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latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years ago

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𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐒𝐞𝐱/𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲 (𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝)

Warnings: NSFW content. Read at your own discretion.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Hongjoong was already frustrated. He was on a deadline to finish up a song and he was nowhere near even getting halfway. Eden had just recently scolded him and he felt extremely agitated and irritated at this point.

"Hey Joong? I brought you lunch so-"

"Just leave it on the table, I'll eat it later." He cut you off rather sharply, barely even sparing you a glance.

"I was actually thinking we could eat together." You were off put by his short temper.

"I don't have time Y/N." He huffed out, a hand running through his hair.

You were pissed at this point and were not about to take his crap anymore.

"Exactly! You don't have time for me anymore! I get your job demands a lot of your time, but to not even take a break and enjoy just 10 minutes without....these." You gestured to all the mess scattered around his desk.

Hurt about being reminded about his neglect of you yet angry at being scolded once more, Hongjoong slammed his hands on the table, swiftly pushing off the chair before going over to where you were standing and stared you down.

"All right. Fine. 10 minutes you say? I can work with that."

Without a warning, he pushed you onto the couch, making a quick work of your pants and stripping them off you. You let out a sharp cry when he began devouring your pussy, animalistic growls spilling out his lips as he slurped you up as if he'd been starved. When you tried pulling away, he landed a harsh slap on your clit, making your hips jolt up and a shriek come out.

"Shut up and take what I give you you needy desperate whore. You wanted 10 minutes? Let's see how many times I can make you cum in that time."

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

Hearing the front door slam, Seonghwa brace himself for yet another one of your moods after a long day at work. Wanting to help your day be less stressful, he had prepared you some of your favorites food.

"Y/N." He called out to you in a sing song tone.

Stomping over, you just looked at him with an eyebrow raised, total resting bitch face plastered on.

"I made your favorite." He happily told you, but you still didn't seem to bat an eyelash at him, you simply turned around and began walking out.

"Wait Y/N come on. Here at least try some. It'll help you with your stress-"

"Can't you take a damn hint Seonghwa?! I don't fucking want it!"

When he tried to approach you with a spoonful of food, you actually snapped and slapped it out of his hand, making it stain his perfectly polished floor. Seonghwa looked at it then looked back at you.

"You know Y/N I think I put up with your bratty attitude and bitchy behavior for too long."

You gasped sharply when he suddenly turned you around and slammed you up against the table, grabbing your arms so he could hold them behind your back.

"Maybe I've been a little too nice to you....making you baths, preparing you food, all in hopes of helping you release stress....but its clear a little bitch like you doesn't need that."

You squirmed under his grasp, trying to get free but with no use as his grip was tight on you. The sound of him unbuckling his belt made you stop moving entirely, and you shivered when pulled your skirt up before ripping your tights and pushing your underwear to the side.

"Clearly a bitch like you needs a good pounding, fuck that attitude right out of you."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

You knew you were screwed the instant Yunho roughly pulled you off Mingi's lap and took you into his room, shutting the door right behind him before staring at you with fire burning through his eyes. You had never seen him so mad before.

No soon afterwards, you were currently on top of him, his hips bucking up at you at a relentless pace that had you screaming his name over and over again. His hands were practically digging into your skin, holding tightly onto you with such ferocity.

"Look at you, being so desperate for a good fuck that you'd actually try and whore yourself out to my best friend like a cheap bitch."

When one of his hands came up to grasp at your throat, you were shivering on top of him.

"Weren't you?! What! Is my cock not enough for you? My cock and these hands you love so much not satisfying you anymore? Hmm? Is that why you were all cuddled up to Mingi? Hoped he'd actually take pity and fuck you?"

You knew it wasn't your intention to make him jealous, but god if this is what jealousy did to him, you would totally do it again.

"Stupid slut. Mingi's not going to fuck you. You're just a dirty, filthy hole, he doesn't want you...."

Even after you came, you were still a crying mess as Yunho kept fucking up into you, not caring that you were beyond your limit, your inner thighs getting sore.

"But you're my little hole for me to fuck. Got it? And if I need to fuck you dumb to get it through that stupid useless brain of yours to understand that only I can make you feel this good, then so be it. I'll fuck you til you break, my little sex toy."

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

Yeosang was not very pleased by your behavior lately. You had been giving him the silent treatment and avoiding him for no good reason. Trying to coax what was wrong out of you, he came up behind you as you were washing dishes.

"How's my little princess? Did you have a good day?"

He was only met with you elbowing him in the rib and shoved him off you.

"Ok seriously Y/N? What did I even do? Stop being so childish and talk to me like a mature adult."

Hearing you scoff and seeing you roll your eyes at him made him furious and irritated with you. As you tried to walk past him, he grabbed your elbow and picked you up, setting you down on the kitchen counter as his eyes burned a hole through you.

"If you're going to keep acting like a brat, maybe I should just treat you like one then."

You don't know if you truly regret breaking Yeosang's patience. On the one hand, you were definitely not going to be walking straight for a week. On the other, you utterly enjoyed having your face pressed against the pillow, ass up as Yeosang was shoving his dick in and out of you, red handprints scattered across your butt cheeks and hands tied behind your back with one of his ties. Everytime you tried to hide your face in the pillow to muffle your screams, he'd yank your hair up.

"I said I wasn't having you ignore me anymore princess. Now come on, scream my name. I want this entire floor to hear your pathetic whimpers."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San looked at you with an unamused gaze.

"Repeat what you just said.....I dare you to."

He was pissed off, it was more than clear. But maybe that's what you wanted, wanted him to be as pissed as you were, even just a bit of what you were feeling. It's not that you meant to take out your jealousy on him, but seeing his co-host be extremely clingy towards him backstage and he never did anything about it made your blood boil.

"I said you're nothing more than a fucking horn dog. Probably let that skank suck your dick." You exclaimed in disgust.

The sudden slam of his hand against the wall behind you both scared and thrilled you. Looking at you with a hungry smirk, he opened the door behind you, trapping you inside a closet. In minutes, he was pressing you against the wall, his frantic grunts mixing with your whimpered cries. San would occasionally let out a sadistic laugh at how wrecked you look.

"You're right baby, I am indeed a horn dog. Absolutely love getting my dick wet and fuck a pussy all the time."

Hand reaching between your legs, he began to harshly pinch and rub at your clit, his other hand that was holding onto your hip keeping you from collapsing on the floor as your orgasm took over you.

"But get this straight: I only fuck this pussy right here. Ok? I fucking claimed this a long ass time ago and I'll fuck it whenever I want to."

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

Ending the call with your friend, you were coming out of the bedroom when you were suddenly shoved back inside by none other than your usually caring and sweet boyfriend, who looked angry as he closed the door behind him.

"Mingi? What-"

You couldn't finish your sentence as his large hands cupped your cheeks, his long body pushing you back until you landed on the bed. He was kissing you harshly, nothing like the usual tender and loving kisses he'd be known to give you. His hands clutched at your covered breasts, groping at them before he unexpectedly tore your shirt in the middle.

"Mingi! What has gotten into you?!" You exclaimed in shock at his sudden change in behavior.

"I heard you talking to your friend. Saying shit like I'm too soft and vanilla for you."

You moaned out when he began to suck along your neck, his hands cupping your bra and pulling it down enough to have your breasts spill out.

"Oh princess if only you knew I've just been holding back all this time."

With a taunting chuckle, he pulled of you. Undoing his zipper, he began to strip out of his jeans and briefs, letting his long cock spring free, precum leaking at the tip.

"I didn't want to be selfish and break you like I wanted too....... but if that's what you want well then, I'd be happy to oblige my little princess."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

Neither of you knew how it started nor exactly how it escalated. One minute Wooyoung was being the annoying shit he was, with you playfully shoving him away and calling him names, and then the next you were both pushing each other rather abruptly. When you called him a particularly degrading insult, he retaliated likewise and now it seemed like a screaming match between you two.

"You know what? This is fucking stupid!" You hollered and turned away, making a bee line towards your room.

"I'm not done yet!" Wooyoung trailed after you.

"Well I am! Now excuse me, I'm going to go take a shower and hopefully cool off this rage." You stated firmly before slamming the bathroom door right in his face.

The refreshing water seemed to calm you down a little, so you just stood there under the shower head, just letting your body soak in the cold. You were so unaware of your surroundings that you failed to notice Wooyoung had entered the bathroom and didn't realize it until you felt his arms turn you around to face him. No explanation, he just began kissing you, his tongue taking control over your mouth while one hand hiked one of your legs over his waist.

"Still think I'm an annoying bastard?" He grunted fiercely as he thrusted up into you, not giving you time to react as he began pounding into you.

"Yes you are!" You hissed at him, hands swooping his wet hair and tugging at it rather hardly.

He just looked at you with a shit eating grin.

"Yet you still let me fuck you. "

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

You were frustrated and stressed out, so was Jongho. Even as you two did your own little things inside the apartment, even the smallest things either of you did made the other let out an annoyed huff. It all culminated when Jongho accidentally spilled his cup of juice on the floor, that little action had you both looking at each other with near contempt.

"I feel like punching something." Jongho confessed.

"Me too." You admitted.

"Wanna punch me?" He offered.

Smirking at him, you thought about something better.

"No.... I think I'd rather fuck you."

So now here you were, underneath your inhumanely strong boyfriend, his cock balls deep inside you, your legs thrown over his shoulders while his hands were already leaving bruises around your inner thighs from how hard he was squeezing at them. You two had already cum several times but you still kept going, pushing past your sensitivity as you both still had a lot of rage and energy to release.

In a particularly sharp angle of his hips, you were quivering under Jongho, for the first time you were actually squirting under him.

"Oh fuck!" Seeing you break down and make a mess all over him and yourself had him cumming soon after, his body collapsing on top of yours.

Both of you were beyond exhausted after all that. Your bodies were so sticky with sweat and your breathing had not yet returned to normal. Looking over at you, Jongho smiled sincerely for the first time in days.

"So.... now that we got that out of the way.... can we cuddle?"

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez seonghwa #ateez smut #ateez hongjoong #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez headcanons

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hesokuri-wars · 2 years ago

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Are you guys alright? Like, personally? I'm worried about you :[

✨I can only speak for myself, but I’m alright! Sorry to have just vanished without a word. I honestly didn’t intend to and always hoped I’d get back into the swing of this

Last year I started a new job that is really physically and sometimes emotionally exhausting. I’m very happy there!! But I also have 2 part time jobs on top of that, so I’m just a wee bit burnt out and tired lmao

I've been Chronically Offline for a while, not just here; working 5-7 days a week without weekends or holidays means my free time is quite limited. And yeah, that free time has not included Heso at all, so I really can’t answer any questions about the game from the last year even when I am rarely around :/

So like... when will I come back? Will I come back? Big shrug. I do love the game and this community, I just don’t have the energy for it like I used to. So don't get your hopes up, I guess. Sorry

(And yes, I literally can't figure out how to format my mod icon into this post ✌😎✨)

💙Mod Kara

(Actually, it's great that you don't have a mod icon, because I can't be bothered myself to recover my own batch of icons for this post. This is good.)

Heeey, anon. It's super sweet of you to have sent in this ask, so I thank you for your concern. To answer your question, I'm doing fine, too. Like Mod Kara, I've got a job as well, but unlike her, I'm as online as ever, so what's my excuse?

Well, I haven't exactly touched anything Heso-related in... since the last time I posted actual Heso news, whenever that was. At one point, I sort of just stopped opening up the game and mostly left things up to Mod Kara. Truth be told, it's been a long time since I've actively been interested in Heso for a variety of reasons, ranging from my issues with the game itself, my current dedication to other interests, and the admittedly less-than-ideal way that I perceive this blog that I've owned for the past 5 years.

I'm aware that my explanation isn't as... justified as Mod Kara's. She's not active because she genuinely has too much on her plate at the moment, while I'm not active for reasons that can essentially be boiled down to I Don't Want To. Because of that, I do feel some degree of guilt for not being around for people who follow this blog, so I'm not going to bother defending myself. All I can really say without going full-blown TMI is that there are a handful of different factors that contribute to my lack of motivation, and I simply can't take responsibility for a long-term help blog when I'm like this.

Does that mean I'm quitting, or does that mean I'll be back one day? I'll just repeat what Mod Kara said above: Big shrug. I've learned a long time ago that I'm wildly inconsistent, so I'd feel like I'm lying if I committed to one particular resolution right now. And thus... I guess you could say this is a really belated hiatus announcement?

(inb4 anyone asks if we can just get new mods on board: that would be the obvious solution, but those things have only led to mods being cyberstalked. out of the question.)

~Mod Ichi (I’m sorry if I’m late!) As for me... it’s really been a mixture of things! I’ve made a lot of big steps in my life and I’ve gotten a lot more busy at work now that I’ve taken on more roles. I also recently got married so that’s awesome! (Planning the reception party has been so stressful aaa...) My wife and I are also looking to move into a new place soon, so that has also been taxing.

But to be honest, it’s also because on my end, like Mod Ichi, I’ve also been interested in other things. Between work, my social obligations and my other hobbies, my attention has been pulled in a million different directions. I feel really bad and I’m sorry to all of the folks who still follow the blog and look for news / updates.

