to be anywhere but here.

“Well I didn’t want to be rude besides you’re better to look at in person.” You were screaming internally but kept a calm demeanor. “You’ve got guts I’ll give you that. Maybe I’ll see you off work hours.” The wink he shot you sealed the deal. All you could feel was pure and utter bliss.

The day ended sooner then you expected but you had high hopes. You did live on the same street after all and it wasn’t uncommon for Jed to come over. Getting home felt faster then usual maybe it’s the excitement.

Walking inside you soon realized that your small house was a total mess. You need to clean this before anyone comes over. Throwing away empty boxes and random plastic bags was a good start. The house was a bit stuffy so you opened the widow in the kitchen a bit.

It was about 8pm when you finished cleaning the house and you were tired. You walked into your bedroom it was the one part of the house you didn’t clean. No one is really allowed in your room anyway unless it was for something important. Either way you laid down and hugged the blanket falling asleep quickly.

It seems you forgot to close the widow and someone else had noticed it. Danny had you murder planned out for weeks going over every little detail. You weren’t his usual type of victim but you were the perfect man to make the police bug off Jed’s trail. Now seemed like the perfect time and you had made things easier for him.

He slipped in easily hoping down from the counter with a small thud. He knew the ins and outs of your house very well. He crept over to your bedroom and opening the door slowly. There you were sound asleep you looked cute like that. A wicked smile graced his lips he certainly was going to enjoy this.

He walked quietly as to not wake you. With his knife firmly in his hand he used the other to push your head down into the pillow. Immediately you woke up and started to panic but Danny pushed his weight on to you.

You cried out feeling the knife stab into you repeatedly. You couldn’t scream and you could barely breath when suddenly he got up off of you. You could here pictures being taken before whoever attacked you left. Forcing yourself to stay in place until you could start moving was torture.

Tumbling out of bed you started to crawl your way to the phone. You made it to the kitchen and forced yourself to stand in spite of the agonizing pain. You could feel yourself bleeding out while waiting for an ambulance and the blood trail you left wasn’t helping. Starting to black out the last thing you heard were sirens.

Danny had just finished getting dressed after a lovely shower. He knew he would have a hell of a day at work tomorrow. The thought of everyone mourning the beloved sweet boy of the gazette just fueled him. All those thoughts were quickly shattered by sirens approaching. He looked out the window and saw other people doing the same.

His heart sank seeing the ambulance pull in. Hoping into action he walked outside and ran over obviously the police that were on scene stopped him. “Please that’s my friend! I need to see him!” Jed’s voice was desperate and full of worry.

One of the cops were surprisingly kind enough to drive him to the hospital. When he did get there he was told to wait for you to come out of surgery. Eight hours had passed and Jed was fast asleep in the waiting room. He was only distributed by a nurse shaking him awake. “Sir he’s ready to see you now.”

Jed smiled and thanked the nurse before heading to your room. He sucked in a breath and walked into the room. “Jed! I’m so glad your here.” Your voice was still sweat and warm. The smile you gave him almost made him feel guilty.

“Thank god you’re okay! I don’t know what I would do if you…” he trailed off avoiding eye contact. You placed your hand on top of his rubbing it gently. “I’m sorry I worried you but on the bright side I’m going to make a full recovery.” The smile you gave light to the room.

All he could do was smile and laugh at you. Maybe you living could benefit him.

[tobiosmilktea]

Can I request a tsukishima imagine where you just want him so show pda but he doesn’t like that so you distant yourself and start to hang out with your guy friend more than him because they actually show you affection. Does that make sense? lol I’m sorry 😂

pretty please — tsukishima kei

1.1k words | genre/s: fluff, barely any angst | warning/s: suggestive themes | pairing: tsukishima x gn!reader

a/n: sorry to the anon who requested this since it took so long to write,, my writers block hit hard with this one which is why i’m posting this later than i usually do (also not proofread LMAO)

you were never really the type to complain. granted, it was one of the many promising features about you that tsukishima liked and we all know how difficult it is to please someone as daft as karasuno’s resident middle blocker. you especially wouldn’t dare to even complain about your relationship either, but lately your patience was waning each day.

like seriously, you and tsukishima have been together for a little over six months yet no one in the entire school was aware of your relationship with him until just recently. what’s up with that?

part of that reason was possibly from your boyfriend’s evident distaste to any forms of pda even if it is as small as holding hands. come to think of it, the closest you and tsukishima have been in public was nothing more than standing side by side with shoulders barely touching.

no wonder people thought you two were just friends.

it surely didn’t help that even in the privacy of your own rooms, tsukishima still had a hard time showing affection to you. you honestly weren’t surprised purely based on how cynical your boyfriend’s personality was, however, it was your turn to give him a little taste of his own medicine.

kuroda yoshinori—one of your closest guy friends since middle school and your partner in crime in your master plan. tsukishima was well aware of yoshinori’s existence after you had introduced him a few months ago after he had run into you two in the middle of a date. you noticed how the blond boy had tensed at your comfortable nature around yoshinori that you had to get his help for this. it definitely did not take long for him to agree. granted, who wouldn’t take part of a spontaneous little arrangement?

you decided to start it off little by little. your actions were small and minuscule like suddenly being on your phone and texting a lot as you purposely made sure that tsukishima could see who you were texting. eventually, you even got yamaguchi into your little plan to which he zipped his lips and promised to keep it a secret. if anything, he found it incredibly amusing.

“who are you texting?” tsukishima asked you as you two sat together on one of the school benches, backs resting against the wall. you had been completely ignoring him since the moment you came over to his house and his annoyance was more than clear upon his visage.

regardless, he knew damn well who you were texting. usually, he would ignore it and let whatever the hell you were doing to until it would trickle away, but this time he had the time of day.

“yoshinori,” you hummed an answer as your eyes never left your phone screen. your fingers tapped away, responding to your friend the moment your phone would buzz.

tsukishima couldn’t help but feel that infamous feeling in his gut. that peculiar and quite honestly bothersome sensation was the last thing he wanted to consume him. and so he snatched your phone out of your hands.

you yelped in surprise as you glared at him, “hey, give that back!”

tsukishima and his damned height would be the death of you as he held your phone up high towards the ceiling. you attempted to grab your phone back when you jumped, but all you managed to do was graze his wrist before landing back down onto the ground.

the middle blocker lightly pushed your body away as he angled his head up, reading the most recent texts between you and your friend. his gaze hardened once he skimmed over the texts before scoffing back down at you, “you’re going out with him later tonight?”

you didn’t bother to respond. perhaps it was the way you were finally getting a reaction from him that your words might’ve given you away. instead, you opted to roll your eyes at him, finally able to snatch your phone back only for tsukishima to land a hard grip on your wrist.

“are you cheating on me?” the words fell out of the blond’s lips faster than he could stop himself. despite his hardened expression on you, you could tell by the way his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat and the slight shakiness at the end of his phrases.

it was then your eyes flooded with confusion rather than concern as you shook your head aggressively, “of course not. why the hell would i do that to you?”

he was never like this.

faux amusement melted upon tsukishima’s face the moment he dropped your wrist. “oh i dunno, (y/n),” he scoffs as he raises his hands up in defense, “maybe you should ask yoshinori considering you see him every weekend and text him every second of the day.”

it certainly didn’t help his case when giggles left emitted from you, glowing in front of his despite his evident anger. he supposes it was his turn to be confused by the latter’s reaction as he gave you a look.

“what?”

that adorable little laugh that tsukishima loved so much about you echoed throughout his room as you lifted his arms, placing them over you. “you’re an idiot, tsukki,” your voice muffled into his chest as you could practically hear his heart beating sporadically through his ribs. “you know i was only doing that to get you jealous right?”

your boyfriend’s face contorted in a mix of confusion and dismay, “why?” he questioned, absentmindedly tightening his embrace around you as relief filled him. “are you that bored?”

you shrugged in his arms, “a little bit.”

“unbelievable.”

“you’re the one who refuses to kiss me anywhere outside of our rooms,” you grumbled when you looked up at him. you looked incredibly like this, with your chin rested upon his chest and pouting slightly.

at this point, he was just glad that you weren’t seeing anybody else. “is what this was all about?” tsukishima scoffs lightly, “you know i’m not big on pda, (y/n).”

“okay, but would it kill you to at least hold my hand?”

“yes.”

your face fell into a deadpan as your arms went limp. “i’ll ask yoshinori to hold my hand then,” you huffed, leaving his warm embrace.

a slight smirk appeared on tsukishima’s lips, “come here, idiot.” it was then did he snatch your wrist again, making you turn back towards his figure so he could plant millions of small kisses all over your face. from your forehead to your cute little nose to your cheeks���inching down and down until he reached that little sweet spot on your neck.

“t-tsukki, not here.” you stammered over your words as your eyes frantically looking around for unwanted stares.

tsukishima ignored you, “isn’t this what you wanted, babe?”

[mieohmy]

drafts... // yjh

to start with: hi everyone again 💕 you can probably tell by the title but sometimes I can’t write shit so I have a bunch of wips/horrible writings that I’ll never finish or just straight up hate -which means I’ll just post them so they can rot away and I never have to look at them again(and no they are not proofread) 🙂

D I S C O N T I N U E D

yoon jeonghan x matchmaker!reader

genre: fluff, humor, angst, strangers-to-lovers?

warnings: cursing

wc: 1.9k

summary: yoon jeonghan- your toughest matchmaking customer yet. flash forward thirteen dates and still insatiable. your only choice is to further investigate the reason behind all his failed attempts....but maybe it’s because he only wants you?

“How was your last date?”

He leans back with a bored sigh. “Uninteresting. She looked like her face was gonna melt with all that makeup on.”

And as much as you were starting to ‘dislike’ his presence here, yoon jeonghan was still your client and a fucking funny one at that.

You press your lips to prevent the laughter and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Neither does the shake of your head to collect your thoughts.

If there was anyone else in the room, literally anyone, they would’ve known exactly who jeonghan wanted really to go on a date with. (Hint hint: actually- no. you don’t even need one.)

“Well, i know she wasn’t the best choice, but we’re running out of options.” You hated forfeiting, but this guy was truly giving a run for your money.

“Are there other choices? Anyone?”

You rub your temple in frustration, scrolling through the options of contenders.

Honestly, you had no clue why he was constantly coming back to your office.

If you’re just gonna reject and complain about every girl, then why are you still here?

But you are indeed a professional- so the only thing you do is smile that polite worker smile and say, “Okay then. There’s another available person that’s willing to go out. Should we try one more time?”

The look on jeonghan’s face is unreadable. It almost makes you nervous. Does he.... does he not want to-?

“Okay,” he simply states.

When he gets up to leave, your eyebrows furrow. But you didn’t have the time to dwell on his strange action when his voice interrupts your further thoughts.

“Just text me the details. I’ll see you soon.”

“Wait-! You don’t even know anything about them....” your voice falters.

After a solid five minutes of making sure he was truly gone, you whip out your phone, furiously typing for the familiar contact on the screen.

“...yes?”

“Josh, I’m fucking quitting my job and moving to Alaska.”

There’s a pause.

“Is it that one guy again?? Jungle juice or whatever?”

“..... his name isn’t even hard to pronounce, and yes. More than 13 dates and jeonghan hasn’t found a single match. You know how stubborn I am but maybe it’s time to give up. I mean, is he just extremely picky or what?? I don’t get it.”

You spin circles in your chair, a perfect representation of how your mind felt.

“I don’t know y/n... could the problem might not be his dates but more him instead?”

The chair stops. “Him? What do you mean?”

The voice on the other line suddenly gets quieter. “I dunno, maybe there’s something wrong with junkyard and that’s why no one wants to date him?

The urge to correct him again is strong but the newfound thought distracts you.

“Huh.... Joshua, you might be onto something. I’ve never had problems with my clients being straight up horrible at dating though. But then again, thirteen failed dates and not a single success?”

You stare at the twirling ceiling. “But he must really want to find love, why else would he keep asking for my services?”  

Joshua’s voice turns suspicious. “You’re right... why else would he keep coming back to you?”

You snap your fingers, the perfect plan in mind. “I’m a genius, josh. I’ll take him out to really see what’s been happening on all the dates. Then we can figure out the problem.”

“So... you’re saying you’re gonna ask him out on a date to see what he’s been doing wrong on his other dates?”

The chair squeaks. “Oh. Uh. I guess so?”

“Okay.... just be careful. See you later.” There’s a certain edge to his voice that you notice.

After the call ends with a beep, you stare at the black phone screen.

Did josh mean something when he said that?

Shrugging it off,  you text jeonghan a few minutes later, surprised when he responds almost immediately.

You hesitantly tell him the reason for the so-called “date”, not expecting him to agree so quickly.

“Jeonghan, I-“ you stop and instead pass him as many tissues as you can, purposely avoiding looking at him and his very much see through shirt.

After a tense silence of just cleaning up, you mutter, “Did you really not wear anything underneath?”

He laughs. “So you were looking?”

“Haha, funny. And no. But when a mad person throws a drink at your white shirt, what do you expect?”

You soften, helping him with all the used wet napkins. You admire his strength to stay calm and not get angry in a situation like this.

“Are you really okay though? Do you have a jacket or anything to cover up with?”