But all the same, thank you always to everyone for all of your support. It means a great deal and it’s very sweet of you to check on us. ~ 💚 Mod Choro

#mod kara #mod ichi #mod post #omg hi guys we're alive #i struggled to answer this ask. too much to say #mod choro #cries loud

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goldenlaurelleaveswrites · 3 years ago

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Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe ch 8

Juleka vs. the Forces of Her Idiot Friend

I'm so sorry for not updating this sooner, and I really appreciate your patience! Life has been pretty busy for me lately, and to be honest, this chapter has had me spinning in circles. This is the sixth complete rewrite of the chapter, and while I'm still not 100% happy with it, I need to just let it go at this point. Perfect is the enemy of progress.

I also wanted to mention, the chapter of my Regency AU that caused me to actually start writing this story is now posted. If you want to see what inspired me to start writing this, you can check it out here (AO3).

On another note, I'm currently trying to switch careers right now, which means a lot of job hunting plus taking some online courses. This is reducing the amount of time I have to dedicate to writing. On top of that, I'm prioritizing spending time with my family right now because one of my sisters will be moving across the country in the next couple of months. Finally, I'm also trying to get some work done on some of my older fics that I've been neglecting. So I might not update this as frequently as I have done in the past, but this story is NOT being abandoned.

I really appreciate your patience and support, you are all seriously the best. And with all that said, I hope you enjoy it!

Juleka vs. the Forces of the Universe (AO3)

Mari 🌸: I thought about asking Luka

Mari 🌸: but I don’t know if he’d want to…

She glared down at the texts pulled up on her phone before flicking her gaze to look over at Marinette.

Her friend was engrossed in watching Luka play, her sketchbook seemingly forgotten in her hands. Marinette’s cheeks were flushed a soft pink, and there was a dreamy smile on her face.

Her Luka smile.

She could practically see the hearts in Marinette’s sparkling eyes. It was nothing like the faces she made around Adrien. Or when the blond was brought up in question.

But it was everything like the dreamy smile on Luka’s face. It was exactly like his Marinette smile.

Luka wasn’t looking at Marinette; he was looking up into nothing. But the smile on his face made it obvious he was thinking about her. And Marinette was obviously not even in the realm of thinking about designs for Kitty Section.

How could neither of them see it?

She looked back down at the text conversation from a couple of weeks ago.

Mari 🌸: I thought about asking Luka

Mari 🌸: but I don’t know if he’d want to…

And where had Marinette gotten that idea?

At the time, she had brushed it aside in favour of getting everything ready for the photo shoot.

Her gaze idly drifted back up to Marinette. Her friend wasn’t even holding her pencil anymore. It had slipped out of her slack grip at some point or another.

It hadn’t been the time a few weeks ago. But now was the time to find out just where Marinette had gotten that ridiculous notion.

***

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Hey

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Are you free?

Mari 🌸: Yeah! What’s up? 😊

Queen of Darkness 🦇: I’m going thru my closet and I found a few things that need patching up

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Nothing major but do you think you could come over and take a look and see if you could fix them?

It wasn’t a lie. She was going through her closet. One of the pitfalls of living on a boat was limited closet space. And nothing needed major fixes. She had made sure of that. The point was to get Marinette to spend time with Luka, not stress her out with extra work after all. Just a few ripped seams here, a missing button there, a skirt in need of hemming…

Little things that Marinette could easily do while Luka played for her. Because it would be rude to ask Marinette to watch her clean out her closet while she worked on mending her stuff. Listening to Luka play would be a much nicer option. And a totally innocent suggestion.

Sort of…

Mari 🌸: That’s no problem!! 😊😊

Mari 🌸: I have a couple of things for Luka anyways

Mari 🌸: I can be there in half an hour

Mari 🌸: Does that work?

Queen of Darkness 🦇: That’s perfect

***

The saying went, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’

So in hindsight, she really should have known better. Because when she sent those files to the authorities about Adrien’s work schedule, she really should have seen this coming. Because now he wasn’t working as many hours. And while there were way fewer new Adrien ads coming out, it meant Adrien had more free time.

Which meant Alya had more chances to scheme.

And Marinette…

“Come on, Juleka. Marinette can fix your clothes anytime!”

“But-“

“These tickets for the laser tag park expire today. We have to use them now!” And of course, it was Marinette who had to give up her plans to be dragged along.

“I could call Nathalie and see if she can get us more-“

“They’re probably already sold out. You know this place sells out fast. Anyways, the car is already waiting for us. Your clothes will be fine for a day or two. C’mon, Marinette.”

Adrien shrugged “Sorry, Juleka. I guess Alya is right, but I’ll get tickets for you and Luka next time!”

“That sounds fun.” Luka’s quiet voice nearly sent her a foot in the air; she hadn’t noticed him coming up behind her.

Adrien flashed a model grin, then headed back over the gangplank to where Nino was waiting.

Something that sounded like a strangled squeak pulled her attention back to Alya and Marinette. Marinette’s eyes were trained on Luka, and the spark of fight that had been in her eyes before Luka went and opened his big, dumb mouth was gone. Replaced by crushing disappointment. And…

“But-“ Marinette protested weakly, her eyes still on Luka as Alya grabbed her by the wrist.

“You can help Juleka out tomorrow. Besides, this will be the perfect opportunity! This time everything will be perfect!” Alya hissed, casting a glance over her shoulder before calling out, “We’ll see you later, Juleka! Luka.”

She didn’t know how the whole Ladybug strength thing worked, but she assumed it came with the super suit. But even without the super suit, Marinette wasn’t a wimp. She could hold her own just fine.

But she didn’t try to fight off Alya’s grip. She didn’t try to argue. She just… wilted. Like she had resigned herself to going. Despite the obvious fact that she didn’t have to go if she didn’t want to.

And, to her at least, it was very obvious Marinette didn’t want to go.

Marinette cast an apologetic shadow of a smile over her shoulder as Alya tugged her along. “I’m sorry, Juleka. We could do this tomorrow…?”

She nodded mutely. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of Marinette’s apology. She didn’t doubt that Marinette wanted to stay and help her and hang out with Luka. She hadn’t missed the way Marinette had surreptitiously looked around on deck when she first arrived, the disappointment in her eyes when she hadn’t seen Luka. Or the blush that had crawled across her face when she told her Luka was below deck.

Marinette bit her lip as she looked back over her shoulder again. “I’ll- I’ll see you later, Luka?” She hated the way Marinette’s voice sounded, full of false cheer that did nothing to hide the obvious.

Out of the corner, she saw Luka nod before he turned and headed back down below deck.

She narrowed her eyes as Marinette trudged across the deck, trailing after Adrien and Alya.

She had no doubts in her mind that Marinette wanted to hang out on the Liberty. That she wanted to hang out with Luka.

Which begged the question; why had she let herself be dragged away?

***

It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, the breeze was cool. Luka and Marinette were out thrifting together, looking for vintage band t-shirts for Luka and anything that struck Marinette’s creative spark—as per her suggestion. All it had taken was an offhanded comment to Marinette that Luka wanted to get some more band t-shirts but didn’t know which thrift stores would have the best selection, and her friend had volunteered, with great enthusiasm, to take him.

It was an absolutely perfect day.

Smiling, she scrolled to the latest post on Marinette’s Instagram.

It was a series of pictures, all of which looked like they had been taken in one of the thrift stores Luka had said they were going to check out. In the first picture, Luka and Marinette were both wearing the silliest assortment of clothes that ranged from a silver sequinned blazer—which Marinette totally managed to pull off—to bright turquoise flares—which made Luka look like he had wandered out of the seventies—and they were both beaming at the camera. In the second picture, Luka was in a tux that was only a little too big for him, and he was standing back to back with Marinette, who was wrapped in what looked like a pink brocade curtain as a makeshift dress. Both of them were doing what looked like some kind of silly James Bond pose.

And it looked like Luka had succeeded in finding vintage band t-shirts. In fact, it looked like he had found more than he had bargained for.

Because in the third and final picture, they were wearing matching t-shirts from Jagged Stone’s first tour.

And she could tell from the slight red in his cheeks and the look in his eyes that he had been close to self-combustion when that picture was taken. And Marinette… she wore her heart on her sleeve. And it was obvious how happy she had been when that picture was taken. She was practically sparkling.

MariBlossom: Finding the treasure in the trash with this gem @luka.couffaine #whoworeitbest #thriftstorefahsion #newfashioninspo 👗👚👕

She smiled as she reread the caption. She smiled even more as she flicked back through the pictures, taking in the not-so-subtle flush on both of their cheeks. Or the ways their eyes seemed to be caught in the act of drifting to look at the other.

Marinette had posted that a while ago, but it seemed like they were having a successful shopping trip. And they would probably be looking for a place to find lunch about now—also per her suggestion.

All in all, it looked like they were all having a very successful day.

Her phone pinged with the alert that one of her friends had just posted something new to their insta. She had expected—hoped— to see a cute selfie of Mari and Luka at some cutesy cafe or something.

Of course, she had to go and jinx herself.

She glared at the image on the screen. Adrien and Marinette were tightly packed into the camera’s frame. Without a trace of Luka in sight. Adrien was grinning widely, but Marinette…

Marinette looked uncomfortable, sandwiched so tightly between Adrien and what looked like the end of a cafe booth. She could see the way Marinette was shrinking away from the arm Adrien had slung around her shoulders. And she looked… she looked sad.

Fury flooded her veins as she read the caption.

AlyaNeedtoKnow: Getting lunch with these cuties 😘 @AdrienAgreste @MariBlossom @djnino #doubledates #doublethefun

Luka wasn’t even mentioned in the caption! Not even for photo credit! Which meant he somehow wasn’t even there. And she needed to know why.

Marinette could be a pushover- she knew her friend had a hard time saying no. She knew this. And she knew her brother was an idiot.

She knew Alya was almost impossible to say no to—or at least say it and be heard.

But there was more to it than that. There had to be! The fact that Luka didn’t even seem to be there… and the way Marinette looked…

She knew there had to be more to it than Mari being a pushover and her brother being an idiot.

But if she wanted answers, she had to play it cool.

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Hey r you guys still out shopping

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Just wondering if you guys were still planning on eating out or if I should make enough food for you guys too

Mari 🌸: Luka’s on his way home

Queen of Darkness 🦇: You’re not coming?

Mari 🌸: Alya, Adrien, and Nino showed up

Mari 🌸: They wanted us to join them for lunch

Mari 🌸: Luka said to go ahead without him

What?

Queen of Darkness 🦇: WHAT??!!

So much for playing it cool…

Mari 🌸: He said he had stuff to do

Mari 🌸: Homework

That idiot! Why wouldn’t he join them? She had told him not to let Alya push him around… if this was about his not wanting to pressure Marinette…

She was about to start typing out a response but stopped. Marinette was typing something. She watched as the three little dots kept disappearing and reappearing; whatever Marinette was trying to say, she was having a hard time saying it. The image of Marinette biting her lip as she furiously typed and deleted what she wrote was so clear in her mind she would swear her friend was sitting right beside her.

Mari 🌸: That’s what he said anyway

Mari 🌸: But I know he was lying. He finished it all last night.

That idiot. She was going to throttle him when he got home-

Mari 🌸: I don’t know if he wants to hang out with me

What?

***

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Hey

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Have you started the math homework yet?

Queen of Darkness 🦇: I’m stuck on question three

Queen of Darkness 🦇: I need help finding the answer

Well, she needed help finding some answers. Just not to the math homework.

Mari🌸: I just started it

Mari 🌸: You have to find the root before you can solve the rest of the problem

Oh, she was sure she had found the root of the problem. Or at least one of them. But that wasn’t enough. She needed answers.

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Do you want to work on it together?

Mari 🌸: Sure!

Mari 🌸: My place or yours?

She looked over at Luka, sprawled out in a deck chair with his guitar in hands, staring up dreamily at the clouds with his Marinette smile. A pile of sheet music and notebook that she knew was filled with song lyrics—no doubt mostly sappy, lovesick lyrics about Marinette’s eyes or something—lay next to him.

Normally she would jump at the chance to get Marinette to come by the Liberty. It was an easy excuse to get the two of them to spend time together. But that hadn’t seemed to help them make any real progress, what with them both being idiots.

And if she wanted answers as to why Marinette was being such an idiot… if she wanted to know how Marinette had gotten the idiotic idea that Luka didn't want to spend time with her into her head... it was probably better if Luka wasn’t around.

Queen of Darkness 🦇: Let’s do your place. Be there in 10

***

She needed to think of an in; she needed a way to open the conversation without outright asking Marinette how on earth she had gotten the idea that Luka didn’t want to hang out with her or help her with stuff. Her frown deepened as she watched Marinette work through one of the math problems, blithely oblivious to the internal war she was waging. Would it be better to just come out and say it? Or would it be better to beat around the bush until the topic came up organically?

With the straightforward approach, they were guaranteed to actually talk about this issue. But it ran the risk of scaring Marinette off. On the other hand, if she waited for Marinette to bring it up, or at least offer an opening for it to come up, she could be waiting for ages with no guarantee the topic of Luka actually would come up.