He shakes his head.  

Coughing, you reach behind you, giving jeonghan a sheepish look.

“Well, I brought mine?”

Once you reach your car, you finally bring up what’s been buried in the back of your brain for quite a while, actually.

“Jeonghan.”

He looks at you curiously, your jacket still draped around him.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

You exhale, trying your best to seem unaffected and upbeat.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t think I can help you anymore.”

His heart stops. 

“...what did you say?”

“I think we should stop the whole matchmaking stuff, whatever this is. It’s not working out, which was obviously proven today. How many dates has it been? Why waste your time when we both know that it’s most likely not going to lead to anything?”

You smile, but it looks more like a grimace. “I suggest you find someone else to assist you if you’re that desperate for love. Once again, I’m sorry.”

Even with the feeling of defeat making you sink inside lower and lower, there was just simply nothing else you could do.

And jeonghan watches as you drive off, leaving him alone in the parking lot. The jacket -no, your jacket still wrapped around him, but suddenly it feels a lot colder than before.

But when you thought jeonghan finally left your life for good, he shows up once again, this time at your house.

What’s even worse is that it’s late at night and pouring outside. And you were stuck at home in possible the most embarrassing and ratty clothes to be caught wearing.

“What the hell jeonghan? What are you doing here?”

You examine his soaked body, aghast.

“I came to see you. And return your jacket, but mostly to see you.”

“Did you walk in the rain or something? Go back home. It’s so late -you must be crazy.

“No.”

His hard-set expression only makes you more frustrated.

“Listen. If you’re looking for more help, I can’t do anything. You- yoon jeonghan- are my hardest customer. I really don’t know what you want from me. I’ve tried everything and nothing’s worked.”

You can tell he’s getting increasingly annoyed, eyebrows furrowing and teeth gritting.

That causes you to sigh, arms crossing and uncrossing.

“I’m sorry. You’re just a case I can’t help. It-”

“The case isn’t about me. The case is that I’m in love with you.”

His voice is strained and controlled, like he’s barely able to hold it back.

.....huh?

You stare at each other for a solid minute.

Then comes the uncomfortable feeling of his eyes boring into yours and you feel the urge to close the door.

Unfortunately, that’s the one time your body actually listens to your brain and you swing the door shut in his face.

Even more unfortunately, it takes a minute for you to come back to your senses and let out a horrified, muffled scream.

Your hands scramble to reopen the door again.

There’s no one in sight, only the rain still coming down strong.

“Jeonghan?” you call out tentatively.

You walk out under the safety of your front porch, glancing for any sign of him.

After a couple more seconds of no results, you sigh and turn around to go back inside-

“Oh my god jeonghan.” He was to the side of your door, barely out of your peripheral view.

Jeonghan looks up from his small huddled position on the ground.

The sight of him looking like an abandoned puppy makes your heart squeeze.

Coughing, you attempt to smile feebly.

“I’m so sorry. Please come inside? It’s raining hard and you’re very much wet.”

Luckily he doesn’t protest much and follows you in. You force him to take a shower while you dry his clothes. There was some spare clothes found that might possibly fit him? It was better than nothing. You really did not want to see nothing. you don’t think you could handle that.

It all makes sense. Why he kept coming back to you. Why he was so eager to go out on that fake date with you, even if it was only an experiment.

But that’s not the real question. The real question is, how did you feel?

When the bathroom door finally opens, you start from your anxious seat on the couch.

But when he sits next to you, you slowly feel a wave of anger course through your body-no matter how good he looked.

“Are you stupid?”

His effort to dry his hair with the towel stops with your words.

He only stares at you.

You stand up, snatching the towel from jeonghan and beginning to dry his hair for him.

Quite forcefully, he notes.

Jeonghan heats up from your touch, noticeably getting softer and gentler. On the other hand, you were very much annoyed while also focusing on drying his hair to your best ability.

“Who the hell just goes in the rain like that? And shows up at someone else’s house without notice? And then proceeds to confess their love for them?”

Jeonghan says nothing. Eventually, you finish drying his hair and throw the towel to the side.

“How long?” Your voice is tight, attempting to hold back the emotions. But the look in your eyes is different-desperate, curious. You really just want to know.

This. This isnt what you expected. Your job is to find someone perfect for him, and that someone couldn’t possibly be you yourself, right?

Out of all the people in the world, jeonghan only wants you. That one thought is enough to make you shiver.

For the first in a while, jeonghan speaks up. “Since the first time we met.”

“Stop lying. I know for a fact you don’t give a shit about love at first sight.”

He laughs. “That’s why I like you. You get me, my jokes, and pranks. Basically everything I say and do. Ah, and it was like after three failed dates or whatever. What can I say, I really liked seeing your face after all those boring dates.”

It’s hard for you to hold back a smile.

“Alright, since I believe you this time, I guess I’ll  accept your confession.”

“Wait, what? You like me back?”

“Well,” your voice cracks and you shoot him a crooked grin. “I don’t know, but we can always try?”

He stifles a laugh at your obvious attempt to hide your shyness, looking back at you with a glint in his eyes.

“Okay. Bet.”

Your head tilts in confusion.

“I bet I can get you to fall in love with me in one week,” he says, trademark smirk pasted on his face.

And jeonghan already knows -you’re not one to back down to challenges.

“Oh, it’s on, lover boy.”

a/n: EWWW ALSKJFASL anyways- sorry for typos and yes there are so many random cuts and scenes (ones i liked and didnt want to delete) that probably make no sense since my unproductive ass doesn’t want to rewrite the whole story-like there is nothing going on with this aHA that’s all :) 

[corpsentry]

behind the taylor swift gundam was in fact another, smaller gundam: a brief inquiry into the events of june 2020

so back in june this year june and i got together and we made this motherfucker of a story with this motherfucker of a thread to keep track of it all. but you already know that! and i’ve already got one foot and three elbows in my grave, so i’ll spare you the long-winded stuff. you wanna know how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks? i’ll tell you how i wrote 93,035 words in 4 weeks-

-by linking you guys to copies of my planning documents because i feel like those words speak louder than any words i can offer in the present day. these are long documents. but they are also historical artifacts. very interesting. very weird. very, uh, full of cussing. so anyway, here’s

BIG DADDY: THE ORIGINAL PLANNING DOCUMENT

for those, like me, who have no motivation left in life to do anything and rely on summaries from others to acquire new knowledge, it all started with a single line.

prince of a fallen kingdom atsumu tries to kill hinata but falls in love with him instead

june, april something, 2020

with that in mind i tested the concept out with a few paragraphs of text, which you can find at the bottom of the Big Daddy document in the graveyard segment, accidentally sold my soul to the image of hinata with epaulettes, and then worked backwards, structuring an entire plot around two images:

a) hinata getting the shit beat out of him, with snark b) hinata and atsumu dancing in an empty ballroom under the stars

if you want a betrayal, you have to have something worth losing. if you want to fall in love with someone you don’t know, you have to meet them. if you have to meet them, there has to be a reason for that meeting, and so somewhere in between atsumu became a sword instructor and hinata the prince with daddy issues. june and i used this method of glancing anxiously over your shoulder to see what you’d missed to fill out the blanks in the story, after which i tacked up a bunch of post-its, typed out the plot, consulted june, typed out the plot again, and then broke the characters down into a bunch of questions, like ‘what do they want?’ and ‘what do they have?’ and ‘what are they afraid of?’

with the plot more or less ironed out, i decided it was time to start writing, and then i decided that i was actually too scared to start writing after all, so instead i set a couple of timers using classroomtimers.com (15-20 minutes long) and i sat down and i wrote about the world that hinata and atsumu inhabited.

each warm-up was 300-500 words long, and for the first few days, i’d write one before getting into writing the story proper. later these evolved into simply picking a scene from the story and launching straight into it, which became useful for opening those scenes later when i got to them organically.

then i got lazy! so i stopped. but these shitty little exercises were really useful for me because, unfettered by plot, convention, or any kind of tradition hovering over my shoulder, i was able to fuck around loosely enough to realize what i wanted this story to be. it was a very contrived kind of trial-and-error, an exploration of the characters, the story, but most importantly, the tone.

RESEARCH, PLANNING, AND VICTORIAN BOUGIE FASHION

this is a loose map of the castle and Important Locations within it, which i drew up at the start so i could keep track of where everything was and how i could get my characters from point A to point B. i wanted the story to have Some kind of internal logic, you know, even if that logic amounted to ‘a compass would function normally in this world whereas kageyama tobio would not’.

99% of my planning and organizing within those five weeks took place in this lovely dotted cat journal which my sister gave me for my birthday and i repurposed into a metaphorical Diary of Suffering while working on juno. i used it for everything from keeping track of narrative threads to clothing consistency checks, but the main purpose was this: each day at about 10 pm i’d crack open the cat book to a fresh page, stamp the date and the day of suffering at the top, and then write down a list of things i wanted to write, address, or fix today. then i’d sit at my laptop and write like a madman until about 7 in the morning. with breaks, of course, for sitting in the bathroom and staring at the wall and sitting in the kitchen and staring at the wall, but mostly i was writing. and complaining about writing. you were there, you probably remember that.

anyway, here are some pages from the cat book.

aside from the fact that my handwriting is complete shit, you can see that i made zero effort for any of this to be presentable. it was mainly a way for me to keep track of my thoughts because i have the attention span of an ikea wardrobe and tend to forget things as soon as i think of them. the lack of structure also mirrored the way that i went about writing juno. while i did proceed, for the most part, in chronological order, i had a lot of weird and useless revelations during lunch, which by this point was happening around 2 am, and in the 5 minutes before the exhaustion finally hit and carried me down to hell. i changed A Lot. again, to understand exactly how much the story evolved from day one onwards, please consult the big daddy document.

in the meantime, here’s something else.

once june sent over hinata and atsumu’s character designs i sat down like the fucking fool i am and spent 2 hours poring over a document about victorian and other fashion movements of the past so i could assign a noun, adjective, and verb to each element of their outfits. i don’t know why i did this. i certainly could have not, but i attempted to make sense of their ‘fits from a logistical perspective and that went into the cat book too. everything went into the cat book. the cat book is a relic of the past now, stuffed with artifacts such as the birth of oikawa tooru, and also his demise.

MEDIUM DADDY: EDITING, PROOFREADING, AND CREEPY MURDER CATS

i finished writing on june 26th, 2020, approximately a month after i’d first started planning, somewhere around may 27th or 28th. at that point i had about 90,000 words’ worth of story and no sanity left whatsoever, so i took a day-long break to stare at a wall and listen to taylor swift’s enchanted on loop.

and then i made a new document, which you can look at using the link above, and i laid out everything i had to do. i’d discovered a fuck ton of plot inconsistencies and general errors while writing and lying awake in bed at 9 a.m., sleepless in seattle, and now that i was free of the demon egging me towards the first finish line, it was time to Deal with them. i speed-scrolled through the draft, which was 200+ pages compressed into one google doc, because i like to tempt god’s wrath, and fixed up all the plot issues over the course of a few days. this was the fun part.

the actual, hard editing was the extremely un-fun part. i reread the entire thing, paragraph by paragraph, line by damn line, from start to finish, paying especially close attention to awkward phrasing, incomplete dialogue, and moments which had fallen flat in my haste to get on to the next one. this was really fucking terrible. i spent more time lying facedown on the floor than actually editing anything, but after a long time (about a week), that, too was done.

SMALL DADDY: TITLES, SUMMARIES, AND GOOD FUCKING BYES

i spent a good eighty days thinking about the title, though hilariously enough we ended up with something that was a blend of our names. june + elmo = juno, which is, all things considered, pretty perfect, but the process of picking the title was Hell, and i Did Not Come Up With The Title until about 2 hours before posting. you can take a look at the haphazard clusterfuck of my title-selecting process in small daddy, which is linked above.

so the title was a last-minute choice. so was the summary. and the chapter divisions. and actually all the songs in the playlist for juno. the day we dropped juno onto planet earth like a newborn baby pitched out of the sky, i spent an hour hunched over my laptop, cutting my 213 page google doc into chapters based on nothing more than a Vibe. two days before that, i also attempted to voice-act the entirety of juno, an affair which ended at the 20,000 word mark with a sore throat and the kind of exhaustion one typically wants to sleep in a coffin for 23 years to get rid of. so in all honesty, i did very little editing, which is why there are definitely minor typos and/or mistakes hanging out somewhere on that chunky ao3 webpage. but whatever.

my attitude by july 5th (was it july 5th? or 4th? somewhere around there) was basically whatever. anything so i could get finish this damn thing, chuck it out of the window, and never see another google doc until the next century. i’ve been asked a few times how exactly i wrote at a rate of roughly 2000-3000 words per day for four weeks straight, and my answer has always been this: i died. what died, you ask? my soul. my spirit. my Will To Live. i’m a creature of fixations, and juno was my fixation for june. will i ever be able to do this again? would i recommend this experience to anyone? is god real? the answer to all of the above is probably no. juno was a fever dream, and so is my cat book. and so are all the lattes i had. and so was my 9 am to 4 pm sleep schedule.

but what we made is real. the research, oikawa tooru, the 4 am conversations in which i was like ‘how the fuck do i end this’ and june was like ‘jade proposal’ (the proposal was her idea. all rise for twitter user atsuhinas. she is the mastermind behind all of the Inch Resting moments in this story; i just flapped a korok leaf in her direction and made sure the air circulation was working properly) are real as fuck, and looking back, there’s a lot i’d change, but i’m lazy. and college is starting. and anyway, i did write 93,035 words in just under five weeks, four if you don’t count the week of Editing Hell, so i think that’s pretty cool.

thank you for reading this to the end, and for following us on our journey through the enigmatic taylor swift gundam fic which quite literally consumed my entire twitter account for the five weeks i spent working on it. retrospectively speaking i really was butt-obsessed so i am frankly incredibly impressed with everyone around me for putting up with a Husk of a Man for a month. thank you for doing that. thank you for indulging my vague tweeting, and our butterfly dns, and for reading 93 thousand words of gay fanfiction set in a high fantasy world with epaulettes and galettes. on behalf of june, once again, we are incredibly grateful for all your support.

if you have any questions about specific aspects of the writing process, or anything you’d like to know in general with reference to JUNO, feel free to drop me an ask through my tumblr inbox, or through my curiouscat over here. i’m aware i didn’t cover everything, but there’s frankly too much to put in a tumblr post without passing away somewhere around the 56% mark, so let me know what’s on your mind, and i’ll try to answer that to the best of my abilities. but anyway, before i go, here are some

TAKEAWAYS

one: don’t try to write 93,000 words in five weeks. seriously don’t fucking do it you will end up jittery and sleep-deprived and you will leave all your friends on read for a month. pace yourself. set realistic goals. you wrote 2k this week? that’s fantastic. you wrote 4k in a day? you absolute motherfucker. i hope you’re taking a long fucking break tomorrow. your story will not run away from you, but if you run too fast, you will get tired, and then you will pass away.

two: you don’t have to know everything about your story before you start writing. in fact if you have a single camera shot of two characters holding hands under a rose garden awning, i think that’s fucking wonderful. if you look at big daddy, you’ll realize that my initial plot draft, and all the ones following that, are not perfectly aligned with the final version of juno. i improvised over half of the scenes in this motherfucker, and to be completely honest, some of the improvised scenes were the best. fucking oikawa tooru was improvised out of nowhere. he only got written in way later, around chapter 8 or something, because i realized i needed a plot device and a source of information to keep the playing table from toppling over. i Sat Down one day and was like ‘okay, it’s time to write oikawa into the introduction. because he matters now. he didn’t matter last week but now he does, and soon he’s going to be the fulcrum of the entire story, because it’s like that with oikawa tooru’. it’s okay to change your mind halfway. it’s okay to go back and rewrite entire scenes or segments. it’s okay to highlight 4 pages of fresh, sentimental writing, and hit delete. writing is a fluid process, and you Will make discoveries as you progress through your story alongside your characters. be understanding of that iterative process. be kind to yourself.

three: You Are That Motherfucker. you, me, your dog, your dog’s friend, your dog’s enemy, all of us are that motherfucker. i never thought i’d be able to write anything longer than the great big map, which was a much simpler, linear story in which the other main character did not appear in the current timeline until like the eighth chapter. juno was different. juno was the motherfucker, and i was scared shitless of it, and to cope with that fear joked constantly while writing that it’d never see the light of day.

but it did. it was a rocky process, and i was awake for 48 hours after posting it because of the sheer adrenalin stuck in my skull, but i got through it. and i wouldn’t have been able to do it without june, who stepped in when i flopped over facedown on the floor and dragged me to my feet like the badass friend she is, and without everyone else in my life, who put up with me talking about The Thing that i couldn’t really talk about, but juno’s up there now. forever, or until the internet collapses and civilization goes extinct. and if the nineteen year old clown with the attention span of an ikea armchair and an a level certificate from hell wrote the 93,000 word long thing, so can you. i mean this completely unironically and with every ounce of genuine emotion i can summon from the cracked asshole of my heart.

writing is hard. writing is scary. writing is an investigation of the world around you and therefore, by extension, yourself, and that kind of honesty is freaky. it’s like going skinny-dipping next to the president’s mansion. who’s going to see you? what if they take a photo? what if you lose your spot at university?

but don’t think about that. our world is overrun with stories the way cereal bowls are full of cereal, but it’s those stories that keep us all sane in the disgusting day-to-day muck of reality, so think about your story. what’s haunting you today? what message do you want to leave printed in font size 666 comic sans across the southern hemisphere of the planet? what will you be tomorrow?

a writer. you’re going to be a motherfucking writer.

[pro-bee]

Clean

I have been in a major writing rut for months, so I decided to write something completely different to get me out of my funk! This is for @coffeedepablo and @indestinatus and @delicatefalice and anyone else who’s ever nagged me to just write again. Also, this was inspired by the scene in “Hiatus” where, in the middle of the chaos of Gibbs being blown up, Ziva is transfixed by the rain outside, and today was a rainy day which was finally a perfect excuse to just wrote.

Also, I wrote this today, and haven’t done as much proofreading as I would like, but I decided I had to just post it and forget it!

Rating: G Characters: Ziva David, Tony DiNozzo Pairing: Established Tiva, duh. Type: One-shot fluff. (That’s all I’m good for these days.) Word Count: 1,100 Summary: A rainy day makes way from some quiet contemplation.

Also available on AO3.

The air is heavy, weighed down by the humidity of the passing storm. The rain falls gently in the small yard, creating a sheen over the sidewalk this evening that threatens to become a reflecting pond if it doesn’t let it up soon.

She is curled up in the weathered Adirondack chair on the small deck, her body still, and her gaze set afar, like a lioness surveying her domain. She cradles a mug of tea in both hands, the steam rising to join the mist that surrounds her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

She is awoken from her reverie by the humor in Tony’s voice behind her, and she turns around to acknowledge his presence. At some point after dinner, he’d scurried off to catch up on some neglected work, and it wasn’t until an hour later that he’d noticed that Ziva had disappeared from her usual reading perch in her favorite armchair in the living room.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

“Ah, that would make our daughter extremely happy, would it not?”

“Can’t argue with that. Guess we’ll have to settle for the tadpoles for now.”

She offers him the hint of a smile in return, but her her attention is fixed upon the horizon. (The horizon, here, is the hedge separating their yard from the neighbor’s. Not quite the Saharan vista of his imagination.)

Curious, he grabs a chair and joins her under the awning, without saying a word. He follows her lead, basking in the hypnotic melody of drops hitting the roof, the drizzle pulling a curtain around them. Here they are, protected in their cocoon, the rest of the world melting away from them. Truth be told, he’s a little on edge, unused to this lack of conversation in their new home, but he also senses the importance of this moment of solitude. He’s become an expert at biding his time over the years, so he lies in wait for her to make the first move.

(Or not. If she wants to sit here for the rest of their days, immovable like a sphinx surveying the desert, he’ll plant roots right along with her.)

She pulls her legging-clad knees in even closer, taking in a deep breath and sighing, letting go of a lifetime of worries in a single exhalation. He’d give a penny for her thoughts, but he’ll make do with whatever she’s willing to part with tonight. Unsurprisingly, she seems to read his mind.

“I used to love watching the rain when I was a kid.”

She pauses for a second, like she were waiting for a prompt, as would have so often been the case in the old days, but none comes forward. He’s still wary of pushing too hard, too soon, so he’s learned to let her take the lead when it comes to deciphering the code to Ziva David’s meditations.

“It hardly ever rained at home. Not like this, anyway. In the winter, we would have these thunderstorms that seemed to come out of nowhere, and end just as quickly. My sister used to complain about them, because they got in the way of her imaginary stage design outside,” she recalls with a chuckle, “but my mother used to tell her that we needed the water for things to grow. The stormy skies would give way to the shining sun.”

He waits to see if any storm clouds brew behind her eyes.

“How’d she handle that?”

“Usually by tearing up the house and inevitably ending up in what we would now call a ‘time out.’”

It’s his turn to laugh, trying to picture the siblings squabbling a lifetime ago, before they had to confront the demons in their home head-on. (The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, it seems.)

“But not you?”

She shakes her head. “The storms always fascinated me. How you could feel the air change, all of a sudden, and then the sky would just open up. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Life was always so busy, so regimented, so volatile, but one thing that no one could control was Mother Nature. You could predict and plan all you wanted, but when the storms came, all you could do was take cover and wait it out.”

He has a feeling she isn’t just talking about the weather.

“I would sit by our living room window if we were at home in Tel Aviv, or on our porch if we were in Haifa with my grandparents, and watch it pour down. It drowned out all the other noise, for a little while at least.” The wistfulness in her voice belies the darker memories bubbling beneath the surface.

He watches her in turn, understanding how rare these moments of utter tranquility must have been in her young life. Hell, still were, until recently. Some days, it seems like she’s still struggling to grasp them, even now.

“It’s funny. There is so much fear tied to storms. About their unpredictability, and the floods and destruction left in their wake. They are the only thing that cannot be bent to one’s will. But I never felt that fear. To me, they were… soothing. Like the rain would fall and wipe the slate clean. No matter what was happening, you could start over fresh when it was over. It was like finally being able to breathe.”

Once upon a time, this kind of talk would make him nervous, wonder if she weren’t about to decide her own slate needed to be wiped, all by herself. Yet here they are, together, and he realizes that maybe, that isn’t what this is about at all. That maybe after every storm is a chance for a sunny start, too.

“Sounds like maybe your mom was right.”

“I guess so.”

They sit in silence for a spell, mesmerized by the clatter of the downpour and the motionlessness of the moment. Where once they would have both felt awkward at the silence between them, now they sit in reverence of it, the beauty of what doesn’t need to be said anymore

After a while, though, he comes to realize that this is her quiet confessional, between herself and whatever power is driving her forward, and he feels as though she needs this time alone to commune with her higher power. He gets up, a little less limber than he’d care to admit, and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before heading back into the house. Once inside, he watches from the kitchen window as bit by bit the tension seeps from her body, washed away by the deluge and the promise of tomorrow.

Time stands still, and for what feels like hours, all she hears is the patter of the rain, gently surrounding her, the rushing sound eclipsing all of her worries as she welcomes its release. She takes a sip of her tea, and smiles to herself as her old friend envelops her in its comforting embrace.

She thinks that, maybe this time, she is finally clean.

---

My apologies to Taylor Swift for paraphrasing her song “Clean” in that last line.

[murdersexual]

So about that part II to that LeoPika fic? 👀👀👀

WTF, BOI THIS IS TRASH! Stop torturing me, my writing is t r a s h.

🚨Warning!🚨

-Rated MA.

-Sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Gambling and Gun Violence.

-NOT PROOFREAD! (Like I write shit on a tired 3am brain...)

-NICKNAMES: Koi Fish/Fishie/Fishy: Leorio. Smol Ram or whatever else I used: Kurapika.

-Sorry for any potential OOC bullshit- 🤣🤣🤣

-Sorry but not sorry for Melody- 👀😤🤣

Part II: The Whims of Fate:

Melody didn’t know how to feel, her eyes grew to the size of saucers as she saw how fast Leorio was moving. She backed away, now hanging her phone up, she tries to make her escape via the glass door elevator. Her tiny chubby hand desperately clicks onto the up button. Her own heart played a melody of guilt and fear. But that’s what you get when you snitch.

‘I-I gotta get outta here!’

“MELODY!”

The way Leorio’s voice projected echoed across the entirety of the sixth floor. Hearing him yell like that shook her to her core in more than just one way. She drew a shaky breath and her eyes flicker to the angry hazel eyed hunter and back to the elevator that seems to be moving in slow motion.

“Come on... C-Come on!”

Impatience coats her voice as she now stands directly in front of the door.

“I KNOW YOU HEAR ME!! HOW CAN’T YOU?!”

His voice boomed once more, his soft hair now waving over one of his eyes only for him to use his left hand to push it out of the way. Now he’s even more pissed... Why?

Because she ruined his ‘SURPRISE MOTHAFUCKAH’—in other words, his grand entrance.

Yet because she absolutely is f o n d of Kurapika, she’d do anything to protect him. How adorable. Maybe there’s something else that lingers in her actions...

“Why are you here, Leorio?!”

Finally, she projects her voice even though that nervousness is still present. Just as she asks that, Leorio steps in front of her. The elevator clicks open and he takes her by her collar and shoves her into it.

“WHY?!”

Obviously, she avoided the question. He KNEW she knew why he was there otherwise she would’ve given him a friendly greeting and not snitch. Her onyx orbs bore into his icy gaze. She could hear the anger emitting from his heart and she ended up closing her ears and shutting her eyes.

“Be-Because you shouldn’t be here!”

Her answer made him wonder... Yet, he didn’t release her collar. His hold can be compared to that of a death grip.

“Urgh! That ain’t tellin’ me shit! I oughta throw your ass in the fucking fountain for snitching!”

Leorio’s hands are rated E for Everybody. Meaning he WILL absolutely drop a woman off if necessary.

“I... I-! My lips are sealed! Now unhand me!”

The infamous saying that typically gets passed about when classified information is detailed to anyone that’s within a Mafia. Upon hearing that, he roughly shoves her away, the back of her head slightly bouncing off of the elevator railing.