How was she supposed to make this conversation natural?

“There’s going to be a flea market next weekend. Do you want to go with me?”

This was it! This was her in! And Marinette had offered it to her on a silver platter.

“That sounds like fun,” she mused, “but I already have plans with Rose.”Not a lie. They did have plans, only for an afternoon, but they were still plans.

“Oh, that’s ok. I can go on my own-“

“I’m sure Luka would like to go. You should ask him.”

Marinette’s Luka smile spread across her face. But then it fell, and her face suddenly dimmed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to bother him.”

What? “What do you mean?”

Marinette sighed. “Every time we hang out and Alya comes along, he tells me to go with her and Adrien…” Marinette suddenly seemed to have developed an interest in her bedroom floor, as her eyes were glued to it as she admitted in a soft voice, “I don’t think he wants to spend time with me anymore…” Before she could even begin to object, Marinette shook her head. “Anyways, even if he did, which he doesn’t, I don’t want to you to feel weird or-"

“He loves spending time with you. And it doesn’t bother me.” What bothered her was that their time together kept getting interrupted. But now wasn’t the time to worry about that. Because this was her opening.“I think the two of you are really great together.”

“Oh,” Marinette murmured, suddenly quiet. It was never a good sign when Marinette went quiet like that all of the sudden. “Luka doesn’t like me that way…”

What?

“And-“

Before Marinette could finish, and before she could say or do anything, the city-wide emergency akuma alert blared from their phones. Of course. Of course, Hawkmoth would choose now of all times! Because based on the look on Marinette’s face and the weight in her voice, she had been about to say something important.

Marinette, whose face had been the very definition of heartbroken mere seconds before, was now staring at her with wide-eyed panic. Because Marinette was Ladybug. And there was an akuma. And she was in Marinette’s room, as her guest. And Marinette was too polite to kick her out even though she needed to-

“I need to…” Marinette’s eyes darting around widely. It was obvious she was trying to think up an excuse.

“Dinner!” She cringed at the way she blurted the word out too loud and too suddenly. But it was too late. She had to commit. “It’s my turn to make dinner tonight! I need to go get ingredients! I need to go to the store. Now!” Marinette looked like she was about to argue, despite the fact that she needed her to leave so she could transform. Hurriedly, she began shoving her books and papers into her bag. “I’ll see you later, thanks for the help!”

She was already halfway down into the apartment before Marinette called out after her, “Be careful!” She probably wasn’t supposed to hear the relief, or the remnants of heartbreak, in Marinette’s voice.

***

Marinette’s words echoed in her mind with every step she took as she made her way home. And, of course, she had to take the long way home to avoid the akuma battle. She still didn’t know what Marinette had been about to say before the akuma alert went off. But she had plenty to dwell on as it was.

‘Luka doesn’t like me that way.’

Where had Marinette gotten that idea?

Her eyes narrowed as memories flooded her mind. Memories of Luka stepping back or pushing her towards Adrien. Yeah, the idiot certainly wasn’t helping his cause. But at the same time, he wasn’t exactly great at hiding his obvious feelings for Marinette.

Which left her with another explanation, one that fit perfectly into the empty space in the puzzle.

Her friend was an idiot.

A massive idiot.

A stupid, foolish, and incredibly sweet idiot.

#juleka vs. the forces of the universe #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro LukaMari #juleka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #alya cesaire #adrien agreste #nino is there too #kinda #alya salt #maybe a tad of adrien salt?

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yukipri · 2 years ago

Note

Can I pay you to make a commission of a unique clone??? 👉👈

The following is copy-pasted from my FAQ post, which is linked to my pinned post at the top of my blog:

Do you take commissions?

The short answer: no.

The long answer: I don’t currently have plans to open general commissions, as I currently have multiple jobs and therefore multiple sources of income, but not enough time to draw what I want. I prefer to prioritize using my limited time working on art that makes myself, my patrons, and my followers happy. That being said, if you have a high budget, you’re welcome to send me an ask non-anonymously with details of what you’d like to commission and your budget. Please understand that there is no guarantee I’ll accept your commission, as I won’t be interested unless both the subject matter and price range match what I’d like to draw. Please also understand that I will charge professional rates that are higher than what many artists offer on social media.

(TLDR: I will most likely not take your commission because i do not have time and am already working all the time and am tired and stressed and like to draw for fun. But i’m poor enough that if you’re willing to throw enough money at me and it’s something i want to draw anyway I’ll think about it)

By "high budget," I mean starting prices for simpler things have at least three digits USD.

Please also note that my schedule is completely full all the way through the end of November, so even if I could hypothetically take your commission, I wouldn't be able to start until December at absolute earliest.

I hope this answers your question!

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

#YukiPri replies #Anonymous #commissions #I'm really grateful for your interest but please understand #I'm currently chipping into my eating and sleeping time and have essentially sacrificed all exercise in order to do Clonetober #and of course all my other content too #and November is ANYC + catch up for everything sacrificed for Clonetober #it's hellish rn tbh #so basically whenever someone asks 'can i commission you' the question i hear is #'for how much would you sell even more of your limited sleeping hours?' bc i have no other time #and the answer is 'expensive' bc shockingly enough i actually need to sleep to stay alive

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displacedentities · 4 years ago

Text

Night Out

My quickfic for @doodledrawsthings Coffee Shop AU! In truth I had this in the books for months and just never got around to finish it ;u; Unfortunately only the muse can decide when it’s time to slap me with enough serotonin to work on this, so I rode the high from recent art and wrapped it up! It’s not as clean as I wanted, but you know what, have it anyway.

-Myst -----

Finally. Another shift in the books.

With a heavy sigh, Luka stretches his back as the clock chimes up on the wall over the glass doors. Deft fingers untie the back before he slips the fabric apron over his head. A light snap of magnets punctuates the white noise of steaming coffee machines, and Luka stuffs his nametag into his pants pocket.

Luka was embarrassed to think about how much of a struggle it was to steady on for the entirety of the workday. Stress ate at him all the time, over so many things. Harriet was priority number one - did he remember to prep her meals for the day? Was she still ok, back in the apartment? Was Professor Popcorn in need of more repairs? Luka would happily handle such a task, of course, but...

He wasn't guaranteed to have thumbs when the evening finally came. There was his time limit to think about.

"Hey Luka?"

Damn, but being cursed was such a pain. Chopping vegetables was a particular bane of his existence. How could he trust himself with a knife like that? Ugh. He hated to make Harriet do it - no child should be wielding a knife before the age of 13, for any reason. He'd just have to MacGyver a solution or something.

"Luka..."

And on top of that, he had the upcoming bills to fret over. Rent was due in a few days, and he'd made a decent amount in tips, but they could not afford to have their upstairs neighbor burst a pipe again. He and Harriet had spent the entire afternoon toweling up their poor carpets to avoid getting mildew. Or worse, bugs. Luka was a fan of bugs, but not in his carpets, or sneaking into the mattress where they could bite his daughter.

"HEY!"

This time, the voice manages to pierce the haze of worry writhing in Luka's brain. Jolting to attention, the auburn-haired adult turns around, blinking owlishly at his colleague, Clover.

The braided redhead is giving him a wan smile, her brows furrowed in worry as she sets down a large bag of coffee beans under the counter.

"You spaced out again, buddy. Did you hear a word I said?" the barista asks, folding her arms over her stained apron.

"Uhh... you said my name," Luka replied, feeling a bit awkward as he chuckles once. "Sorry, I probably missed anything you might have asked me."

"I was asking if you ever go out."

"Ah- what?"

That was unexpected. Go out?

"You know-" Clover holds up her hands to gesture to the world in general, and beyond the coffee shop doors "-out! Like, with friends or anybody?"

Ah.

Luka laughs once, rubbing a hand on one side of his face.

"You mean since I moved into town? Nah, not really. Me and my daughter have only been here a few months - can't say we made many friends just yet."

Nor was that a risk they could take. Who knows how long they could stay here, before he was inevitably found out? One could argue it was a risk just- doing what he was doing now. Trying to hold a job, staying in an apartment; a semi-permanent living situation. They'd been on the road so long, old habits were quite hard to break. And if he was entirely honest with himself, Luka didn't know yet if he felt safe, even six months past the first day he arrived in the rural town of Subcon.

Clover's frown deepens, her arms dropping back to her sides. Her dropped guard betrays her worry, before she tries to play it off with another lighthearted smile and upbeat words.

"Oh come on, it can't have been that long since you've just done something fun for the sake of it. When was the last time you went out with friends and enjoyed yourself?" she asks.

"Why is this important?" Luka asks, his own guard slowly rising. He didn't quite see where she was going with this, but he wasn't sure he'd like it.

Oops- maybe not the most polite way to phrase that, as he sees an awkward flinch on Clover's face. Quick, recover! Luka chuckles once, also trying to lighten the mood.

"You and MJ never really asked me that kind of stuff before. I thought I was hired to serve coffee, not tea."

"We serve both, ya doofus," Clover smirks, rubbing one of her well-muscled arms with the other in a self-conscious gesture. "You should know that, since you've been working here almost four months now. And uh- well, MJ just kind of noticed you always seem very tired whenever you leave work."

Luka smiles back, but it's forced. Careful. Don't give any hints that it's anything serious. Don't be suspicious.

"Oh, that? I uh- I'm not used to the retail scene. I'll probably adapt to it soon."

Clover doesn't seem convinced. Still, her expression is sympathetic, rather than judgmental or suspicious. She leans her back on the counter, looking over Luka's exhausted demeanor and baggy eyes with a skeptical smile.

"I'm sure you will." She rests her hands on the counter. "In the meantime, you should go out for bowling with me and MJ! We were planning this outing for about a week, and maybe you'd wanna come with?"

Luka stops mid-folding of his apron. He turns toward Clover with surprise.

"Bowling? As in- knocking over pins in an alley, bowling?"

Clover rolls her eyes, amused. "No, as in rolling cereal bowls. Yes, that kind of bowling, Luka. It'll be fun! Eat some cheap pizza, knock over pins, watch the uncanny valley animations on the TV screen, the whole shebang. You up for joining us?"

"I uh- I didn't know there was a bowling alley here?" Luka says, his voice pitching up as he gives a sheepish laugh. "I- I don't know..."

Shit.

He could already feel the first touches of his curse starting to well up. A quick glance to his hands- okay, no purple yet. But it was coming.

Luka tucks his hands behind his back just in case.

"I'm not sure, I have Harriet to worry about..." he fumbles, rushing to think of excuses. It hurts his heart a little when he sees the disappointed expression Clover wears.

"Are you sure?" she asks, her tone gentle. "It'll only be a for a couple of hours - I could ask Cookie next door if she'd be willing to handle your daughter for the night. She's a fantastic sitter, and your daughter would have Mu to play with."

Luka opened his mouth, preparing to turn it down- then closed it again, brows furrowed as he chews over the thought.

Only a few hours... hm. His curse's current time limit was somewhere a little short of eight hours, he was sure. As long as he didn't have to pick up a shift at work, he would have most of his day free to spend out of the motel. An outing to a bowling alley couldn't possibly last eight hours, though he'd... never actually gone bowling before.

"I.... don't know... I've never been bowling, I'll just hold you back-"

"Nonsense," Clover says, waving off his excuse immediately. "MJ and I aren't professionals or anything, Luka - it's just for fun! You've never been?? That means you've gotta try it, at least once. Please?"

...mmh. Luka would be lying if he said he wasn't very tempted. But he had so much to worry about! His daughter, his curse... keeping his job, being able to support the two of them. Not to mention, getting used to his slow camaraderie with Clover and MJ. That sort of outing would throw their friendship into first gear.

"It's ok," Clover interrupts his thoughts, standing back up straight as she grabs a rag and finishes wiping down the counter. "You don't have to come, we just thought... you know, it might be fun. You look like you need some serious time to unwind, dude. All we ever see of you is showing up to work, dealing with customers, then you leave. And hey, if you change your mind, the offer's still open."

Luka curls his fingers, foot tapping the floor in small fidget.

"Well, I'm gonna start closing up the back," Clover says, tossing the rag into a laundry bin next to the employee break room. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Wait!"

Clover stops, turning around with the laundry basket.

"What day were you planning to do it?"

What am I thinking?? I can't go on an outing with them!

Unaware of Luka's silent stresses, Clover beams, her smile lighting up once again.

"Saturday! Would that work for you?"

"Mnhg- maybe?" Luka concedes, forcing his own sheepish smile despite his brain screaming No nO this is a bad idea! His mouth continues to run away from him. "Saturday is my errand day - me and Harriet go out for groceries in the morning, and eat out at whatever lunch restaurant she picks. I wouldn't be open until the evening, and Sunday's game day for me and my daughter."

Bad idea, what are you doing?!

"That's perfect!" Clover says, delighted and still not privy to Luka's inner struggle. "If we close the shop at five, we can drive to the bowling alley around 5:30, play a game or two and eat. Should go until about... eight-ish? How's that sound?"

Say no, say NO!