“Ow...”

A hiss of pain left Melody, a glare is given to him as she now reaches inside her tuxedo jacket for her brand new revolver but she stops just as she places her hand on the handle.

“Do it if you’re bad...”

The entire scenario played in her head had she shot him. Her eyes blinked multiple times—seeing her death being played out in several different perspectives. Lowering her head in defeat, she adjusts her fedora and finally tells him...

“8th floor, Roulette Table number 403.”

Huh, does that number ring a damn bell?

Pressing the fancy gold button with the bold number 8 on it, a scoff emits from the fish as he now stands to the side with his eyes forward. Putting his hands in his pockets and standing coolly, he sighs while tapping his foot impatiently.

“Hmph... Ya could’ve just told me that shit from the beginning and I wouldn’t have to damn near rough you up.”

Staring at her shiny black small heeled Oxford tux shoes, she blinks while taking a second to realise that there’s always an easier way to do things. Why didn’t she play it cool? Could she have lied about this? Did her feelings cloud her judgment?

“And that I could’ve but had the circumstances been different? Then by all means. You really... REALLY shouldn’t be here...”

Nothing annoyed him more than to hear those words without no fucking why to follow. Deep down, he believes she’s probably the only one concerned about the type of trouble he’d get himself in. That or maybe there’s a hint of jealousy?

“I will only say this for the simple fact that your heart reflects impatience and curiosity: It’s for your own good. If you get mixed with any of the other families? Who will be there to save you? Nobody.”

A smirk curves onto his face, now recalling how he’s caused a lot of inconvenience on the second floor all the way up. He softly chuckles, his head dropping for a second. The doors chime and open as they reach the eighth floor. Walking out first and turning to face Melody, he gives a shrug before backing away.

“Who’s to say that I haven’t already stirred the whims of fate~?”

Melody’s breath hitches in her throat, her eyes widening only for her to smirk and watch him with softened eyes.

“You’re dressed like a really handsome Devil tonight, that told me enough, Mr. Leorio~”

Looking over his shoulder briefly, he waves his hand.

“Just call me Leorio! But don’t think I’m gonna forget that you’ve snitched! I’m letting you off easy because I gotta conserve energy for this fucker!”

Momentarily, she found herself chasing after that Angel in Disguise. Shaking her head quickly with a soft blush, she clicks the number six and heads back to her post.

‘I always find myself attracted to those with charisma that’s relative to that of the Devil himself~ I must say, had my looks never been deformed, I’m sure I’d play him a melody that even he would have a hard time forgetting.’

The doors closed and she was gone.

Finding himself standing just before the entrance. His hazel gaze softened as he felt some feminine hands reach up to his shoulders.

“Welcome~ Shall I take your coat sire~?”

Glancing behind him, he sees a ginger bunny babe with the sweetest of smiles. He took out his favourite pocketknife and placed it in his blazer’s inner breast-pocket. He already has his wallet and keys in his pants pocket. Slipping out of his heavy winter coat, he carefully hands it to her.

“Hello there~ And why I thank you. You’re too sweet~”

She winks now sauntering away. His eyes instantly found those well rounded and pale ass cheeks of her’s. He gave a nod of approval while reaching for a cup of vodka topped with cranberry. He sips it and stuffs his freehand in his pocket.

‘Hmm...’

“Where should I start~?”

Mischief rang as he asked himself aloud. Proceeding to walk forward, he sees the blue and violet ambience, the music is A1–fun and enticing. Hell, everything all the way down to the alcohol is excellent. His eyes found the slots and just as he did on the second floor, he walks on over and leans over an older man with salt and pepper hair. He appears concentrated...

“Say, excuse me, fine sir?”

Looking to the tall youngster, he tilts his head while taking out his fancy Cuban cigar.

“What is it, Young Buck?”

With a pleasant smile he gently leans down, taking his hand out of his pocket he points to the slot screen.

“Watch the last two reels... Those move faster than the middle ones... Why do you think it’s so hard to hit the jackpot?”

With a smile, the man nods and daps him up. He adjusts his suspenders and pulls the lever.

“Thank you, son! How can I ever repay ya?”

Shaking his head no, Leorio stands straight and chuckles.

“Oh no, there’s no need, it’s what I love to do, especially as a birthday gift to myself.”

Raising both brows at his benevolence, the old man pulls out a wad of cash and calls over some of the Bunnies.

“Well I’ll be damned! Happy Birthday my boy! Ladies! Treat this young man to the finest of drinks, on me, Don Magnifico!”

Two of the girls hook around each of Leorio’s arms, his eyes instantly finding their perked up breasts, he smiles and looks back at him.

“I won’t forget your kindness, Don Magnifico!”

Don Marcelo Magnifico, age 52, standing at 6’2, still maintaining his muscle, he is one of the many Mafia Leaders who aren’t fond of other families. He’s widely known within the Underground community for his foreign cuisine and weapons import. The man has literally built a ‘Little Italy’ within Yorknew. He sees something within Leorio and he hopes to potentially get to him. Maybe he can find him a spot amongst his ranks?

From the sidelines, there are a familiar set of eyes that’s seen the entire exchange. With a dreaded sigh, the usually lax blondie found himself making tracks to the bar. Was his mind truly prepared to deal with the aggro fish?

Partially...

He gives a few taps to one of the ladies, he whispers for her to take his place momentarily at the Roulette Table. With a nod of confidence, she hopples over to take his place. Now Kurapika’s off to meet Leorio at the bar. Caution bells tolled in his head the closer he came and just as their eyes met?

The cheery and flustered face of Leorio’s instantly darkened. His lips wore that angry pout. He took one of the shots down without never taking his eyes off of him. Nearly stopping for a second, those light grey eyes momentarily averted. He could sense that rage...

“Well, well, well... Look what the cat dragged in...”

That came out so dark...

Sitting beside the angry fish is a quietly sighing Kurapika. He leans into his left hand and uses his right to snag a shot glass only to trace the rim of it.

“So what’s the fucking excuse this time? Huh?”

“There are none...”

Taken back by his honesty, those hazel eyes searched around as he hums for he’s in thought.

“Oh that’s fucking funny because I could’ve sworn you were gonna say that ol’ excuse you always say! I was expecting that shit! Did you purposely fucking forget or what?”

The idea of being chewed out never sat well with Kurapika. Most of the time, his words were hitting him in the side of his head. Finally taking that shot down and turning to face him, he scoots closer to the edge of his seat.

“Well, go on...”

He was setting himself up to actually get hit this time around. Perhaps he genuinely saw how hurt Leorio is. Why not give him what he’s always wanted right?

“I would never forget any special occasions and I would never miss anything important... I’m honestly tired. I’m sick of the lies, I’m sick of being the one trying to hold on, I’m sick of fucking trying to be the good fucking friend... At this point, I think I’m being taken for fucking granted and I ain’t got time. I’m here to tell your punk ass that you wanna do shit alone? You wanna be okay on your own? Fine. Fine. FINE! I’m done caring...”

Hearing these words made Kurapika wonder... Is he saying this out of complete anger? Or does he truly mean it? Either way, guilt was going to eat at him. Before he could combat his words, Leorio shook his head no.

“Save your petty fucking apologies... I don’t want them. I don’t need to put up with this shit. I know it’s gonna sound bad but how the fuck are Gon and Killua better fucking friends and their younger than the both of us? Fucking children. Ya hear me? Both of them called me and told me happy birthday and they’re always checking up on me... And what the fuck are you doing? Pretending that none of us exist! So you might as well lose my fucking number. This is the last time I’m gonna ever see that pathetically sheepish face of yours.”

At the moment, the fact that any of this is being said kept anything from conjuring—thoughts, retorts and anything else. That usually stoic face started to finally falter. One of his fears was this happening but he would never come to say it.

“Oh yeah? Don’t think I won’t pass up the opportunity to knock your ass into next week!”

Cracking his knuckles then drawing back his arm, he quickly cocks it, totally not caring that he may get shot, he will land that punch.

Or so he thought...

His fist was caught! Those ombré nails instantly dug into Leorio’s soft flesh. The slightest of hisses had emitted.

“At first I felt bad, but the fact that you had the absolute audacity to question my loyalty made me retract that privilege. All you do is bitch and I don’t want to hear it. You ask too many questions... Questions that if I answer may or may not put you in danger. So sorry if I’m choosing to be distant but given my position, I don’t particularly have as much free will like you do. Am I making excuses? No, I don’t make any and never will... I hate explaining myself... but because you obviously need a frequent fucking reminder, it can’t be helped.”

Leorio felt his eye twitch. He can’t find himself agitated!

“Let me—!”

Holding a finger up with his free hand, those light grey eyes had a faint red glint. But never did they leave those icy hazel ones.

“No, you’ve had your time to speak. One thing that always irritates me is how you up and assume that I don’t fucking care... When I do! So answer me this...”

Those nails pressed further and further into his skin, he even started to bend that fist of his back. Leorio did his best not to flinch.

“What time is it? Because on my watch I have... 10:21...”

Finally releasing his fist and blinking his gaze closed for a second to recenter himself, he leans back into his left hand before slowly looking to him. Leorio saw the claw marks and he couldn’t believe he was bleeding.

“...Meaning that your birthday isn’t over yet... But since you’re here, there’s no need to text nor call... So... Happy Birthday.”

That icy gaze of his warmed up instantly. He looks away for a second, his eyes appearing to search for the words he wanted to say.

“Ahem... I... One thing I’ve hated about your ass is how you gotta explain shit to me like I’m not detail oriented! But it still sounds like you’re making excuses... I don’t care what you say! Despite you didn’t apologise, you’re still giving yourself a fucking gateway to do the same old goofy shit. Time and time again, you don’t know how frustrating it is... Hence why... I just don’t care anymore. Sure, you’ve given me the words I wanted to hear, but it only takes less than a minute to fucking text. And no, I don’t give a fuck about you’re little ‘position’.”

Downing a shot before sliding over his birthday drink in front of him. Leorio rolls his eyes dismissively, now stirring his straw before sipping it.

“Hell I could be Prime Minister for all I give a fuck and it wouldn’t stop me from checking on my friends... Buuuuuttttt I guess I’m the only one who feels like that huh? Oh correction: ‘who FELT like that’...”

In all honesty, what could Kurapika say? Was Leorio really about to give up?

Recognising his silence, that hazel gaze narrows at him. His lip turns up, a look of unimpression decorates his face. He shakes his head in pity.

“Thought so...”

Facing the still upset fishy, the blondie sees his face and wonders how will he cope without seeing or hearing from him again? Slipping out of his chair, he softly chews on his bottom lip while thinking of something that he could do or say... These kinds of situations aren't his strong suit, obviously.

“Before you leave and never come back, there is something I’d like to show you... It’s not that impressive but hopefully it’ll show you that I don’t turn a blind eye to any of your advances.”

Raising an eyebrow, Leorio saw what he thought he’d never see and that’s...

That he’s genuinely afraid of losing him.

🚨🚨🚨

Okay so that’s it for part II. 😞😞😞 I really such at writing. But it’s an escape for my creativity. Hope you guys find it slightly entertaining! Thanks for reading and remember to stay hydrated and wonderful! 🥰

[archangelgabriellives]

Lurking behind the trees

I finally finished my fic for the Gabriel monthly challange for January. Cutting it a little close, yeah?

Word count-4800 (yeesh)

warnings ~ snarky language, mild fight scene

A/N ~ As I was reading through and proofreading this, I got the feeling it was a little Sam heavy.Gabriel is still what I would consider a main character, though. I really wanted to get that BAMF Sam in this fic, but maybe it detracts a little bit? Eh, I’m not sure. I’m going to post it as it is and still tag it for the GMC, but, Admins, feel free to make a judgement call. 

Let me know if you like it! Or if I was way off base.

***

It feels like they had been here forever.

Dean reminds Sam of this many times. And every time Dean brings it up again, Sam has to remind him that it had only been a day. But after each rise and fall of the distressingly unfamiliar sun in the sky, Sam is starting to feel the same way as Dean.

But they were surviving in this weird jungle universe. Priority number one, obviously, was to find a way to get back to their own world. They walked as far as their legs would take them, searching for anything out of the ordinary, something that may be a doorway, something that would connect them with Jack, as he may be the only one who could retrieve them from this place.

After four days, Sams' hope was wearing thin.

Surviving was easy. The Winchesters were hunters. Finding food, water, shelter, that was no problem. Although, eating anything that first day was a litany of "You eat it." "No, you eat it first." After Dean lost the rock paper scissors game, the brothers learned not to eat the berries on the strange pine/willow tree. Not unless they wanted to spend half the day expelling all the bodily fluids from their person.

After a week, Sam wasn't sure they could ever find their way out.

Danger here was a constant. They were never seen, but at night, Sam would be woken up with the jungle whispering in a foreign tongue, sticks and debris shuffling around without care. Whatever was out there didn't care if they were known. Sam would sit up from his makeshift bed by the dim fire, Dean already awake and ready for a fight.

“What the hell is out there?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean responded while throwing more wood into the fire pit. "Whatever they are, they never come too close. I think the fire scares them."