"Sure, sounds fun."

AGH!

"Great!" Clover says, a skip in her step as she lopes off to the back room with the laundry basket. "I'll text MJ to let him know - he's already gone back to his apartment."

"Yeah, I'll uh- I'll text him too," Luka chuckles, scratching behind his head with one hand- and immediately putting a stop to that action, as he feels the points of sharp claws dig at his scalp. Both arms are dropped and tucked behind his back, a big smile on his face. "Gotta give him the full details and everything, haha..."

"No problem- see you!" Clover bids Luka goodbye, waving one hand as she cheerily hauls the laundry bin off into the back.

"Bye!" Luka says, his voice cracking from nerves.

Oh thank god she's gone.

Luka pulls his hands back out into view, and sees the telltale purple staining begin to creep up his flesh. Peck. It was already starting- Clover left just in time. He could already feel the sharp ends of his canines starting to poke into his bottom lip. He didn't have much left of the day in human form- he had to get home right now.

Snatching up his belongings from his locker, stuffing his work apron inside, Luka loops his bag over his shoulder and leaps over the service counter. He missed the rack of sugar packets this time, thankfully, his sneakers squeaking on the tile floor as he bolts out the door. The bell rings as the glass entryway opens and shuts, signaling his departure. Car keys are whipped out of his bag, a slowly deforming finger just managing to push the button to unlock the vehicle as he clambers inside. Just five minutes- he could make five minutes.

The engine of the car roars to life, and Luka zips off out of the employee parking space, trying his best to ignore it as his fingers swell and fuse together, and his eyes reflect golden light in the rear view mirror.

------

MJ's car putters up to outside the bowling alley, fixing his blue-dyed hair with a sigh. Clover, in the passenger seat, drums her hand on the door handle with excitement.

"This is gonna be so much fun," she says, turning to look over her shoulder at the stiff and uncomfortable Luka in the backseat. "I'm so glad you decided to come, Luka- we'll show you the ropes of bowling!"

"Great," the young man says, putting up another shaky smile as his fingers tense around his kneecaps. "Can't wait!"

"That's the spirit," MJ speaks up, giving Luka a quick smile of his own before twisting the key in the ignition. The car's engine dies down, the doors unlocking as MJ shifts the gear into park. "Clover told me you were nervous about hanging out, and that's completely fine by me - if you feel uncomfortable and don't want to stay, just let us know, ok? We'll drive you back to the apartment building, no hesitation."

Luka inhaled deeply, letting out a heavy sigh from the back seat of the car. It felt like his nerves were trying to shake him apart. A glance at his watch-

Was he really going forward with this?

...Yes. He was. As much as Luka worried, Clover had been right. It'd been far too long since he'd taken 'me' time.

Luka puts a hand on the door and pulls the handle, stepping out of the car before he has a chance to psyche himself out.

It's just a couple hours. He still had plenty of time, after his midday outings with Harriet.

Stay calm. You can do this.

The sign above the brick building shines with neon lights, saying 'Pins & Cushions' in bright blue and red. The backdrop is a painting that Luka can swear was painted in the 80s, displaying a bowling ball as it barrels into pins and knocking them askew with a cartoony impact mark.

"Pins & Cushions?" he says aloud, smirking a little bit.

"Kind of silly, right?" MJ speaks up, locking the car behind him with a click. "Sounds more like a sewing parlor than a bowling alley."

"It's because they boasted having cushioned chairs," Clover says, snickering. "You've never been, but most bowling alleys have these awful plastic chairs that hurt to sit on for too long."

"You mean like the chairs in high school?"

Luka's joke earns a quick bark of a laugh from Clover.

"Couched seating areas in a bowling alley was, sadly, a craze that never caught on," MJ says, ascending the concrete steps up to the building. "But this one did, and the place is like forty years old and too stubborn to change, so your butt will thank you later."

When the doors open, Luka is immediately washed with a cocktail of smells he didn't think could- nor should- ever go together. First and foremost is the thick smell of plastic and rubber, followed by the chemical odor of cleaning sprays, and the sizzling smell of burning cheese. Air conditioning blasts them from above as the three young adults enter the bowling alley, the doors sliding shut behind their backs. The sounds hit next - a cacophonous mix of rubber soles squeaking on polished floors, heavy objects falling and rolling, and the clatter of pins falling into the trap at the far end of the establishment.

It was loud, smelled strange, and the carpet looked lifted straight out of an arcade.

Luka was torn between anxiety, and a strange sort of excitement he hadn't felt in a long, long time. This was something new, something unfamiliar- he had hours to enjoy himself, and spend time not worrying about stresses of life. Harriet had a sitter, paid in advance with an alarm for when he would return, and he was out with- friends? Had him accepting this invitation solidified their friendship at this point? ...the thought made a happy butterfly flutter in his stomach.

This would be a great evening, he could feel it.

"Earth to Luka." MJ's amused tone causes Luka to jump. "Something on your mind? You're smiling."

"Oh- uh- nothing," Luka says, scratching behind his head sheepishly. "Just- thanks. For inviting me. I think I really did need this a lot."

"YEAH you do!" Clover thumps him on the back with one hand. "Come on! You have to give your shoes to the clerk so they can give you your bowling shoes."

"Ah, what? I have to take off my shoes on this carpet?" Luka complains, lifting a foot with distaste. "I feel like I'm stepping on twenty-year-old candy."

"It's part of the charm!" Clover sings, already removing one of her sneakers. "It's either this, or slip all over the place on the actual alley floor. You're getting the full bowling experience whether you like it or not, coffee boy."

"Ex-CUSE me!" Luka says with a dramatic gasp, hopping on one foot as he works to remove his own shoes. "I think you will find I'm a coffee man, thank you."

"Coffee twink," Clover counters.

"No, that's MJ."

"HEY! I will call lion's share of the tips for that one," MJ shakes a sneaker at them both in a mock scolding gesture.

"YOU'RE BOTH COFFEE TWINKS," Clover declares to the entire establishment as she fights off her last sneaker, racing for the counter before the others can catch up. "HURRY UP, COFFEE TWINKS, WE NEED TO PICK OUT BOWLING BALLS."

"I have dibs on the galaxy patterned one!" MJ yells after Clover.

Clover gives MJ an evil grin as she takes her bowling shoes and pays the rental fee, tying them before sauntering over to the racks of bowling balls. Her hand hovers over the selection, giving a teasing pause over the bowling ball made with swirled star plastic.

"Don't you dare," MJ hisses from the counter, pointing an accusing finger at Clover as he hands over the money for both his and Luka's rental shoes.

"It's either the tips share, or the bowling ball! You decide!" Clover yells back, drumming her fingers on the coveted starry bowling ball.

"Fiiiiine," MJ says with a dramatic tone, though his smile gives away his mirth. "You know I wasn't going to take the tips anyway, Clo."

"I know~" she says, giggling while she moves on to a different rack of bowling balls. "And you know I wouldn't do that to your poor weak arms, either, Moonie."

Luka finishes tying his rental shoes, thanking MJ before he makes his way down the small stairway to the alleys. It's very bright in this section of the building, with cushioned couches surrounding tables and standing consoles. Metal railings and a chute of some kind were positioned at each alleyway, some with bowling balls sitting idle atop the metal racks.

"So, what now?" Luka asks, the excitement of wading into unknown waters welling in his chest again.

"Pick a bowling ball!" Clover says, gesturing to the racks of heavy plastic spheres. "You'll want a heavy one, but not too heavy for you to lift and throw."

"Go easy on us, Clover." MJ shakes his head as he picks up his favorite starry ball. "Ms. Gun Show and her fourteen-pound bowling ball."

The redhead leans over and scoops up a swirled green bowling ball, hefting it on one arm and pumping it like a weight.

"You might get some guns yourself if you helped me landscape and move sod around my garden, Coffee Twink #1," she says, flexing a bicep.

"I refuse to acknowledge that nickname."

"Sorry, it's our team name now," Clover laughs, "the Coffee Twinks!"

"Hey, I thought our team name was the Comets?!"

"That was before Luka joined the team - now it's a 2-to-1 twink majority, I don't make the rules."

Luka just has his face in his hands, laughing through the whole exchange as he leans on the metal racks.

"You're just as bad as Harriet!" Luka laughs, pushing his hair back out of his eyes with one hand. "I don't even know where she learned that word - Cookie's daughter, probably?"

"Definitely," MJ says with a thousand yard stare, earning more laughter from Luka. "Go pick a bowling ball, I'll get the console up and running for our game."

Wiping tears from his eyes, chuckling under his breath, Luka turns to the racks and peruses the selection. The bowling balls come in all colors - most are black or dark brown, but there's a rather delightful mix of brighter hues like pink, blue and yellow. Some are marbled, some have glitter in the plastic, and a few very beat-up bowling balls have graphics of cartoon characters that were popular in the 90s. Well-loved by the children who patronize this establishment, he was sure. Harriet would love the Scooby-Doo ball - oh no wait. The one themed after a Pokeball, for sure was her poison of choice. And clearly the pick of the litter for many other children, as it was covered in scratches and dents from decades of use.

Ah- there was one themed after a jack-o-lantern! How fitting. He loops his fingers into the grip holes of the bowling ball, and heaves it off of the rack- only to almost crush his toes as the weight yanks his arms to the floor.

That was- heavier than expected!

"Oooooh, nice pick," Clover says, spinning her own bowling ball in her hands. "You sure you can carry it, though? That's a 10-pounder."

"I'll be fine-" Luka says, grunting as he lifts it back up with both hands this time. "Just- caught me off guard, is all."

"Alright, game's all set," MJ announces from the console.

Above their heads, a large tube television flashes blue before displaying a score board.

A loud k-chunk k-chunk k-chunk of machinery draws Luka's eye toward the other end of the alley. Metal rigging and machinery descend from the covered roof of the pin trap. Resembling a large soda crate, the rig drops an array of ten white bowling pins, before unclamping and ascending back into the darkness of whatever creation of god resided in that ceiling.

"You're up first, Clo," MJ says, waving a hand to indicate she should move forward.

"Watch and learn," Clover throws Luka a smile, the competitive taunt dampened by her genuinely helpful tone. "You want to throw the ball so it rolls like this-"

Stepping forward onto the squeaky, smooth polished wooden platform, Clover lifts her bowling ball to her chest. With a quick inhale, she lopes forward two steps, swinging her arm back with the bowling ball, before reeling it forward on the last stride and underhand throwing it into the aisle. The heavy green bowling ball lands with a tHDD before skidding its way down the oiled track, rolling in a long, smooth line. The swirled green sphere smacks into the bowling pins with a loud tHWAKK!!, sending all but one of the pins flying into the darkness beyond. The ball disappears into the hole, and Clover puts her hands on her hips with a huff.

"Damn, almost got a strike." Clover snaps her fingers, shrugging. The green bowling ball clatters back up the chute. She grips her fingers into the trio of holes again, and goes for another throw.

The bowling ball rolls down the course, straight as an arrow for the last pin. The pin spins off the wooden platform into the darkness, earning a whoop from Clover.

"Nice, got a spare!" Clover declares, throwing her arms up in triumph. She sashays her way back to the couches. "Who's up next?"

"I'm up," MJ says, standing from the console. Looping his fingers into his own starry bowling ball, MJ rolls his shoulders and steps up onto the oiled wooden planks. "I'm going to get the first strike of the day, just wait."

"Sure you will," Clover snickers as MJ winds up.

When he releases the ball, it rolls at very high speed- before curving halfway down the track, the topspin he put on the ball causing it veer off course and land in the gutter.

Face flushed, MJ coughs into his hand, suddenly very invested in fixing his shirt as Clover grins. The galaxy ball returns to the trough, and MJ pointedly picks it up again, winding up for his second throw. The bowling ball rocks down the course, and knocks over about six pins, leaving a corner of the triangle still standing.

"Woo!" Clover cheers, clapping as MJ returns to the seating. She reaches over and nudges Luka on the shoulder. "You're up, Luke! Show us whatchu got!"

Heart in his throat, Luka stands from his seat and steps up.

The bowling ball grins up at him, daring him to chicken out. It was heavy in his hand. Still, he walked up onto the polished floor, feeling the rubber on the bottom of his shoes as it grips the oiled surface.

Fighting the weight of the heavy bowling ball, Luka takes a step forward, swinging his arm back before bringing it back around like a pendulum. The ball hits the track with a heavy thDD as it’s released, sent rolling off down the track. Around the halfway point, it spins off course and lands in the gutter with a clunk.

“Aww,” Clover says, leaning over the chair cushion. “And you had such good posture, too.”

“It’s ok,” MJ speaks up, seeing Luka’s visible embarrassment. “It’s your first time bowling! Nothing to be ashamed of. You have another shot before we rotate players.”

Disappointed, Luka rubs at his arm. Well, that was a less than encouraging performance. But he noticed the angle of the spin on the ball. Maybe he could fix that.

The ball clatters up the chute back into the return trough. Luka picks it up with a huff of breath, holding it to his chest as he does mental calculations. If he turned his wrist at just the right point...