After a quick scan of the forest surrounding them, Sam looks over to his older brother, notices the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you even sleeping, Dean?" Was it just the shadows of the fire on Deans lean face?

Dean smiled at Sam, the kind of smile he uses when he wants to change the subject. "I'm fine, Sammy." He goes back to sharpening some sticks with a jagged rock.

That, of course, means Just drop it.

The things in the forest never came closer, just out of range of the fire light. Sam's grateful, but he wished they would just show themselves so he knew what was lurking in the dark.

 ~~

 Dean was going stir crazy, Sam could tell.

"I need some flesh to eat, Sam, or I might shrivel up and die! No more fruit!" Dean was pacing along a giant fallen tree that was their makeshift shelter.

"Dude, you could phrase that better. You sound like a cannibal or something" Sam said as he poked at the fire with a stick.

"Whatever, bitch. I'm gonna take my pointy stick and bring back a steak."

"Just be careful, jerk,” Sam said with a smile. “I'll start peeling potatoes."

Dean groaned at his brothers teasing him with delicious food. His mouth was watering at remembering anything cooked in lots of fat and grease, as he called back "I hate you right now. I'll be back later."

It was a little late in the day to go out, alone, in an unknown landscape, but Sam thinks Dean knows what he's doing. So he doesn't voice the small concern and continues to prod the fire.

As the sun started to set and Dean still hadn't returned, Sam is considerably more worried. He thinks he should go out in search of his brother, but it's dark now, and running off into the woods is a seriously bad idea. All he can do is keep the fire lit as a beacon and not panic too much.

Easier said than done.

 ~~

 Sam startles awake the next morning.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he needed to keep his eyes and ears open for signs of Dean.

"Dean?" he called.

No answer.

"Dean!" Sam scrambled to his feet, the dread bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

"DEAN!" Any common sense Sam had flew right out of his body when he realized Dean still wasn't back. He ran off the way his brother left the night before, leaving behind his knife on the ground next to his makeshift bed. Sam weaved through the dense trees, vaulted over fallen branches calling his brothers name.

"Dean! Where are you?!"

He should have known better that to call attention to himself. Even back home he understood the necessity of stealth. A hunter needs to be able to sneak up on his prey, not call the monster to you. But when the only family you have left, and the only person stuck with you in a jungle wasteland, goes missing, the brain acts in mysterious ways. So when he circled around a massive tree trunk and had to skid to a stop he knew that he had made a huge mistake.

Three hooded figures, each brandishing some type of long wooden club, were blocking Sams path. And, although he couldn't see their faces, Sam knew he was in for a fight. They were shouting in a language Sam couldn’t begin to identify, but furious and enraged sounded the same on any tongue.

Sam got the message.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re going to attack one at a time is there?” Sam asked snidely, balling his fists and digging his feet into the ground.

No sooner than the words left his mouth, all three figures charged forward, brandishing their staffs viciously. Sam backpedaled a little, surprised at the sudden ambush. The quickest of the three, unfortunately the largest, drew his weapon back and with a deafening screech, swung at Sam with all its strength.

There was barely enough time for Sam to block the impact with a raised forearm, cursing through gritted teeth at the sharp pain. The hunter pulled his right fist back, and threw his entire weight and power into connecting with the face buried under the dirty fabric, his own cry echoing through the trees. He could feel bones cracking under his knuckles, and as he sent the monster tumbling into the leafy debris, Sam knew he wasn’t getting back up.

Chest huffing, Sam turned to the other two figures, head tilted and eyeing them angrily through his bangs. Their speed had decreased significantly, clearly not expecting for this seemingly easy fight to take this turn. Sam lurched forward, ready to take them both on, adrenaline pumping fast in his veins. He smoothly bent down and scooped up the discarded staff from his first victim, he needed it if he wanted to stand a chance against the last two. The few seconds of distraction allowed one of the beasts a swing of his own staff that connected with Sams side, knocking him to his knees. He saw the foot racing at him out of the corner of his eye, a swift kick to the face that knocked Sam on his back, blood starting to flow down his face. His vision cleared just in time to see two twin clubs raised over heads, ready to deal the death blow, and there was barely enough time to raise his own before they came down.

After blocking the double blow,the hunter brought his legs up, curled his knees to his chest, and kicked out at the closest attacker. Feet connected with the torso, sending it flailing to the ground. Sam assumed he must've winded it, because it didn't get up right away. Just kind if thrashed a little while it clutched at its chest.

Sam didn't see the fist coming down, smashing into his jaw. He cried out sharply as the pain rippled through his face, and he instinctively rolled away from the source of the attack. The last hooded figure was roaring what Sam could only assume was obscenities at him as he spit an unnerving amount of blood onto the ground. He tongued along his gums and groaned when he comes across a painful empty space in his teeth.

While the thing was still howling at him, Sam quickly rolled back over to his back, hoped his plan would work, and brought the heel of his boot straight into where Sam assumed it would do the most damage, right between the legs of his attacker.

Thankfully for Sam, it had the desired effect, because the unintelligible screaming quieted suddenly. With a painful grunt, the monster dropped to its knees, and one more well placed kick to the face had it spinning back into the ground, out cold.

Sam lay in the dirt trying to catch his breath. “I guess a kick to the dick is pretty universal,” he said to himself. As he pulled himself up and raked the leaves from his hair, he came eye to eye with one more opponent, the one he only winded.

“Great,” he grumbled. “Thought I took care of you.”

Sam leaned down to retrieve the staff he had abandoned, and wound up like it was a baseball bat.

“Let’s go, then.”

Sam must’ve had a particular glint in his eyes, or the smirk on his face was a distinct sort of evil, because that beast took one last look at Sam, ditched his weapon, and bolted in the opposite direction.

He almost let it go, he really did. But as his muscles relaxed and he tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes, Sams thoughts flitted back to Dean, and how his only lead was quickly getting away. If Dean had been captured, attacked or even…no, Sam couldn’t think that…

If these things hunted in groups, there must be a larger pack somewhere. And if they had Dean, Sam needed to move his ass to catch up to the fleeing beast.

Sam took off like a rabbit, trying to make up the lost ground between them. His long legs had no trouble closing the gap, but as he got closer to his target Sam had to slow down so he could advance with stealth. And soon he could hear other beings yelling in the unknown language he heard during his fight.

He slowed his steps to a cautious crawl, the name of the game now was recon. How many are there, do they have Dean, can he do this on his own.

Up ahead, there was a large clearing that the monsters had set up their sizable camp. Ducking into a large thicket of low trees and bushes, Sam took stock of what he was up against. Makeshift shelters made from fallen logs and leaves formed a circle at least one hundred feet wide, with a few groups of monsters sporadically lounging by a few of the throwaway huts.

And tied to a tree outside of the camp was Dean, a bit bloody but alive, surrounded by five or six guards that looked a little spooked.

Sam quietly let out a shaky sigh of relief that Dean was alive. But he kept his emotions in check. Right now, Sam needed a plan. It looked like the monster that Sam had chased back to the camp had alerted the group about the prey that had fought back, and more armed defenders scrambled to the edge of the clearing seemingly waiting for Sam to burst out of the trees.

Like he was that stupid.

Racking his brain for an idea of how he was supposed to fight what seemed like dozens of baddies and get Dean and himself out of there alive, Sam missed the first heavy foot fall off in the distance. He did notice the eerie quiet that had suddenly settled around him.

The frantic yelling from the camp fell silent. If there were any animals in the area, they had all skittered off and knowingly kept quiet.

As the second foot step echoed in the distance, Sam couldn’t keep the surprised gasp from escaping his mouth. His grip on the stolen staff tightened as he watched the small army keeping him from his brother raise their weapons and nervously shift in the clearing.

Another foot step came down, closer this time. The ground started to shake under Sams crouched legs.

“What the hell is that?!” Dean questions to no one as he doubled his efforts to escape his binds, clearly aware that something extremely bad was coming.

As the next booming foot step fell, a sharp, high pitched ringing echoed through the air. It started quiet at first, muted enough that Sam almost missed it. The unnerving footsteps were louder, closer, and the ground was rumbling so badly that Deans captors were stumbling and falling all over. A few had already run off, not willing to stay and find out who or what was coming.

The shrill noise slowly gained volume, increasing as the steps came closer. To Sam, yes, it was getting louder, but the way that the bodies in the clearing were dropping to their knees and clutching at their heads seemed like a bit much. Even Dean was trying to protect his ears by awkwardly lifting his shoulders, still tied to the tree, his face contorted into the familiar grimace of pain.

Sam was still unaffected. He watched the monsters rolling on the ground, howling in pain. He was plotting a course around the mass of crumpled bodies to retrieve Dean and run as far and fast as they could, then, all of a sudden, the writhing and the screeching stopped. In fact, as Sam looked out over the clearing, it looked like every being had gone stock-still, bodies arranged in the position of agony. The entire forest seemed petrified.

It seemed that everything but Sam had stopped.

Everything but Sam and the lumbering footsteps that boomed threateningly behind him.

Sam swallowed in fear. It sounded like something the size of a mountain was slowly stalking towards him. And only him. But he couldn’t run. Wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t leave Dean.

Through ragged breaths, Sam turned his head to see what horrors lay through the forest. Straight behind him, the trees seemed normal. But as his eyes traveled up the thick trunks, up past the high canopy, past a few birds frozen in flight, was a thing that Sam couldn't even begin to describe.

It was incredibly tall. The thing seemed to stretch on forever. Its head was high enough in the sky to touch the low clouds.

There were wings. Dozens of sets of technicolor wings,  glowing blindingly ethereal light that surround the entire body. And they didn't just come out of it back. They seemed to come out of everywhere, yet they didn't look like any were attached to the body. The largest set was massive, the bulk of them pushing past the clouds, unviewable to Sam down on the ground. The rest of the wings were smaller, sporadically jutting out over the creatures body.

Spindly appendages hung loosely down the sides of the torso. They were probably thick as tree trunks but looked as delicate and fragile as glass. All along the length were offshoots of the glassy skin that spread out in all direction. As the tendrils flowed up past the shoulders, they surrounded the head, creating amazing patterns and encircling it like a crown.

The face was unnerving, to say the least. There were no distinct features that Sam could identify. The only part that looked in any way familiar was the sunken pockets where he assumed eyes should go. Everything else was more coils of sleek membrane that sloped back and up to the sky, mingling with the others from the body.  

Inside its chest, the silhouette of what might have been described as organs were swirling wildly. Everything slowly undulated as it walked, yet the entirety of it felt sharp, like it could rip apart anything in its wake with barely a touch.

And Sam was right in its path.

He knew he should be silent. Stay hidden, let this thing pass by. He could figure out why he was unaffected by whatever powers of time it apparently had after he and Dean had gotten far away from it.

That's what the sensible part of Sams brain should have thought. Unfortunately, that bit of Sams brain wasn’t working right now.

As the gigantic being trudged through the clouds, Sam clumsily backtracked out of his hiding place, tripping over a fallen branch. The unexpected movement caused a sharp cry to escape him as soon as he hit the ground, a little sound of pain diluted in a shriek of horror.

He clamped a hand over his mouth as soon as the sound slipped out. His breath coming in harsh shallow gasps, Sam scrambled back into the thick brush and hoped that he was out of earshot of the being. He hid himself among the leaves and cursed quietly as he saw this giant thing slow to a stop and its head tilt to the side, like it was listening.

He watched as it stretched all of its wings out in every direction, its back straightening making it even taller. The feathers started shifting, spreading. Sams eyes grew wide as behind the feathers, eyes appeared to open all over the wings. Thousands of eyes of varied sizes, sprinkled randomly, looking out in every direction. They resembled human eyes, but the colorings were all different. Sclera, irises and pupils shifted through every color in the spectrum, pulled patterns out of nature into them and glinted playfully in the light.

Sam made the mistake of one loud shocked gasp, and fell back out of his hiding spot when every single eye suddenly trained themselves onto him.

The long arms moved slowly from where they hung at its side. They reached out to Sam as the being lazily began to crouch down, and the trees seemed to part of their own accord. Massive hands settled on either side of Sam, the featureless face coming closer and closer. Sam could only stare as a narrow slit opened along the face. He expected a mouth, with teeth and a tongue. But inside was the universe, swirling blacks and blues, neverending.

It spoke. A thousand voices rang from the open fissure, but no movement was needed. The sound was deafening, yet restrained. Melodious. It echoed with wisdom and brassy vibrations and the age of the world buried within its depths.

“What the hell are you doing here, Winchester?!”

Confusion colored Sams face, and his fear receded a bit at the odd outburst. “What?” he whispered to himself. “How do you know who…”

“Close your eyes you idiot!” the voice yelled at Sam, its wings twitching as it scrunched a little closer. “You’re gonna burn them right out of your skull!” Sam only looked up bewildered. “HEY! Close ‘em!”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbled as he quickly did as he was told, covering his eyes with his hands. “Um, what-” Sam paused, tried to gain a little control over his quivering voice. “Who are you?”

A noise Sam would describe as terrifying laughter reverberated around him, but the sound was good natured. It almost tickled. “Has it been so long that everyone’s forgotten me? I think you can move your hand. If you haven’t dissolved into a puddle of primordial goo or spewed fire hotter than a thousand suns out of your many orifices yet, I think you’re safe to look at me.”

“Yeah,I’d rather not just take you at your word and keep my organs in a solid form, thank you. Are you going to tell me who you are?”

The thing above him chuckled again, “Still so sassy, even in the face of mortal danger.” Sam could hear a quiet rustling around him, and then shivered when he felt something softly brush up his arm. It was warm, velvety. Safe flashed across Sams mind.

“What was that?” Sam asked apprehensively, although he didn't turn away from the touch.

“One of my feathers,” it answered softly. “Come on, open your eyes, kiddo.”

At the nickname, realization flashed in Sams mind.

“Gabriel,” he whispered as his hands dropped into his lap.

“Ding ding ding! Correct, Sam a lam! Here’s your prize.” The wing that had touched him earlier drifted up and touched his forehead gently. The broad tip of the feather trailed across then down Sam's blood stained cheek and jaw. The warm tingle of Gabriels Grace chased the soft path of the radiant plume, healing the cuts and cleaning his skin.

Sam closed his eyes at the pleasant feeling snaking under his skin. As the sense of the healing Grace faded, Sams hands skimmed along his freshly healed face, fingers prodding his jaw where he no longer had a painful gap of a missing tooth. His eyes slowly traveled up, confusion written in his features, and he stared blankly at the giant archangel. Gabriels mouth turned up at the corners, still gaping open in front of Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Really, Sam? I look like this and that’s the first thing you think to ask?” Gabriel sank his body down gracefully to curl up on the ground. “Not ‘How are you not dead?’, ‘Why do you look like that?’ or ‘Why has timed stopped around me like I’m the narrator in a Twilight Zone episode?’”

Sam would have sent a top notch bitch face towards Gabriel, but he didn’t know where to look at the archangel. Were there a set of eyes that were the main set?

“Or maybe a better question for yourself,” Gabriel slid closer to Sam, causing the hunter to shuffle backwards, “‘How is it possible for me to look upon the true form of an archangel and still find him so damn attractive?’”

“Okay,” Sam huffed, climbing to his feet, raking his hands through his hair and standing as tall as he could. Not that his six foot four frame would be able to intimidate a being who was topping out at two thousand feet. “I have no idea what's going on anymore. First you were dead and now you're not, everything is frozen-,”

A sudden thought crashed into Sam, and he froze.

“Am I… am I dead? That's it, isn't it. Oh, well, that’s just great.”

“You’re not dead, Sam.” Gabriel chuckled at the tiny humans’ snit. “You’re just...unique. I mean, it’s not everyday I come across someone I can really stretch out in front of. I knew there was a reason that I liked you.”

“Well, if i’m not dead, I need to save Dean. So, if you don’t mind, you can either help or stay out of my way.”

Sam ignored the lighthearted laughter around him as he turned to collect his frozen brother, on guard in case the world decided to spring back to life at a wave of Gabriels hand.

As he reached the edge of the forest, a small hand grabbed Sams shoulder before he could step into the clearing. He turned to see the all too familiar vessel of the archangel.

“I told you, Sam, I like you. I’ll take care of this.”

Sam wondered when Gabriel had tucked himself back into his vessel. Where was he keeping that? he thought to himself.

As Gabriel sauntered confidently into the clearing, he lifted the veil of stillness on the world. To Dean and the monsters, it just seemed as though the sharp ringing noise simply had stopped. Bodies dragged themselves off the ground, looking at the others in confusion and bewilderment. Dean was the first to see the formerly dead archangel strutting towards him with a smug smile.

“Gabriel?” Dean yelled. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Wow, bucko. Do you and your brother telepathically share stupid questions?”

“Sam?” Dean furrowed his brows in anger. “What did you do to him, you dick with wings?! I’m gonna kill you with your angel blade all over again!”

“How are you going to do that tied to a tree?” Gabriel asked as he rolled his eyes. His smile morphed into a smirk when Deans anger turned to embarrassment. Gabriel turned his attention to the crowd of monsters. “Okay, listen up you knock off jawas. This sack of meat,” he pointed fervently at Dean, who pursed his lips at the moniker, “is coming with me. I would say don’t bother stopping me, but please, do try. I could use the exercise.”

A murmur grumbled through the horde of monsters that had gathered at Gabriels appearance. It got louder and louder, practically screaming at Gabriel, brandishing their weapons at him.

“I don’t think their going to give me up that easy!” Dean called over the noise.

You may want to shut your eyes, Dean-o

Dean’s seen enough burnt out eye sockets to follow the order that wisps through his mind.

As the mob surged suddenly forward, battle cries screeching and ready to kill this new intruder, Gabriel raised his arms smoothly. With his palms facing out, he reached down deep into himself, dragging out his Grace in a blinding flare of golden light. The entire clearing was lost in the brilliant glow, and the angry yelling of his enemies became anguished cries before they were silenced all together.

The bright light slowly drew back, retreating into Gabriels vessel. The only sign left of the hooded figures were the large scorch marks in the ground, lightly smoking holes where bodies had fallen.

Sam rushed forward into the clearing to get to his brother, gently grasping Gabriels shoulder in a silent thank you as he passed by the smaller man.

“Dean. Hey, you can open your eyes now,” Sam said as he untied the rope at Deans wrists. As the bindings fell to the ground, Sam pulled Dean into a quick hug. “I’m glad you're safe, Dee.”

“Gosh, this is just a wonderful brotherly moment. Hits me right here.” Gabriel walked over, hand tapping on his heart. The brothers sheepishly detached from one another and shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “So I rescued your bro, killed the bad guys, saved the day all around, what do you guys wanna do now?”

“Uh, how about go home?” Dean suggested, a little venom in his voice left over from when Gabriel was still the Trickster. “We’ve been stuck here for too long and I’m sure people are looking for us.”  

“Go home?! That’s boring.” Gabriel replied. “You’re in a different universe, Dean. You don’t want to explore it at all?”

“If I still had my gun, I would shoot you,” Dean deadpanned at the archangel.

“”Dean, please. Just calm down a second. Gabriel, can you actually get us back home?”

“Of course I can. Jumping universes is easy peasy. But, seriously Sam, why?”

“Don’t whine just because you don’t want to go back,” Dean chimed in. “So snap us back. Let’s go.” He snapped his own fingers hoping it would prompt Gabriel to do the same.

“I know where all the dinos are.” Gabriel said in a sing song voice, nonchalantly looking anywhere but at Dean.

“Where the what are?” Well, that piqued Deans interest.

“Hmm?” Gabriel glanced back at Dean, his arms crossed, seemingly unconcerned with the hunters attention. “Oh, yes. The dinosaurs. I know where they like to hide.”

Deans eyes suddenly lit up, and Sam thought he looked like he might jump out of his skin with excitement.

“Well, why are we standing around here, then? Lead the way, short stack!”

“Hey! I’m an all powerful being. You should show me some respect or I’ll let the bad lizards eat you.”

“So I guess I don’t get a say in this?��� Sam called as Dean and Gabriel practically skipped off together.

“Don’t worry, Samster.” Gabriel snapped his fingers as he yelled back over his shoulder. “Use your new cell phone to text your family. I’ll get you home. I’m a time traveling, universe jumping, sexy angel of the Lord, after all.”

Sam pawed at his pockets, confused until his hands discovered the cell phone Gabriels grace had materialized. He trailed behind Gabriel and Dean, jogging a little to keep up as he typed in Jody Mills’ number into the keypad from memory and sent her a message.

Hey Jody. Its Sam. Dean and I are safe. We caught a ride home. See you soon.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Sam thought about what hunting with an archangel would be like, that is if he could convince Gabriel to stay. It was certainly going to be an adventure , because with Gabriel around, life would never be the same.

“Hey Dean, did you know I don’t need to wear the meat condom around your brother?”

“Ah man! Phrasing, Gabriel!”

----

This version of true form Gabriel is kind of a mix between the night walker from Princess Mononoke and an Angel from Neon Genesis Evangelion. Just creepy mixed with absurdity.

some tags

@revwinchester, @lacqueluster @archangel-with-a-shotgun  @ashiewesker. @gabriel-monthly-challenge

@azlinh @ourloveisforthelovely

[tigerlilynoh]

My Approach to Writing

Every since getting ~350,000 words into Job & Family (my longest Supernatural fanfic), I’ve had a few conversations with people about my techniques and tips for writing.  I recently told another person that I’d share this info with them, but I decided to just post it publicly, on the off chance it’s helpful for anyone else.  

I’m by no means an expert and I’m sure I’m forgetting stuff, but this is my general approach and I credit its methodology with why I haven’t yet had writer’s block.

Non-Linear Writing

I don’t write linearly.  Instead I try to work as much of the story as I can at the same time.  I will try to write content for multiple chapters at once dividing my time 80% to the upcoming chapter and 20% to later content (usually the 2-3 chapters after the upcoming one and/or major events much later in the plot). I do this for three reasons:

It’s easier to avoid writing myself into corners by seeing the logical fallout of a chapter while I’m working on it.

If the upcoming chapter is particularly angsty/violent/etc and I need a mental break, then I can switch away from it yet still be productive.

It helps reduce the workload toward the end of the story. I’d been writing the last four chapters of J&F for over six months by the time those chapters were posted. The fact that they were already significantly written made it less overwhelming to end the story.

On another level of non-linear writing, I will often work on scenes until they are ~90% done, then rearrange their order to form a chapter or multiple chapters. I never write a chapter from front to back.

Also, by jumping around in your writing it turns the writing process into more of a game.  You have points A, C, & E with certain restrictions based on the characters’ natures, themes, etc.  Then all you have to do is solve for points B & D.  I know, easier said than done, but a little structure can make things easier than freeform creativity.

Outlining & Organizing

I outline/organize like a crazy person. Outlines are fucking magic because they make complex stories simple for you to understand and show you all the places where you can tinker. Some of the types of outlines/organizational tools I’ve used are:

Overall plot outline - I definitely recommend this because it’s your roadmap

Fight/smut outlines - if you hate or are scared of writing fights or sex scenes, try outlining the action, then filling it in with the texture.  It makes the process more manageable.

Character arc outlines - against the overall plot outline, mark the major points in a character’s personal struggle/growth. I had one of these for Sam, Dean, Ruby and others in J&F, which helped me make sure a character didn’t languish in their development.

Character prevalence outline - against the overall plot outline, mark which characters are actually in the scenes and to what extent (major, minor, only referenced). I like to assign colors to each character so it’s easy to spot if Bobby is missing for like ten chapters for no good reason.

Scene type outline - against the overall plot outline, mark what types of scenes you’re including. My go to categories are: Fights, Sex, Fluff, Background exposition (backward looking), Tactical planning (forward looking), Internal angst, & Interpersonal.  Again I organize by color for quick reference. By tracking these you’ll see if you’ve maybe gotten super angsty and your readers or characters might need an emotional break, etc.

Distinguishing characteristics table - if you have a lot of characters to keep track of, create a table for their characteristics. Include things like: Strengths, weaknesses, fighting style, fighting weight class, sexual orientation, habits, speech patterns, thing they’ll refuse to do, etc. This’ll help you maybe characters who are otherwise very similar unique.

Knowledge In/Out table - for really complicated plot points I’ll make a table that organizes per scene/chapter all the requisite knowledge the characters must have going into the scene and all the new knowledge (that is necessary for a future plot point) that the character must gain. This is helpful for organizing your foreshadowing.

Timeline vs Outline - if you’re presenting content in a non-chronological fashion, I can’t stress enough the importance of having a timeline of events as distinct from your plot outline.

My basic routine for writing content

Write some basic dialogue - This creates a skeleton for the scene and it reminds you what the hell is happening if you’re bouncing around.

Insert minimal descriptions of actions like “he said”

Write some short paragraphs giving insight into the characters’ thoughts, feelings, motivations.

Add major physical events like the basic structure of a fight, sex scene, or if you really need for character A to end up holding object B.

Add more actions that bridge the gap between dialogue and/or major events.

Write more dialogue that addresses the details of the actions you’ve just created.

Add physical description/setting (I expect most people do this earlier).

Read through what you’ve got so far asking yourself questions like: 

Are the characters acting in character? 

Are the characters acting rationally? 

Are the characters acting in a way that reflects the emotional trauma that they’re going through? 

Am I writing myself into a corner? 

Do I know how I could resolve the conflict that exists in this part of the story?

Do all of the scenes serve a purpose?

Before you start finalizing a scene, ask yourself if you’ve made the content unrealistic in your attempt to make the story easier on yourself. I can’t tell you how many times I rewrote large pieces of story because I was nearly done with a section and thought “But in real life people aren’t this lucky.”

Reread your work in whatever order you want while asking the who, what, where, why, how. And add bits as needed to answer those questions.

Skim the text looking for *** (see below for tip) that need replacing and areas that need segues.

Read through from beginning to end looking for continuity problems and subjects that need more elaboration.

Proofread/final pass.

General Tips

If you’re in the middle of writing and you can’t think of the next sentence, witty retort, paragraph, or how to end the section, just type *** and keep moving. Don’t let yourself get bogged down. That’s a sure fire way to get frustrated and discouraged. Later on you can tackle it with fresh eyes.