Stepping forward, Luka swings back and releases the ball, putting a top spin on the ball at the last possible moment-

The jack-o-lantern face rockets down the alley, the path straight until the very last second. It curves to hit the front pin from the side, knocking every single pin into the abyss beyond.

"OHHHHH!" Clover and MJ exclaim, clapping with enthusiasm as Luka looks stunned.

"You got a strike!" Clover says, applauding with a big grin. "You were totally pulling our legs about being a newbie to this, huh??"

"I think I just got lucky," Luka tries to play it off, feeling an uncommon shyness as he smiles.

Clover shakes her head, not having it.

"Luck nothing! That was pure talent, and you got a strike, dude!"

"Technically that was a spare, but still a strike in my book," MJ says as he rotates the turn order on the console, giving Luka a smile and a thumbs up.

"Oh let him have it, Moon Moon," Clover laughs as MJ throws her a pout. "Our new boy's got game!"

Luka hunches his shoulders, an awkward smile curling across his cheeks as he walks back over to the couches. Clover jumps to attention and makes her way to the track, picking up her green bowling ball for another round as he sits down.

This was... much more fun than he had expected it to be. The background noise of the bowling alley was surprisingly pleasant. He found he could get used to the dull odor of plastic and cleaner- and honestly, that hot cheese smell from what must be the pizzeria was tempting his stomach. But best of all was the camaraderie he could feel sparking between him, Clover, and MJ. Were they officially friends now? Or had they been already, and he was just- in denial? If Luka was entirely honest with himself, probably the latter. MJ and Clover had been nothing but kind and understanding, to him. His sporadic hours and excuses had done nothing to faze them with regards to their treatment of him at work. They still offered him drinks and invited him on this outing, offering even to pay for his expenses, didn't they?

"Hey Luka!" A call from MJ breaks him out of the small reverie. "You're up, again."

"And after this round, we can hit the arcade! I bet I can out-dance you on DDR, Coffee Twinks," Clover smirks.

"No betting. I know you can."

Maybe- maybe he had nothing to worry about.

---

The evening is going fantastic.

The first bowling game had been a pretty close match between Luka and Clover. Clover had the arm strength to pull off some mean and fast throws, but Luka had developed a system. Figuring out how to spin the bowling ball just the right amount had made up for his noodle arms and less weighty bowling ball. It wasn't long before he figured out how to roll a pretty straight record of spares and strikes, with the occasional 7-10 split. After bowling around, they went into the arcade section, with an entire paper roll of quarters to blow on games. A vicious Ms. Pacman multiplayer match had led to MJ smoking all three of them, and as predicted, Clover out-danced both of the boys on the DDR and Stepmania machines. Luka had to collapse over a nearby chair with exhaustion after his matches. He'd finished off the arcade run with a very lucky pull from a claw machine, winning a black cat plush with big yellow eyes that he was definitely going to enjoy giving to Harriet.

The three of them sat around their table at the bowling console again, laughing over a hot cheese and pepperoni pizza.

"No way, you didn't!" Luka gasps, wheezing for air.

"I did! I punched his goddamn lights out!" Clover laughs, slapping one knee. "The guy was being a huge creep, so I introduced him to my fist."

"I hope you didn't get in trouble with the cops or something for that." Luka tilts his head, giving her an impressed and worried look.

"Can't get in trouble if nobody reports it," MJ chimes in, smirking past his soda cup. "He complained to me, but I had the security tapes AND plausible deniability because I wasn't on the floor. Corporate took our side on this."

"Nobody from the city wants to drive all the way out to podunk Subcon for a random dudebro's complaint." Clover sits back on her cushioned seat, chomping into her pizza happily. "Mmmmm- delicious melty cheese."

Luka chomps into his own pizza, exhaling and blowing on it as it nearly burns his mouth.

"Easy, tiger!" MJ smirks around his own mouthful of pizza.

"I know, it's just so good," Luka says, laughing into his hand as he sips some of his cola. "But in like- the way you know it's not that great? Does that make sense?"

"Night in the Woods taught me the Pizza Scale, and I stick by that," Clover says, crunching through her crust to grab up another slice, washing down the bread with some soda. When she reaches for another piece of the pie, she pauses, and lets out a huff. "Oh, that sucks. I guess they didn't clean the bowling balls that well this time. Gross."

"Hm?" Luka says through a mouthful of pizza.

"Your fingers are all oil-stained from the finger holes on the bowling ball, Luka. Big Al needs to wash the bowling balls properly."

Confused, the law student shifts his attention down.

The ends of his fingertips are discolored with ebony purple.

Luka can feel as his brain zeroes in on the first sign of his impending transformation, and begins to shift into emergency mode as it relays the steps he must take in order to avoid further exposure. He'd gone over this information with himself many times over the past five years. It was ingrained in his mind, what he had to do, the information practically screaming at him. But he can't hear it. His ears are filled with buzzing as reality breaks into the facade he'd slowly built up over the course of hours.

No-

No no no-

His pizza slice drops to the paper plate as he fumbles with his bag, pulling out the cell phone from the liner pocket. Shaking fingers tap the screen with frantic speed, trying to turn the damn thing on-

9:17?

They'd been here nearly four hours?!

He'd spent the morning out with Harriet, doing their grocery shopping and walking around the town's outdoor mall as much needed father-daughter time. Eight hours of being in disguise had long since passed.

His time limit was up.

This couldn't be happening. Yet the numbers stare back at him from the glare of his cell phone screen. They even have the nerve to tick over to 9:18 right before his eyes.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening! It wasn't fair!

"Luka, you ok? You're turning pale..."

Clover's question just barely manages to pierce the haze, causing Luka to jolt in his seat. Posture stiff and breath shallow, he lifts his head to meet Clover's questioning eyes. She's staring at him with building concern, her smile becoming a frown of worry.

The tension is palpable in the air as Luka struggles to find words. Finally, he manages to say something.

"It's- it's a quarter past nine-"

"Oh shoot-" Clover says, sitting up abruptly as she grabs her own phone.

MJ checks his watch, wincing. "Oof. Sorry, Luka. I guess we lost track of time passing. I'll apologize to Cookie for the overtime, we can finish this round and go-"

"Don't feel good- going to the bathroom-" Luka wheezes, scrambling to his feet as he scoops all of his belongings into his bag and races past MJ's seat.

"Luka!" Clover yells after him, her heightened concern audible in her voice. "Ok, we'll- we'll start cleaning up! Let us know if you need-!"

Her words are cut off by the slam of the bathroom door. Luka's bowling shoes slip over the slick tile floor, his hands gripping onto the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink to steady himself. He brings his shaking hands up to view in the mirror. The blackening purple skin was spreading up his finger joints, reaching his palms.

No- not now! Why now?

Luka clenches his fists and his jaw, focusing every ounce of his will on making the purple go away. He can almost feel a vein pop on his forehead- if he still had veins, anymore- as he strains to make his unwilling body follow his desires. The purple starts to recede at a caterpillar crawl... but it slows. And the harder he tries, the more he can feel his arms struggle to hold their shape - becoming less solid.

"No- no!" he whimpers, clenching his hands into the sink again. The action splatters small droplets of purple sludge against the porcelain, which vanish moments later as the purple staining once more consumes his fingers - and now his palms. "Stop it! Just- let me be human! Please!"

He lifts his head to the mirror. Despair fills his gut as he sees amber eyes staring back at him in the reflection, and the beginnings of an inner glow fighting to come out from the back of his throat.

Luka lets out a wordless sound of sorrow, lifting an arm to pound one fist against the mirror in vain. The reflection is unfazed in its destitution, tears beginning to gather at the edges of its eyes and mouth set into a sob of clenched teeth. The reflection's canine's lengthen several inches as the eyes stare back, accusingly. The purple was starting to spread up its neck, just poking out the collar of the shirt.

"No..."

This wasn't him. But it had been, years ago. This was SUPPOSED to be him.

He curls his fist, watching as the fingers start losing their shape. Fusing together, becoming single digits and his thumbs vanish back into the purple sludge of the limb.

"I was finally-..." Luka whimpers, "...I finally felt human again."

-bang bang bang-

The sound of a fist knocking on the bathroom door causes Luka to yelp and jump back from the mirror.

"Luka? You ok in there?"

It was MJ.

Peck!

Grabbing his bag, Luka books it into the furthest stall of the bathroom. He slams the metal door behind him, fumbling to lock it with his swelling mitten fingers. Alarm shot through his gut as his shirt felt tight around his torso. Already?? This was faster than usual! Had he really pushed it that much?

"Hey man, are you sick? Clover and I are really concerned. Do you need any help in there?"

"NO! NO I'M GOOD!" Luka yells from the bathroom stall, clapping a two-fingered hand over his mouth as he hears the slight reverb echo to his own voice. Dammit! "I'M JUST- I'LL BE FINE!"

He was not fine, he would most certainly not be fine!

"Luka, you sound croaky." It was Clover this time, probably a short distance behind MJ. "Dude, are you sure? MJ, maybe you should go in and check on him-"

"NO!"

No, the reverb was stronger!

"Luka, I'm coming in."

"MJ it's fine!"

Luka could hear the seams of his shirt starting to stretch and strain. The seconds were ticking by as strings started to pop at the neck.

Shit, shit!

Luka turned left and right, the stall cramped and uncomfortable as the ruff of fur around his neck thickens and threatens to burst his shirt open. He needed a way out!

Aha! A small window, to the outside! Wow, that was probably the worst location for a window. And it was so small-

The door creaked as MJ started to turn the handle.

NO TIME!

Luka makes a dive for the window. His fingers catch on the sill, and he hauls his body up onto the tiny ledge, his head pushing up the glass and emerging out into the open air. Squeezing through the narrow space, he struggles to pull his feet through, kicking off the bowling shoes and hearing them clatter to the tiles below.

The door comes unlatched, and MJ enters the bathroom, looking around with a frown.

Luka was gone. And for some reason, his bowling shoes were abandoned on the questionably cleaned bathroom floor.

Just outside the window, tucked next to the wall of the alleyway outside the bowling alley, Luka is panting with adrenaline. He can feel his chest expand further with each breath, the fur mane around his neck already splitting apart his shirt. His fingers had fully lost their human shape by now, coalescing back into the familiar mitts he hated so much. A reminder that, no, he wasn't human. No matter what those people in the bowling alley thought of him, and what he thought of them in return... no matter how much he wanted to be human, again.

"Luka?"

His entire torso now fully drenched in purple, Luka hangs his head, listening as he fights to strip off the shirt suffocating him.

Footsteps, in the bathroom.

"...Luka? What the-... Clover, he's not here?"

"What?? But he- went into the bathroom! He was just-!"

"His shoes are here..."

"His shoes??"

Luka forces himself to stand, wobbling a bit further away from the window as he focuses all of his efforts on keeping his legs. He can't lose his ability to walk, not in the middle of town!

God dammit... god dammit! Why couldn't he just enjoy his night? Now he was wandering alleyways, half transformed, and MJ and Clover were no doubt worried to hell and back. What could he even say? 'Sorry, had to take a break to wolf out in the bathroom'?

-brrring brrring-

The buzz of the phone in his pants pocket- which was getting tight against his waist, he noticed. Luka quickly extracts the phone before it can be damaged by the fabric.

MJ's caller ID stares back at him from the screen.

The decision to trust these two with his information was biting him in his rapidly purpling behind. He'd been so careful not to slip up, and the ONE TIME he makes a mistake... He had another decision to make. He could not respond, and just be a complete asshole, but he could protect his secret a little safer, for just a little bit longer. Or he could pick up, and... he didn't know. Bullshit something? Would they even believe whatever malarkey he could cook up in seven seconds for bailing out of a bowling alley restroom? God, he was terrible at improvised excuses! He was a lawyer, not an actor! But if he answered the phone call, maybe- maybe he could hold on to that feeling again. The warmth of companionship of peers his age, that he hadn't felt since law school. Since... Vanessa. But he couldn't think about her right now. What mattered was his safety- his daughter's safety.

Peck. He didn't even think about that part. Could he really rip Harriet out of a somewhat stable home life, again? She was just starting to get along with Cookie's daughter, and he didn't want to take that precious first friendship from her.

Luka was only pulled out of the downward spiral by the vibration of the phone, which he only now realized had registered a missed call, and was now on the second call. It was still MJ, the picture of him in his Horizon employee cap still smiling from the bright phone screen.

He had to do something. He could feel his legs protest the form they was struggling to hold.

Survival instinct set in. First, he had to get away from the scene.

Stumbling to his malforming feet, Luka jogs away from the alley, ducking away from the Pins & Cushions and avoiding the bright neon sign on the side of the building.

As he walks, a headache hits, and Luka just knows his face was losing more of his familiar features. Didn't need a mirror to know that he was definitely the shade of a bruised plum, and that his eyes were glowing like gold beacons. The sharp teeth at the edges of his mouth were digging into his bottom lip as he dodges and weaves to avoid line of sight from storefront apartment windows.

The woods were so close by, just a few more blocks.

Faster. He had to run faster. But his legs- were fighting him! Already he could feel his steps become lighter, movement more fluid. It was a struggle to keep a walking stride, rather than just- leap into the air. No way was he going to fly a block from pecking main street.