You can use coincidences to get your characters into trouble, but try like hell to avoid using coincidences to get them out of trouble. Laziness is only forgivable a few times, so use it wisely.

Know where you’re going, but stay flexible on how you get there. For example, as you write your story you’ll become more and more familiar with your characters and after awhile you might realize that something you’d been planning doesn’t make sense for them anymore. Don’t panic and don’t let your character just waltz into an OOC moment. Take a little time to figure out how to sufficiently motivate your character back on track towards your goal.

Pick themes/philosophical questions and remind yourself of them throughout the writing process. A few major themes for J&F were: What does it mean to be good? How do you balance responsibilities? Learning to accept oneself.

Make music playlists for specific characters, pairings, settings, events (like fight scenes). That way you have a quick way to get yourself back into a particular mood/mindset. I had ~20 playlists that I listened to while writing J&F in order to make it easier to write so many different characters and scenarios.

Draw from your experience. Even if you haven’t fought monsters, you’ve probably experienced many of the feelings/emotions that the character is feeling (fear, helplessness, determination, uncertainty, etc)

Rules and systems exist to make things easier, but you don’t always need to follow them. Sometimes you just need to throw balance out the window and hit the readers with an unrelenting string of angst.  

Lastly, sometimes fuck ups happen. I miss steps or overlook things all the time. But the nice thing is that your readers probably aren’t going to notice. Just roll with the punches and keep at it.

Hope this is helpful. Feel free to message me if you want to talk about writing, supernatural, or pretty much anything.

[emotionalandlost]

Theory: Why Connor Franta Is “Broken”.

@connorfranta​

~ Note: This is an original article/theory/discussion/whatever written by the anonymous blogger Elo, otherwise known as emotionalandlost on Tumblr (me). Please credit. 

If you are a fan of Connor, then you should read this. I know it’s long, but it will be worth your time. This is serious stuff. Very serious. Hell, if you’re Connor, then this is definitely for you. I feel like people need to see this because I feel like it might be true/very important. See for yourself, and tell me what you think.

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STRUCTURE OF THE THEORY (you can skip different parts if you wish, although reading everything would be best if you want to understand):

1. Disclaimer

2. The Note To Self Video and it’s clues 

3. Connor’s inner self: why is he “broken”?

4. Conclusion, Summary and Advice (for both Connor and fans)

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1. Disclaimer: 

I’d like to ask anyone reading this to read this with an open mind and an open heart. I’m trying to help Connor in some way, and I’d appreciate it if you passed this along so that other people know (I’ll explain why later in this post). The reason I made this post was to help someone, Please don’t judge me for trying to help someone who might be in need. Just because Connor has social status does not mean that he is not human. He suffers from all sorts of emotions and issues just like we do, and being in such a public profession doesn’t change that in the slightest. If anything, it enhances that. I feel like it’s time that his fans showed him that they care more than they usually do. 

I’m not pointing fingers or trying to be offensive to anyone in this post; it’s simply my thoughts, and a theory I’ve been thinking about since around summertime of 2016. I have done extensive research on various websites and through Connor’s YouTube, which sounds creepy, but I mean completely the opposite…I’m not actually a subscriber, just a passerby who loves creativity of any kind. Since Connor is rather creative, I often see his videos in passing. I will not use sources, hence I’m labelling this as a theory since I don’t have proof. This is merely speculation. 

I should also note that while I personally do not ship “Tronnor”, this theory only works if “Tronnor” was real at some point in time. I do not claim to know about Connor’s life, his friends, or any of his daily activities. I do not claim to know Connor as a person, but I believe to know enough to make a reasonable point. This is a THEORY and very serious one, so I would appreciate your respect here. If Connor is reading this (by some odd chance), I hope this might help you in some way if this “theory” is true. 

Also: There’s probably typing errors in here. I’m a sucker for them, and they always crop up somewhere. I’ve also not proofread this, which is stupid. But anyway, let’s get on with it, shall we? 

2. The Note To Self Video and its clues.

Okay, so some of you might already be upset with me saying this, because it’s Connor and it’s his life, and it should be private if he wants it to be. I fully agree with that. But after the Note To Self trailer, I thought a lot about a theory that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. It’s been inside of my head and I feel like no matter who gets angry with me, I need to put it out there, just to see if anyone else has been thinking the same thing. 

To anyone who is not aware, some of Connor’s fans used to (and still do) ship him with singer Troye Sivan (if you didn’t know that, who are you and have you been living under a rock? Trust me, I was oops). Before I give you my theory, let me tell you a few things about what I know. So I’m pretty good at reading people, and while I’m definitely no expert, if I know a person well enough or I have explored a persons personality type before, then I can often notice what general emotion they might be feeling. Sounds crazy? Yeah it does, but hear me out. 

I don’t know Connor. If anything, I’ve barely stumbled across his videos (I’ve seen a lot now that I’ve done some research), but he seems like a lovely person. He’s often in my recommended and I enjoy watching his stuff from time to time. I do that with a lot of YouTube. Anyway, I came across his Note To Self trailer (amazingly creative, check it out on his channel if you haven’t seen it yet), which is advertising his book, and I noticed something that sparked a memory of my own. 

It was certain points in the Note To Self video that made me think about some things. Hear me out here. Let me quote him, since he says this best:

(00:50 - 1:02) I think I think too much. I feel broken at times. Could be from my breakup. Could just be from myself, my work, my mental health…doesn’t really matter, it’s there. 

(1:10 - 1:23) You know, I’ve been in love. God, have I been in love. Like that…sucker punch to the gut, head over your heels deal that people always seem to talk about? Yeah…that. 

(1:24 - 1:42) *scenes play out where Connor is with his boyfriend/lover (an actor, but this is what is represented) in different situations*

~ Connor Franta, Note To Self: Trailer. Accessible via youtube.com/connorfranta

These three scenes in the video are what I feel to be the most important to this theory. Connor explains a lot of reasons as to why he might feel so broken on the inside. As you can see, he references his break-up in a separate sentence to the subjects that follow it. I’m not saying the other issues aren’t bothering him, but it is clear by his structure that this break-up has been the most damaging to him. Trust me, I’m a writer, I know about structure and what it can mean.

He only strengthens this idea in the second quote, delving into his own experiences of love. It’s clear that he has been very strongly in love with a person that was in his life. The reason he would feel broken would be because the relationship ended. Remember, Connor is a person that feels very very deeply, but I’ll talk more on that in the next section. 

The third section I’ve referenced here simply depicts scenes that he has experienced with his previous boyfriend/lover. It’s clear that these gestures are ones that Connor remembers the most. The simple act of holding hands, drinking coffee/tea together and just talking with eachother is something that is important to a relationship in Connor’s eyes. 

While these three scenes in the video are not the entire video as it is, the constant reference to Connor’s romantic life are obvious: it must be the thing that has hurt him the most. The fact that he continually references this during his trailer implies that his book will definitely talk about his romantic life in some context. Perhaps this “broken” feeling will be explored, but let’s not count our chickens before they hatch. Note To Self is going to be a very intimate book. This theory is just a speculation on why Connor may feel the way he describes in his trailer. 

3. Connor’s inner self: why is he “broken”?

As we discussed in the last section, there are some clues to suggest that the end of a relationship may have left Connor in a more broken state alongside his own issues. His other issues are breifly mentioned in a blurb of sorts on the amazon website where you can preorder his new book, although I will focus on the relationship aspect of this. 

I’ve decided that, despite a lack of solid proof (although other people may disagree with me), Tronnor may have actually happened. I’m not going to offer a reason why, since I’m sure many of you have explored this idea and why it might have happened. There are some clues to suggest that Tronnor may have once existed, but I’m not going into those here.

Now for a bit of depth of Connor’s inner self. I can’t say for sure, since Connor is his own person, and emotions and thoughts are different for everyone. Nonetheless, I feel like I have some things that might be accurate. 

Connor is an ambivert, someone who doesn’t mind staying indoors and chilling out, watching TV or just talking with friends, but he also doesn’t mind going out and getting social outside of the house. In a sense, he often enjoys the solitary nature of the introvert, but also enjoys the social circle that comes with being an extrovert. He stated himself that he was both an introverted and extroverted person, making him an ambivert (I believe this was in his “That Type Of Person” video). 

While Connor certainly appears to be a calm and collected person, his is also incredibly emotional. As in, he feels very, very deeply about things that matter to him. Security is important to Connor, and his emotional security is therefore something very important. He’s semi-organised (no shade, just what I’m picking up), resourceful and tidy as well as well read and more intelligent than some might realise. Yes, that includes himself. 

My biggest concern here though, is that Connor strives for other people to understand him. Above all else, he doesn’t want to be misunderstood. This is obvious in his “This Video May Offend You” video. One of Connor’s biggest wishes in life is simply for other people to try and understand him and the way he works. He wants people to realise why he might do this, or think in a certain way. His poems, his photography, his videos…all of them are ways of self-expression, but to Connor, every single video he’s proud of has a meaning to him. He wants what he creates to have a meaning, and thus he makes everything from the heart. Every ounce of work he puts in comes directly from the heart, and this is clear because of the type of videos he makes. He talks about things that he’s passionate about, or things that he wants to do. 

That makes Connor someone who needs some kind of validation (not in a bad way!!!), or some kind of comment, friend, family or fans, that can help people to try and relate to the way he is. He wants to be understood. He wants people to be able to see where he’s coming from. That’s where he gets his validation from. He doesn’t get validation from likes or comments, he gets validation from people that understand him. People that just…get it. If someone can understand his intention behind something or his way of thinking then it’s more likely for him to feel like people understand him. 

Connor wants to be understood so that he feels like he’s not alone. If nobody understands you or relates to you, then your way of thinking is isolated. Essentially, Connor is not someone who wants that. He lives in a world of wonderful creativity, but it doesn’t mean anything if other people can’t understand it, or if they don’t have their own interpretation of it. He loves his profession, but it means nothing if nobody can understand. 

The reason he wrote Note To Self is because of this. It’s very possible that he might not feel like people really know him inside and out, and thus he wants people to know that. Note To Self will be a very intimate book, and it should be, because Connor is writing this for both himself, but also for other people to understand him in some way. 

Now, for the theory I’m sure all of you have been waiting for:

I believe that Connor Franta and Troye Sivan may have (only maybe, not confirmed in my eyes, but others may disagree) definitely been in a relationship for some period of time. However, in the summer of 2016, I noticed a change in Connor (I will explain this in a bit, let me explain). He seemed more down, more tired, paler, thinner than usual and seemingly unmotivated or upset. While he tried to be happy for his audience, it was very clear in his face that he was not mentally well at all. This is of course implied by the gif he uploaded onto his instagram of a tear back in the summer of 2016. While I cannot find the original post, I do have a link to a YouTube video where the story was shown. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kqHnkbb6_Zg

While apparently it was a hater that got to Connor, this may not be the case at all. It could be a moment where Connor wished to express his feelings with his fans after his relationship ended with Troye. 

To be fair, it could be anything. But it supports this theory, so I have to put it out there. 

At the time, I thought nothing of it, until recently when the trailer came out. As Connor says himself, he was head over heels in love with someone. It could be anyone, but for this theory I’m using Troye to save ambiguity, and because of what I said above. He fell in love with someone, and he thought he was happy and that everything would be okay. 

It wasn’t. 

Troye and Connor parted ways and their contact has grown thin. As I mentioned beforehand, Connor is a very emotional person. He was so deeply in love that when Troye broke it off with him it is very possible that he was severely heartbroken. I’m sure that some of you reading can relate to that. 

For some people, heartbreak can take different lengths of time to get over. Some get over it faster than others. A couple of months or less is a very quick recovery, but more deeply emotional people like Connor are likely to be heartbroken for at least five or six months, if not more than that, before they get over the person they fell in love with. 

You can tell this is how Connor has been feeling recently, especially coming out of 2016, and moving into the new year with the heartbreak on his mind. It’s very clear that his newer videos at the start of 2017 are more lighter, and less deep than some of the videos in 2016. This isn’t a bad thing, it just implies that he’s finally getting over the heartbreak that has consumed him for so long. Again, I may be wrong. Connor may be very much heartbroken, and there could be other reasons for his videos seeming more lighter (with the exception of Note To Self). 

Even so, getting over heartbreak still leaves scars. You can see that in his face, in his eyes that he was hurting, and yet nobody ever thought that this might have been a possibility. While people were going on about “Tracob” being a possibility, you guys, the fans, didn’t seem to wonder how this might have made Connor feel. I’m not attacking you, since your support for him is a daily mass of loving messages, but the way you treated him didn’t appear to change. You should have provided him with support, let him know that he was appreciated and understood at the time when he needed it most. Yes, you did that, but not to the extent that it was needed.

Now, now, don’t get upset. It’s not your fault! It’s a thing that I think a lot of people didn’t notice. But with heartbreak being a factor in Connor’s life, it certainly had a negative effect on the other areas of his life, like his mental health, his work, his life. When one area of your life is put under strain, it often affects the other areas of your life as well, especially if that area occupies the time and energy that is supposed to be dedicated to other areas of your life. 

This is why the death of family members might affect the way people learn or how well they do at school. One area of your life will probably affect another area, and this is no different to Connor. 