His phone continues to vibrate, threatening the call to drop.

Right when he reaches the sidewalk, Luka pants for breath, collapsing beside the pole for a street lamp while avoiding the amber spotlight. Taking one last rueful look at his phone, he sighs, and presses the answer button with a doughy purple finger.

"Luka?" MJ's voice patches through. The reception isn't great, but it's sufficient. Maybe that was a lucky break, considering what his voice was going to sound like in a second.

"Hey," Luka answers. Yep. He sounded like a toad that swallowed a brass tube. "Sorry- about that."

"Dude, are you ok?? Where did you go?" MJ spoke so quickly it almost interrupted Luka, concern clear and evident in his voice. "You ran or something and- you left your shoes at the counter, and the cat plush for your daughter. Clover got them for you-"

"It's ok," Luka says, wincing. "I can pick them up tomorrow. I- don't feel well, and I have to go get Harriet."

"Luka, we could have driven you home for that," MJ responds, a hint of hurt and confusion. "You know you can tell us if you're uncomfortable, and want to leave, right?"

"No- this- I was having fun," Luka responds, cupping a hand over his mouth to try to muffle the echo. He had to wrap this up. His voice was getting less natural by the second. He really hoped the poor reception would mask it. "Look- I'm sorry MJ. But I really had to go."

"You're not getting kidnapped or something are you?" Clover's distant voice suddenly patches through in the phone. MJ must have his phone on speaker. "Because if you are, I'll hunt them down! Just yell where the car is taking you!"

"I'm not- look, I'm sorry, but I just had to go, ok?" Luka says. "Harriet needs me."

"I thought you were feeling sick?" Clover says, her worried tone now tinted with... suspicion. "You ran to the bathroom, and we were all worried about you, dude." Her voice becomes just a bit distant, as she turns to speak to MJ, but the phone picks it up. “Actually, did we ever hear anything from Cookie...?”

"No- I am-" Luka can feel his lies crumbling, nearly becoming true as he experiences a sensation similar to his stomach heaving from the anxiety. "Thanks for the wonderful evening, I'll pick up my stuff later- bye!"

"Wait-!!"

-click-

MJ's protest is cut off, and Luka set the phone down on the grass, putting his head in the other hand. That was terrible. But he couldn't back out on it now. He would just have to deal with the consequences of that phone call tomorrow.

Not like having shoes or not bothered him, anyway.

Exhausted and resigned, Luka slides away from the lamp post into the chaparral, and begins rapidly pulling his shirt over his head. No way was he going to lose another shirt, not after the last one. This was his last nice shirt, and he intended to keep it as long as possible!

A quiet gasp jolts him out of his frantic folding.

Luka whips around, shirtless, half de-pantsed, and his body a full shade of deep shadow purple. His golden eyes glow in the reflected street light as he freezes on the spot, making eye contact with another human being across the road. It was the stocky mustachioed man from the coffee shop- the regular who came by and sketched quietly in a corner. Pinstriped suit- which seemed to be the only outfit anyone ever saw him wore- an apron, and grey khaki pants. The thick glasses would make it difficult to tell where he was looking, if the man wasn't standing with his square jaw hanging down at his chest, head angled directly toward Luka. Everyone dismissed him as a paranoiac, a hermit who stopped by for his morning caffeine fix and quiet atmosphere to indulge in his imagination. Rumors flew that he used to work for some sort of tabloid magazine, and was fired- or promoted?- for how crazy his stories were.

Whatever the reason, this man was now standing, groceries dropped to the pavement, and staring at Luka. A very half-naked, absolutely not human-looking Luka.

Face suddenly burning hot with embarrassment and fear, Luka grabs his belt loops and bolts into the trees.

The movement causes the man to only gape more, making a wordless noise of astonishment before the forest breaks their line of sight and Luka retreats into the safety of the woods. Luka just barely remembers to grab his shirt and belt from the bushes. Vanishing entirely from sight, stumbling over debris as his transformation takes full hold of his body, Luka wheezes as his heart beats in his chest. After all that, he was seen! Peck! Did he just ruin everything because he wasn’t paying attention? But- but it was just the local hermit, the resident conspiracy nut. That wouldn’t be so bad, right? This wasn’t as catastrophic as being spotted by a teen with a cell phone open. Surely, this was the safest possible person in town to accidentally spot him mid-transformation. Repercussions would be minimal.

Thank god the man didn't have a camera.

#Coffee Shop Au #AHIT #A Hat In Time #doodledrawsthings #Snatcher #Hat Kid #Moonjumper #Clover #noticed a couple mistakes and it's too late to fix em wHOOPS #OH WELL

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

Link

Not sure if this has circulated before, but here’s a link to Henry Jenkin’s reactions to 227, largely as responses to an interview he did with Sanlian Lifeweek magazine (三聯生活周刊), a publication modelled after TIME magazine and published under China Press Publishing group (中國出版集團), the largest and state-owned publisher in China. The magazine asked for Jenkin’s opinions on the fandom-related aspects of 227 back in March, 2020. Henry Jenkins, as many may already know, is among the most renowned scholars of (Western) fan culture ... if not the most renowned.

Personally, I find this article to be quite limited in perspective, because 227 had a significant non-fandom-oriented, sociopolitical component ~ and hence its scope, its chaos, its damage. IMO, 227 stopped being a fan war, stopped being about solos, cpfs, and even Gg the moment AO3 was shut down ~ the powerful Chinese state had intervened, and the incident necessarily became a political incident. That One Fic on AO3, the conflict between solos and cpfs about whether and where That Fic should exist was at most a lighter left at the scene of what would become the blaze; it wasn’t even responsible for igniting the first fire. Most i-turtles (i-fruits?) are probably aware too at this point: if fan wars are sufficient to start 227, then there wouldn’t have been a 227 ~ because 227 would have been every date of the year.

Fan culture is fundamentally transgressive, and what that means can only be defined in the context of the subculture’s “mainstream” sociopolitical and cultural environment. I therefore find the article’s attempt to transplant Western fan culture’s observations / theories / analysis / conclusions to the incident without explicitly comparing, addressing in depth the differences of the pre- and post-transplant environment to be ... prone to rejections (as organs are after transplantations!)—exclusion from being useful or valid. And this article was very short on such comparisons or address. Jenkins being a fandom expert aside (and he was careful about not treading outside his area of expertise), early “antis” of 227 presented themselves as crusaders for the freedom of speech and, by late March when this article was published, the heated debates surrounding the incident on Chinese social media had already led to embarrassment for multiple powerful state publications. It was probably a wise choice to not make another dive into the political aspects of the incident.

Being a new(-ish) turtle who joined the fandom a full half-year after 227, I’ve been backtracking, trying to really understand the incident, which remains very much beyond comprehension in many aspects. The discussions I’ve dug up that have most fascinated me have been those in non-fandom spaces, by non-fandomers / politics enthusiasts who barely knew who Gg was, who didn’t know That One Fic involved more than one idol and had zero knowledge about solos vs cpfs. In these discussions, “antis” are not referred to as “antis” because while the action of the so-called “227 coalition” was to kill Gg’s career, that wasn’t considered its ultimate goal ~ its ultimate goal was to warn whoever tried to clamp down the freedom of expression that their opposition was strong enough, populous to fight back and take away whatever, whoever those who attempted the clamp-down care the most about. In this case, “Gg fans”—I put this in quotes because eventually, no one would know who would lurk behind those pro-Gg Weibo IDs (and the anti-Gg ones as well)—were the perceived enemies of creative freedom. Gg, assumed to be the one, the symbol of what “GG fans” cared about the most, naturally became the target of the coalition.

Gg wasn’t special in that sense ~ and that was perhaps, the saddest thing I found about this incident as a Gg fan (without quotation marks); Gg could be any idol who achieved top fame at the moment, who had enough fans to make the point known. The coalition was therefore not “anti-Gg” in its ideological sense. It was anti the fan circle culture that had cemented Gg’s popularity, that had already been known to deal extremely poorly with dissent—complaints had been abound that c-ent was no longer fun for bystanders because the latter could issue no critique, not even doubt, about an idol without the fear of being reported, torn down by fans. The coalition eventually grew to include anti the many happenings, the many censorships and imprisonments in the past few years that had silenced the creative crowd in China, happenings people dared not speak about beyond a loud grumbling ...

The coalition tried to take down Gg, because they couldn’t take down the force that had shut down AO3, that was truly responsible for the silencing. They played the Hunger Games in the Weibo arena instead of challenging Who The Real Enemy Was, because some might not have given much thought about The Enemy; some might have thought the Enemy too invincible to be worth the effort; some might have got too carried away by their blood thirst, the cruel schadenfreude of shredding a beautiful, successful young man into pieces, and forgot why they were there in the first place ...

And that was only the political side of 227. 227 was also widely suspected to have a commercial component, which added another layer to the symbolism behind Gg the Idol ~ pretty much as soon as 227 happened, netizens investigated, tried to uncover the chain of capital behind Gg. With the scent of money was the memory of filth associated with it, in a country not exactly unknown for its corrupt business practices. Much like in The Book of Exodus in the Bible, the Idol is believed to be forged with gold; it is ungodly, tainted. Whether Gg the Person was identical to Gg the Idol, Gg the Symbol mattered to few. That Gg *was* a person seemed lost to many ...

I’ll have to dive into the non-fandom aspects of 227 with more rigour. As much as I'd love to leave 227 behind, every time I see Gg, I see its legacy on his face, in his smile, and perhaps, I’m not the only one ~ ADLAD cast him as Patient #5 because of 227′s effect on him. Put it another way, 227 is already modifying, writing Gg’s career trajectory ~ a trajectory that is undoubtedly under scrutiny by many who wish to duplicate his success but circumvent his pain. And every time I see a young idol—Gg, Dd, and anyone else—I wonder if the hurt of 227 can happen to them (again) because the crux of the incident has never been resolved; the oppression and silencing have remained strong as ever.

Anyway (sorry for the rant) ... what I found noteworthy about this article was the quotes the magazine highlighted in its published form (in Chinese), which weren’t highlighted by Jenkins on his own website. They reflected what the magazine would like to be the take-home messages of the interview. I’ve listed them below; all of which had Jenkins as the speaker:

[Pie Note: About Real Person Fiction (RPF) in Western fandoms]

“American fans often do have some shared norms about what is and is not appropriate to write, mostly having to do with protecting the privacy of other people in the star’s life. Writing about the star is seen as fair game; writing about their family members is not.”

---

[Pie Note: About GG being “cast” as a transgender woman in The One Fic that started the incident; gender in fandom]

“We write fan fiction as a form of speculation and exploration. For some people, it may be one of the few spaces in the culture where they can express who they are, what they are feeling, what they are desiring. And for others, it is a place of “what if” where they explore in fantasy things they would not necessarily desire in reality.”

---

[Pie Note: Whether GG should be held responsible for his fans’ behaviour]

“Under these circumstances, I would not hold a performer responsible for his fans’ behaviors but the performer is responsible for their own behavior and fans may respond negatively to performers who over-react to the existence of alternative fantasies and insult or hector their audiences.”

---

[Pie Note: About AO3 and why fans were so upset about its closure] “Keep in mind that AO3 is a particular kind of platform. Alongside Wikipedia, AO3 is one of the greatest accomplishments of participatory culture in the digital era.”

---

[Pie Note: About the “problematic” content on AO3]

“Among my findings were that fan fiction sites can be a valuable space for young people to acquire skills (and receive feedback) on their writing from more experienced writers who share these same passions ... That said, while teens have participated in fandom, a large part of those on AO3 are adults, engaging in adult conversations on adult topics.”

---

[Pie Note: About media text in the new media era]

“First, I would stress the proliferation of media texts at the current moment ... We have access to a much broader range of media content than ever before and in this context, fans play a constructive role in curating that content, helping some shows get greater visibility ... Second, these texts have become more malleable”

---

[Pie Note: About idols not producing “good” media texts]

“Rather, the question should be what are fans finding meaningful about these performers and the texts they generate. I start from the premise that human beings do not engage in meaningless activities. I may not immediately recognize why something is meaningful but my job as a scholar is to understand why cultural materials are meaningful to the people who cherish them.”

---

My understanding of this selection of quotes is this: this state publication (as others) was quite ready to forgive Gg, to put this incident behind. It could choose to not publish this interview; it could choose to leave out certain quotes, or not do the highlighting that cast both AO3 and Gg in a positive / innocent light. But it did all these things. This article furthers my impression that the state never intended 227 to blow up the way it did, and that it did—enough for stories about it to be found in non-China websites, and in English—was what I’m still trying to comprehend. 227 was, admittedly, how I was first introduced to Gg beyond Wei Wuxian. And as I got to know Gg, like Gg, my want to understand 227 only becomes stronger, perhaps because only through comprehension I feel I can find peace for the GG fan (again, without quotation marks) in me.

Maybe I should email Dr Jenkins and ask if he’s looking for a PhD candidate. 5 years of research and thinking ... maybe that’s what it’ll take.

I feel I’ve already started anyway.

#pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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anime-academix · 4 years ago

Text

I’m Not Invincible

A/N: I’m totally gonna rewrite this because I think this is so bad 😭I lowkey had writers block, so enjoy this huge piece of garbage. ):

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, minor swearing

Pairings: Aizawa x reader

Requested by: @tonii Always happy to provide for the Aizawa supremacy! 🛐

Tags: If you would like to be tagged, just message me and ask to be added to the list :)

It happened because of an argument

In all honesty, you guys don’t really argue often

Aizawa is extremely rational and level headed, so he keeps the two of you both grounded, no matter how angry you are

But then again, when do you do argue, and it doesn’t dissolve, it’s most likely about something serious

Usually when the two of you argue, he’s the type to remain calmer and not lash out

If he does retaliate, he uses sarcasm in his response

Though he’s tired all the time, when he’s pushed past his peaked exhaustion, it’s harder for him to keep his cool

The argument started because after a major injury, he wasn’t following the doctor’s orders AND your demands for him to take it easy and rest so he could fully recover.

After a major battle between a group of villains, he had taken a serious hit which had forced him on bed rest for a whole week.

Though Recovery Girl did the best she could to possibly heal him, he had been instructed to take it easy for a bit. And since the two of you and Aizawa lived together, the doctors and Recovery Girl instructed for you to keep an eye on him as well. You had absolutely no problem taking care of him while he was on bed rest. If anything, you went above and beyond to make sure he was always feeling comfortable and recovering well. Even when he insisted that you didn’t have to waste your time taking care of him, you shut his comment down instantly; even then, you knew he was grateful you were there for him.

It was only 2 days into his recovery, that Aizawa was already moving and working out. You were glad to see him moving well, but it worried you that he was doing too much. You didn’t think too much about it until you found out that on his 3rd day of recovery--the day he was supposed to be resting at home, he was ALREADY back at UA, teaching.

When you woke up this morning, you were panicking when he wasn’t in the bed beside you. You dialed his phone several times, but it went straight to voice mail. It wasn’t until Present Mic called you, that you were informed of your boyfriend’s presence at the school. Not only were you exasperated that he ignored the doctor’s orders, and annoyed that you had to find out from someone else that he was already doing activities, but you were stressed.

You waited on your shared couch as you waited for him to come home. 5:30 PM, your phone clock read…’He should be home by now,’ You thought to yourself. You would be lying if you said you weren’t anxious…

What if something happened? What if a villain attacked and he was the only pro hero around to stop it? What if he collapsed and no one was around to--

A door opening and closing pulled you out of your thoughts, and you were presented with your boyfriend.

“Shouta, what the hell?!”

“Hey to you too.” He muttered.

“Don’t start with me. You were strictly instructed to rest and recover for a week! Not whenever you feel like it!” You snapped, standing up from the couch

“Y/N, please. I’m fine. I’m healing a lot faster, anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?! What if you got hurt again?! What if you were attacked, huh?! You would be forced to fight with no way of leaving that situation because you wouldn’t just stay down and let your body heal!”

“But I wasn’t attacked. And I already told you, I’m fine.”

You had to admit, he did seem like he was already getting better. Though his wounds were still healing and he would wince from time to time when you could tell the painkillers were wearing off, he had been recovering quickly so far.

“That’s not the point. I would prefer you feeling great than just fine, Shouta.”

He rolled his eyes, walking into the bedroom with you trailing behind him. He didn’t waste a second to carefully take off his scarf and jumpsuit--noticing his subtle winces from the movements every now and then. Your heart ached seeing his entire abdomen and arms wrapped in bandages and his back and neck painted with bruises and small cuts.

Aizawa slips on a pair of sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. “See. I’m fine.”

A sigh left your lips as you shook your head. “You were told to stay on bed rest for a week. This wasn’t just some normal injury. You almost died, Shouta! All we asked for you to do was to rest and recover back to full health. And now, I had to find out from Hizashi that you went back to teach?! What if there was a repeat of the fight with the Shie Hassaikai or USJ incident?!”

“But there wasn’t and I made it out of that alive too! This is exactly what you signed up for when you decided to date a pro hero. Getting injured is apart of the job, I’m not going to quit just because you hate seeing me hurt.”

He walked from out of the bedroom and into the hallway as you followed behind him. Aizawa wasn’t wrong. You knew the risks when you decided to date a pro hero. Injury and even death was apart of the job once a pro hero took an oath to serve and protect civilians. Even when he was injured, it didn’t stop the pang in your heart when you saw the damage his body would take on. Despite his protests, you did everything you could to take care of him. And yes, he did make it out alive from those two incidents, but he still sustained serious injuries. However, this current incident was substantially worse. He was on the brink of death after this battle.

“You could have died, Shouta! All I ask is for you to rest and let me take care of you, please!” You pleaded.

And you were right. Truthfully, if it hadn’t been for Recovery Girl, he probably wouldn’t have made it to see the next day.

A low growl escaped his throat. “For the love of God, how many times do I have to tell you that I’m fine?!”

It happened so suddenly. His body turned around as his hair floated up, his eyes glowing a light shade of red.

Your body froze as silence enveloped the two of you. Everything felt like it stopped: time, the blood flowing through your body and even your heartbeat. You would be lying if you said you weren’t scared. His eyes bored into yours as his brows furrowed, knitting together. In the time you had been dating, Aizawa had never used his quirk on you, ever.

It was the single tear rolling down your cheek that brought you back to your current situation. Slowly, you began to feel your body shake as you stared back at him in disbelief.

This situation suddenly hit him too as his expression softened, deactivating his quirk. He had scared you. The one person he loved more than anything in the world, the one person he couldn’t live without, the one person he’d travel through hell and back for, the one person he always wanted by his side, was suddenly on the receiving end of his quirk.

“Y/N...” Aizawa began softly as he took a hesitant step towards you. You shook your head slightly as you took a step back, now allowing the tears flow down your face. He felt his heart clench as you took a step away from him and seeing the tears fall from your eyes. Not only did he activate his quirk against you, but your tears were because of him.

“No..no...what have I done?” He whispered to himself. He was supposed to be the one to protect you, never harm you.

“I just wanted to help,” You finally said, voice breaking towards the end as you choked out a sob.

Aizawa wasted no time swiftly moving towards you, relieved when you didn’t back away. As gently as he could, he wrapped his arms around you. “I know, kitten...I know. I’m so sorry. I’m...so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he repeated, his body shaking just slightly.

You melted in his touch as a quiet sob raked through your body, your head resting against his chest. Being careful not to hurt him, you snaked your arms around his abdomen loosely.

“I’m so sorry, love. I wasn’t thinking and I was just frustrated...” He paused, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “Sometimes I forget that I’m not invincible. So, when I get injured, I force my body to heal faster than it’s even able to. I know that I’m pushing myself too hard and you’re there telling me to take it easy or rest. I know that you’re right, but I just get so aggravated knowing I’m limited right now.” He paused again and kissed the top of your head. “I know that you’re right, but I just get so aggravated knowing I’m so limited right now. But...that doesn’t excuse using my quirk on you.” He added, his voice growing quiet, the scene flashing back in his head.

“God...I’m so sorry...I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathed out, his eyes squeezing shut. Aizawa wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave him. That after everything you had done for him, this is how he treated you. For the love of his life to be on the receiving end of his quirk for any reason was something he would never forgive himself for.

“It’s okay, Shouta,” You whispered softly against his chest.

His eyes sprung open, almost convinced that he had misheard you. His question was answered when you shifted to look up at him, face puffy and slightly wet with tears. Another pang hit his heart. He was the reason for your tears. Instinctively, he reached his hand up to wipe the remainder of your tears away with his thumb.

“I forgive you.” You moved to lift your hand up, cupping his face as he leaned into your touch. “I understand, but you have to let me take care of you. I know exactly what I signed up for when we started dating, and I’ve come to terms with that, but you also have to let me do my job to take care of you when you’re hurt. As long as I can help it, I’m not to lose you--not to a villain and especially not to an injury. So you’re going to be resting, here at home, for the rest of your recovery time, got it?”

He nodded as a small smile creeped onto his lips, shifting slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. Aizawa lifted up his hand to hold onto yours as he leaned down, pressing his lips softly against yours. Though it was gentle, it was passionate; and you could feel that it was a reminder that he loved and appreciated you. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips during the kiss.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips.

“I love you too, Shouta,” you replied softly.

After a brief moment, you pulled away. “Now that you understand, go lay your ass down in the bedroom.” You instructed him.

He smirked at you before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a bit more heated. “Fine,” he muttered, pulling away just slightly. “But you’re coming with me,” he added before pressing his lips against yours once more.

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #my hero academia masterlist #mha aizawa #aizawa #aizawa x y/n #bnha masterlist #mha masterlist #masterlist #eraserhead #mha imagines #boku no academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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backtobackbakubabe · 3 years ago

Text

I am the Alpha Now Part 20

Bakugo x Reader

Words : 4082

Masterlist

Reader is from America and somewhat of a delinquent with an alpha quirk that allows her to turn into a wolf as well as bond with dogs. She is sent to UA to straighten out her attitude. She ends up in a power struggle with none other than our favorite hot head. Words in Italics are words said telepathically.

**********************************************************************

Your phone was blowing up. Notification after notification until finally you heard your boyfriend groan, “Check your phone already dumbass.”

You took a deep breath and cracked your eyes open. Your head was on Bakugo’s chest and you weren’t really in the mood to move. Your phone had other ideas though as it continued to buzz on the nightstand. You reluctantly pulled away from your boyfriend and rolled over to grab your phone. Bakugo was quick to throw his arm back around you and hug you from behind, peppering kisses on your shoulders.

You grabbed your phone and was alarmed to see that you had dozens of notifications amongst several apps. Your Facebook, your Twitter, your Instagram, hell even your long-forgotten Tumblr page had alerts. Nothing however compared to your overflowing text messages.

The first one you opened was from a friend back home that you hadn’t even spoken too since moving to Japan. No words, no context. Just a link to a news article. You clicked it and felt your blood turn cold. In front of you was a picture of you covered in blood, alpha teeth bared, claws out, looking absolutely feral.

Bakugo felt you tense up and put his chin on you shoulder pulling you closer to him, “What’s up? Who’s been bugging you all morning?”

You immediately hid your phone from his view. “He did it…. Dabi, he- he leaked my secrets all over the internet.” You knew there was no point in hiding it. He would be able to look it up. You were sure people were probably sending him the same links, he just values his sleep more than people and his phone was on do not disturb. You handed him your phone and got up to go to the bathroom.

At first, he grabbed your wrist, but quickly realized you needed space, so he let you go.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as your skin began to heat up. Sure, you graduated from UA but there was no way you’d be a hero now. What about Katsuki? Would you hurt his reputation by dating him? Would you ruin his plans of being the number one hero? Could you stay here? In this house full of heroes?

Your instincts were screaming for you to run. To get the hell out of here. But you couldn’t. You refused to leave your pack again, and that included Katsuki. Even if you had to go into hiding, you would never cut yourself off from him again.

You splashed some cold water in your face and counted in your head until your breathing became regular again. It had taken you all the way to thirty-five.

You walked back out into the room to find Bakugo sitting up with his head in his hands. Your phone was on the floor in front of him. You had needed your space, now you were going to give him his. He needed to be able to process this without you clinging to him.

You picked up your phone and saw that he hadn’t even made it through the whole article. He stopped when he got to a still shot from a video of you tearing a man’s arm off. You cringed and exited the article before you could see more. You didn’t need to read it, you were there, you know how it went. You were sure they spun it in some awful way to make it even worse, but at the end of the day you had done terrible things. So, they were allowed to say whatever they wanted.

You pulled open a new tab and started to look at flights back home. America was a little more lenient with vigilante behavior and while they still hold their heroes to the ridiculously high standard of not killing villains… they also tended to look the other way when it happened. It was a broken system that you had wanted nothing to do with, but now it might your only option.

You were pulled from your thoughts when you felt two arms circle your middle and pull you down until you sitting in Bakugo’s lap. “I already knew about some of this stuff… Mercy told me… but having to see it… Shit y/n…”

You were glad he couldn’t see your face because you were in absolute agony. You had disappointed him. The only person to ever give a fuck about you. And it hurt.

He could feel your anguish and pulled you tighter. “Hey, I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Your past is your past. You can’t run from it forever. You have to face it head on and I’ll be right there to help you do it.”

Your hand found his and intertwined your fingers. “You’re not disgusted with me?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m disgusted with the people who did this to you. Who hurt you and pushed you until you had no other choice but to do what you did. I’m disgusted with your parents for not taking better care of you. I’m disgusted with the fact that the system was so broken that it took a seventeen-year-old girl putting herself in danger over and over again to fix it. I’m disgusted that there was no one there to help you.” You could feel so much stress begin to seep out of you as you slowly let yourself melt into him. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore. I know you have Mercy, but now you also have me.”

Your tender moment was interrupted by a banging on your door “Y/N ARE YOU OKAY! YOUR EMOTIONS ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE! LET ME IN!”