So why is Connor broken? That’s because of a mixture of things. Connor’s deeply emotional self was severely damaged with what heartbreak he received in the summer. That lack of love and raw feeling of pain put a MASSIVE strain on other areas of life. And we haven’t even delved into what possible issues there are outside of Connor’s romantic life, which I certainly do not have time nor energy to write in this post. 

4. Conclusion, Summary and Advice (for both Connor and fans):

So that’s that. While I’m sure there are a tonne of other issues in his life, Connor’s Note To Self trailer hints at a lot. Of course, this is only a theory. But either way it still poses the possibility that Connor has been heartbroken in the last few months and is most likely still suffering from the effects of what mental health issues he has experienced. 

In this theory, I have discussed Connor’s inner and more intimate self and what personality he most likely has when in reference to emotion or romantic feelings. I have discussed possible heartbreak, what clues are hidden in the Note To Self video, and why these hint at what issues he may have been experiencing. Ultimately, understanding Connor Franta will be more evident in the book written by himself. However, I think it’s safe to say that he needs help. 

Just because he’s a public figure, a celebrity, an entrepreneur, whatever…it does not mean that he has his shit held down. This is where you come in. Yes, you. The fans. 

While you definitely provide him an extreme amount of support (and that’s amazing!), words such as “i love you so much!” or “yesss king!” or “i’m so happy for you” etc, etc, are great things to say to Connor. It let’s him know that you appreciate him, and in no way am I saying that you should stop that. 

However, perhaps try and be more supportive. Ask him how he’s feeling, DM him, tell him to get out and enjoy time with friends and family, as well as time to himself. Connor needs time to think, but he also needs support. Tell him that he is appreciated, that his projects or his creative works are really interesting, or offer an opinion or interpretation of your own about what a certain piece of art, poem, or picture might mean. 

I assure you, he will appreciate it. 

And now for you Connor. If you have somehow found this post and if you’re reading it right now, then this advice goes directly to you. 

I can tell that you’re a decent person, and it’s clear that you put a lot of effort and drive into your work. What I have seen of your creativity is simply incredible. However, I would like to give you some advice, even if it is from someone who seems so distant on the other side of a computer screen.  

Get help. Honestly. Don’t hide on your own. It’s a proven fact that men are far less likely to seek help for mental health issues in comparison to women, and I know for a fact that you are aware of this. Why? Because you know that men are brought up to hold in their emotions, to hide them or not express them. That’s the messed up society that we live in. Talk to your friends, talk to your family. Tell people you trust about who you feel. Hug them. Laugh with them. Enjoy what time you have, and as always, you do you. 

Counselling/Therapy is always an option for you if you feel like you need more help. Do not ever be ashamed of asking someone for help, especially if you need it. Remember that you are loved and appreciated. Your fans give you so, so, so much love and support, and they truly love you for everything that you are, and everything that you have done. Don’t give up, because trust me, it’s going to get better. 

Cookies and coffee might not make things better, but to who anyone who needs this little message of support, here you go. Remember, you are incredible! Believe in yourself, and you can do anything :D

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And there, that’s it. The theory, the idea, the everything. Of course I can be wrong, because it is just a theory. Refer to the disclaimer above and I hope you enjoyed reading this. I hope it gave you some insight into what possible things might be going on. 

Of course, as all of us want, I would appreciate any support…send me some likes and reblogs! I want as many people to see this, so that they are aware that even the best of us can have trouble sometimes. Feel free to discuss things; I’d love to talk about this theory with anyone who’s interested. 

Also feel free to drop me questions or thoughts. Those are always accepted. Messaging me about any mental health issues or thoughts about this theory would be very much welcomed.

Well, that’s all for now people! 

Until Next Time, 

~Elo (emotionalandlost)

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

emotionalandlost, otherwise known as Elo, is an anonymous blogger that reblogs pictures of emotional or deep quality, as well as quotes about life meanings and discussion. They live in England, but choose to keep their personal details hidden for the time being. They are delving into the world of theory, philosophy, photography, and nature, all while writing a book series that they wish to publish at some point in the future. 

This is an original piece work. Please credit this if you plan on rehashing or reusing the idea for your own discussions. Thank you. ~Elo (emotionalandlost)

[greaterthanlows]

Random Rumblings from a Mad Man

I’ve told everyone that I have no form of a sleep schedule right now. Not even close. I think I finally fell asleep around 5 in the morning last night... or morning... whatever you call it. I’m sure I’m not alone with this. It’s currently 1 in the morning, so I decided to come outside on my porch and just start typing. 

I’m in this weird phase in my life right now where I’m trying to be extremely healthy. And I just have to say, If I’m honest, it sucks. I’m a guy who loves food. It’s easily my favorite thing in the world. There’s just something so great about it. Being up later lately has only made me want to eat more often. I had a really good friend suggest to me recently that I keep a lot of fruit around so I can eat that instead of junk or whatever else is lying around. So here I am, eating my pineapple. I also couldn't stand being parted from watching the office.... so I came up with an easy solution.

Tonight, I’m sitting here with my mind racing and thinking a million different things at once. 

Actually that may be a lie.

Actually, maybe it’s not.

I think there’s a lot on my mind.

But I also think I can’t think anything.

Maybe this is just a result of a great many things.

 A few years ago, I had this amazing opportunity to go on a mission trip to Cuba. Talk about life changing. 

A picture of our team... or at least what was left of them...

I could write so much just solely on that experience. Now that I mention it, I think I will do that someday soon. 

I have a great many thoughts about the things I experienced in Cuba. If there was one experience that forever changed me spiritually, that was it. But sometimes our spiritual growth isn’t because we “do good” or we see those who really struggle and it opens our eyes or we see God moving and doing good. There’s so many more ways, and sometimes those ways are not always the fondest memories.

But enough of that. I’ll save that for another day.

Tonight, one of the thoughts on my mind is towards the people of Cuba I got to meet and work with, the few I got to know in what felt like an intimate way even in such a short time. I’m thinking of all the things I have, the things I’m able to do. I can’t help but wonder do we realize what we don’t have if we never have it to not have... if that makes sense to you. What I mean, do the people I met there, are they aware of the things they aren’t provided for, the things they are missing out on since they’ve never actually had it, and really, they've never been around anyone who does for the most part. 

I’m guilty of it. I get so caught up in my own world, I often miss the intimate details of the lives of those around me. I say I lack things, but do I really know what it’s like to lack? Have I experienced that? Have I ever experienced the level of lacking that the people in Cuba that I was with lacked? 

And where is God in this? I often ask myself that. How did such cruel people gain powers and leadership? Where was God when that was happening. Where was He during the suffering? I think we all ask these questions when it comes to our own lives.

“Where are you, God?”

I think He’s there. I think He’s there with every single person in Cuba right now. I think He’s there with every single person in China, North Korea, the Middle East. I think He’s all around. I don’t think He’s just with the saints. I believe He is begging to those who are in leadership, the cruelest of dictators in the world to turn around, to repent, to acknowledge Yahweh as the one true God. To declare Emmanuel... God is with us, and He came to be with us in this person of Jesus.

I think we celebrate the deaths of evil people too quickly. I think we celebrate those being punished with too much joy. It scares me when I see Christians declare with great triumph that this dictator... terrorist.... murder.... whatever their crime may be is burning in Hell. 

Is the punishment just for many of them? Yes. Absolutely. If I received the same punishment, would it be just for me as well? Yes. Absolutely.

I think God is hurting for everyone who ultimately chooses to be eternally separated from them. Think of the most loving parent you can imagine. Maybe it’s your own. If their child chose to leave home and never return, to become a terrible human being, that parent will still only love them despite their crimes. They will always be holding out hope that they will return home. This is God as our Father. While we are celebrating the destination of an unbeliever we deem evil, He is mourning. 

I need to know God can forgive the worst of sinners. Because if He can’t then what hope is their for me? 

If all sins are equal, is their a commandment I haven’t broken?

I am 0 for 10. I’m just as guilty. I deserve to be separated from Him for all eternity. So I have to believe He is able to forgive the sins of the worst people alive because if He can’t forgive them, then He can’t forgive me either. And He can’t forgive you.

But the Nature of God is Love.

That’s my saving grace tonight. That He will forgive their sins, and He will forgive mine. And His love and grace covers a multitude of sins that paves the way for peace and fellowship with Him and mankind. That my wrongs with others may be someday made right. 

That’s my God. He’s a God who I admittedly don’t understand. A God who recently I’ve questioned in so many ways. Just today, I found myself having to ask God to help me forgive Him for the ways I thought He was wrong. Read that again. “God, help me forgive You.” That has to be blasphemy! 

But I think God needs us to stop trying to play games with Him. I think we need to stop trying to hide things from Him as if we can be successful. In my right mind, is there a thing I need to forgive God for? No! His forgiveness is what I need. Not the other way around. Today, a really good friend referred to Him as the God of Grace. And that’s true. He’s asking me to give Him my fear, my doubt, my anger. He’s been waiting for me to come to place to tell Him that I don’t trust Him to do what I need and want Him to do. Read that again as well. 

I don’t trust God to do what I NEED and WANT Him to do.

Why does He let me come so openly to Him? Why does He ask me to bring every thought I have to Him and give it to Him without fear? I don’t know. Because He should strike me dead for even daring to think I could say those things to Him. But No! He is inviting them in. He’s telling me to give Him all these things so I can see Him do a wondrous work. A work, even now, I sit here and say that I have my doubts He actually will. And that’s ok. Because He needs me to finally admit those things to Him. To admit that doubt. He’s not afraid of how I feel. He’s not running from it like I wish I could. He’s not uncertain about what to do with the ways I feel.

My prayers can’t be a routine. I can’t say what I think I need to get Him to respond. He needs me to surrender every bit of myself to Him. He needs me to start being content with just Him. Because, another self-confession. I haven’t been. I haven’t found my joy in just Him. And now I sit here... now at 2 in the morning... and it’s just me alone... sitting here on my porch with keyboard typing this out. If my joy isn’t to be found in Him then where will I find it?

He’s stripped it all away. To where it’s just me and Him now. I don’t know what’s next, and I think that’s part of why I feel like I have to forgive Him (again, I can’t get past how unreal that sounds). How many of you right now are there? You've found God has stripped everything away and now it’s just you and Him. What do you do with that? 

I spent some time thinking God was done moving. But He’s not. He’s moving still. Whatever situation you’re in right now, I’m in, your friend is in... it’s not a surprise to God. He’s not been caught off guard by my stupid mistakes, that I came to this place of distrusting Him, that you came to this place of distrusting Him. He’s not scrambling around trying to figure out what to do next. He’s always known. How is He going to move? I have no idea. I just know He is. I know He’s not finished yet. 

Pentecostal fire 

Stirring something new

You’re not gonna run out of miracles

Anytime soon

Well, I said it in the title. Just random rumblings. If you made it all the way through this ADD post, that’s impressive. I don’t even know how I’m going to get through the proofread with all the 180′s in this. I guess I better get started, though.

[cum-sh0ts]

no one cares, trust me I know lol but this is my blog so I’ll post whatever I want. Unfollow me. This is so fucking difficult to write about because I hate talking about my feelings or shit that I’m going through. I’m sad. Really fucking sad actually. I was doing well, I was happy. My art started selling (I never expected that to happen or planned or wanted.. I’m not complaining though) although it’s just a hobby of mine. My designs got much better, I love them. My family’s doing well. I’ve accepted that Michelle is never going to burst into my room while I’m trying to nap or climb through my window if I didn’t answer her calls or steal the snacks in my house or take my favorite clothes and shoes. I’ll never get to watch her do the little dance she used to do when she was happy. Do I miss her? Hell fucking yes I do, more than anything. Every single day of my life. I think about you when I’m driving by myself listening to our favorite songs. I think about you when I’m hanging out with my friends, what would you think of them? I know you’d love them but how different would our stories be? I miss her sooo fucking much but I’ve accepted it. I still haven’t visited your grave and I probably never will. I know it’s a shitty thing to do, trust me, I know. But I can’t bring myself to book a flight to your home town and drive to the cemetery to visit you. I never knew words or a simple phone call would change me as a person. I still feel it, Moose. I feel my heart being torn to pieces but somehow still beating so hard I thought it was going to come out of my chest. I feel the knot in my throat. My body getting hot flashes and all those sleepless night because all I could see was your face. I miss you Moose. You changed my life. You changed me for the better but you left a pain in me that will never go away. I’m happy with my life Moose or at least I want to be but I can’t. Exactly one month after I received that call I had to go to therapy. I didn’t sleep, I didn’t eat, I didn’t leave my room, I didn’t talk to anyone. I started to cut myself. When I stopped feeling the pain from cutting I attempted to commit suicide. My parents began to argue because of my problems and even started talking about getting a divorce so I attempted to end it all once again. This happened a couple of times but I’ve never had the courage to tell anyone about it. So maybe people who know me in real life will read this, who knows and who the fuck cares lmao. Anyway, I’m aching again. I don’t know what to do. Honestly I probably have a shit ton of typos and my sentences don’t even make sense but I don’t care because I’m not rereading this or proofreading it because I’m simply typing what I feel at this fucking moment. Goodbye.