You untangled yourself from Bakugo and walked over to open the door. You were surprised to find that Mercy wasn’t alone. Kirishima was there too with a sad look on his face. “So uh… I’m assuming you know… I’ve been sitting out here for an hour trying to decide if I should wake you guys up.” He rubbed his neck, “I know it’s such a stupid question, but… are you okay?”

You could see the hurt in his eyes and while you didn’t want to see him sad, it was comforting to know that he still cared about you after learning about you. You reached for him and gave him a hug, “I’m obviously not okay right now, but it means the world that you care. Thank you.”

He gave you a quick squeeze. “So, should I go check on him? Or does he need a minute?”

You nodded towards Bakugo, “I think he’d appreciate the company. Let him know I’m taking Mercy for a walk, yeah?”

“You know he’s not going to like you leaving the house without him.”

You shrugged, “I’m not going far. He’ll be able to feel me through the bond if he gets nervous.”

You looked to Mercy, “Alright let’s go. I have a feeling I have a lecture coming.”

“Damn straight you do.”

The two of you left the house and walked in silence for a few minutes before Mercy stopped, “I’m very mad at you.”

You sighed. You knew this was coming. As much as you had wanted to immediately find Mercy when you came back, you were also trying to avoid this. You had failed him as an Alpha and now you had to face him. “I know. I fucked up. But I knew I had to do this alone. I had originally intended to only meet up with them. Kick some ass and come home… It obviously got a little out of control.”

He huffed in annoyance, “Obviously… But I understand why you cut off Bakugo’s bond. But why mine? If you could have just told me what you were doing, I could have helped you.”

You took a seat on a low wall and patted the top of Mercy’s head. “Because as much as I know you say you would listen to me, I know Bakugo would convince you to help him find me. He’s persuasive like that.”

Mercy growled, not liking your answer. “Okay fine… but just so you know. We know you lied. It doesn’t matter how well you think you hid it. We know. There are no lies between pack members. He’s letting you get away with it, but I’m not.”

You had a feeling he knew, but the idiot was way better at keeping secrets than you were. “Will it make you feel better if I tell you?” Mercy nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, but you can’t tell Bakugo. He’ll freak out.”

So, you told Mercy everything. Every single detail. He was fascinated at the progress you had made in the last few days. “You know Bakugo’s going to get suspicious when you can all of the sudden sustain alpha mode without shifting. Or when you can basically go feral without having to push past your limit.”

“Yeah well… we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, I think more importantly we need to worry about Dabi. He’s obviously pissed I left. Shigaraki was supposed to be coming back in the next few days. He’s gonna be pissed I left. Then both of them are probably going to try and kill me.”

“Glad to know you know me so well y/n… although I’d probably wait until after you killed shit-araki before killing you.” Mercy immediately stepped between you and Dabi and bared his teeth. “You going to call Cujo off or do you want me to cremate him in front of you.”

You could feel rage coursing through you. “You fucking ASSHOLE! I did everything you said. I didn’t tell anyone about your plans and you still fucked me over! You ruined my life! WHY?!”

You swear you say something similar to regret pass over his face before he quickly schooled his expression. “You still have a job to do. Didn’t you get my text last night?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Sorry I was too busy sleeping off the torture you put me through.” You held your phone screen up so he could see, “Also, I don’t know if you noticed but there’s currently all kinds of news circulating about me right now, so, I kinda have a lot of texts to go through.”

Dabi used his finger to scroll down to his message and clicked it. “Well read it now.”

Your eyes widened, “You don’t mean… He’s back now?”

“Not only is he back, but he’s here… at your house... waiting for you.”

In seconds you had shifted and were sprinting back towards the house. You hadn’t gone far, it would only take you a few seconds to get back in wolf form.

You had to be smart about this. You couldn’t go in full force. You had to believe that Kiri and Katsuki were still alive. They were tough. If Shigaraki was as smart as everyone says he is, he’d know to keep them alive as a bargaining chip.

You skidded to a stop outside of the house. “NO! Get out of here! We can handle it. RUN!” He had to have known that wasn’t going to happen. You knew he’d be pissed but you forced your mind into his and looked through his eyes.

Kirishima was passed out on the ground, tied up but otherwise unharmed. Shigaraki was sitting in a chair next to him with his hand wrapped around Katsuki’s wrist, all but the pinky. You focused really hard so you could hear. “Tell her to come back to the house, or you can say goodbye to your hands. I’m sure you heard what I did to Overhaul.” You felt Mercy’s presence as he made his way towards the back door, waiting for the signal. You two had played this game dozens of times. Let the villain think they had you, just for Mercy to take them out.

Katsuki spit blood on to the floor. “You could take my whole arm and it wouldn’t make me do shit.”

Shigaraki cackled, “Well if you insist.”

Your eyes glowed as you kicked the door open. “You want me? Here I am. Now let him go. NOW!”

You put as much Alpha authority in your voice to make him drop Katsuki’s hand. His eyebrows shot up before he showed you his disgusting smile. “Wow that quirk really is something.” He ran a hand through Bakugo’s hair and you could see a few hairs disintegrate under his touch. You growled and your eyes glowed even brighter. “It seems you aren’t going to come quietly…” He gestured to someone behind you. “Try and keep our friend company here, while y/n and I have a little… chat.”

“Sure thing boss.” Dabi bumped your shoulder as he passed you. Making his way over to take his place behind Bakugo.

“Y/n! Stop being so stupid. Just go. I’ll be fine. PLEASE!” You could hear the desperation in his voice even through the bond, but you couldn’t react.

“Mercy is out back. As soon as I leave with Shigaraki, meet up with him and have him fill you in on what’s going on. Don’t fight me on this, I know what ‘m doing.” Dabi smirked at you, knowing you were plotting inside the bond. “Dabi, if you so much as touch him. I will kick your ass… again… and this time I won’t stop until you’re dead.”

Shigaraki squealed in delight, “Oh I love her already. Come on let’s go somewhere a little more private for… negotiations hm?”

You silently followed him through the kitchen and into the biggest garage you had ever seen. It had obviously been modified to fit all of the guys cars as well as a bunch of hero tech and equipment. The floor looked like it had some kind of mat over half of it, that would allow the heroes to spar. Man, Endeavour thought of everything. It was thankfully empty at the moment. You were going to need all the space you could get.

“Look I’m going to get straight to the point. I’m sure there’s a top of the line security system here and I know it won’t be long before the other two hero’s along with Endeavor show up and I’m not in the mood for that headache. So, you have two options and only two minutes to make your choice.” He started to pace in front of you, “Option A. Join us and we’ll put a strict do not touch order on your precious little boyfriend. You can live your life with us knowing no villain would be stupid enough to hurt him. Option B. You decide to fight me right now and we kill everyone you have ever known. But, of course we’ll leave him for last. We’ll burn and melt him little piece by little piece right in front of you. It’ll be the slowest, most agonizing death that could truly ever exist.”

He pushed a button on his watch. “Well there are your options, your time starts now.”

You heard a loud bang in the other room. A part of you was screaming for option A. To just let them take you and protect Katsuki. Did you have enough confidence that you could win this fight. Could you risk it.

“DABI SAID TO DO IT NOW! BEFORE BACKUP GETS HERE! VILLAINS AND HEROES ARE BOTH ON THE WAY. YOU NEED TO DO IT NOW!” Mercy was talking to Dabi?

“Mercy where’s Bakugo?”

“He’s fighting with Dabi right now. I told him everything, but now he’s mad at Dabi for hurting you. He won’t calm down. I’m trying to break it up. Dabi’s trying to convince him you can do it alone. He’s trying really hard to get to you right now. I don’t know if we can hold him much longer without hurting him. Please hurry.”

Shigaraki’s watch dinged, “Ok, time’s up, what’s it going to be?”

His eyes barely had time to come up from his watch before you were tackling him in wolf form. Digging your teeth into his shoulder, claws ripping at his side.

He screamed out and placed both hands on your shoulders. You immediately smelled the melting fur and skin. You pushed through it for a few more moments before letting go and jumping back. You needed to shift back to human. You needed to heal faster.

You shifted but your eyes continued to glow. Your skin started to stitch itself back together, but you were alarmed to see it was much slower than with Dabi’s quirk.

You lunged at him with your claws out and raked them across his face. And that’s how you started what felt like the longest fight of your life. A constant dance of you lunging in and him trying to grab you. He was better at hand to hand combat then you were lead to believe.

At one point you dove to the ground to avoid him. He lurked over you and you grabbed a metal pipe and swung at him. He grabbed it easily and melted one end before yanking it from your grip. He pulled it straight in the air before bringing it down hard. You moved you head out of the way at last second and the pipe lodged itself into the soft sparing mat on the floor. You rolled out of the way and jumped back to your feet.

You were ready to lunge again when you heard the door to the garage slam open.

You turned towards the noise, “KATSUKI NO!”

That’s all it took. That small distraction left a window for Shigaraki to get his hands on you.

Bakugo sprinted towards you but stopped short when he saw was happening, “That’s right. Come any closer and she’s as good as dead.” Both his arms were wrapped around you. One hand on your shoulder the other on your hip. If he hadn’t been trying to kill you it would look like a lover’s embrace.

You took in a deep breath and pushed your quirk as hard as you could. You’re healing was desperately trying to keep up with him. But it seemed that even with all of the extra training it still wasn’t a match. If you kept up like this he would eventually win.

Bakugo reached a hand out, desperate to help. To do something.

“No Katsuki. Do nothing.” You watched as he fell to his knees helpless to your alpha commands. You know you promised you would never do that to him. But you knew the consequences of you losing this fight. You couldn’t let Shigaraki get his hands on him.

He was right in front of you, the only thing between you was the pipe that was still in the ground. The melted side looked pretty sharp. You knew what you had to do.

Shigaraki continued to try and disintegrate you while you continued to try and heal yourself. It was painful and disorienting and you could feel yourself slipping under. You had to do it now. “Don’t watch Katsuki.” Katsuki lowered his head to floor in front of you. “I love you.”

“Y/N NO!!!!! PLEASE!”

You took a step towards the pipe. Shigaraki thinking you were trying to get away pulled you closer to him. Good.

You threw yourself onto the pipe. Taking him with you.

You had thought it would hurt, but if anything… you were numb. You felt Shigaraki’s arms go limp. At least you could die knowing you took the bastard with you.

******* Bakugo’s POV******

He couldn’t move. Your command wouldn’t allow it. His eyes glued to the floor. He heard the most disgusting sound of something cutting through flesh and his heart sank. He watched as blood started to pool around the metal pipe. But he still couldn’t move. And only when he realized that it wasn’t your command holding him anymore, it was his own fear did he really understand. You were gone. Your bond was gone.

This was what Mercy meant. Before it was like a closed door when you cut him off, but now it’s just… gone. Like a vacuum, had come and sucked out part of him. “No, no, no, no, NO!” His fist pounded the ground over and over again until they were bloody. Tears were streaming down his face.

He had only had you back for a few hours. You had made plans. You were supposed to live here with him. You were going to work together. He already had a ring picked out. You were supposed to be it for him. How did he let this happen? He trained his whole life to be a hero, and he couldn’t even save you.

He could feel the utter terror coming from Mercy right before it disappeared altogether. Without you there was no bond for him and Mercy. A loud howl ripped from the other room as Mercy began to frantically paw at the closed door to the garage. He was being consumed by a cold emptiness. The blood was almost touching him now, but he remained frozen to the spot. Moving would mean he’d have to see you, and there was nothing in the world that could prepare him for that.

The world was now rid of Shigaraki, but at what cost? He knew it was incredibly selfish, but he’d take Shigaraki wreaking havoc on Japan every day for the rest of his life, if he could just be able to hold you one more time. If he could tell you he loved you one more time.

A broken sob left his lips as he realized those were your last words before you died, ‘I love you’ and he hadn’t even said it back.

His head still hung with tears dripping from his nose when a hand came out to cup his cheek.

His eyes snapped up to see it was yours. When his eyes met yours, it was like he was hit with a truck as the bond suddenly reopened. “Shit, shit, y/n. God please don’t die. Stay with me.”

You gripped his hand, “Please… help me… off this fucking pipe.”

He scrambled to stand up. Pulling Shigaraki off first who he threw like a limp doll off to the side. He then gently eased you off, wincing at the awful sounds you made while he did. Your eyes continued to glow as he eased you into his lap. He looked at the hole in your stomach and sighed in relief when he saw it was slowly shrinking.

He nudged your forehead with his nose, “Hey don’t you dare fall asleep until I see that fucking hole close up.” He rocked you back and forth just kissing your face and running his hand through your hair.

At some point Dabi came in looking busted after a few rounds with Bakugo. Without saying anything he walked over to his former boss and burnt him to ashes before doing the same thing to the pipe.

He swept up he evidence and dumped it into a trash bag. “Get her cleaned up before the idiots show up. I’ll tell the league Shigaraki never showed. You tell the heroes that you fought him off and he got away with critical injuries.” He threw the bag over his shoulder as if he was Santa Clause and not a homicidal maniac.

“I will never forgive you for this. For kidnapping her. For torturing her. For dragging her into this. And especially not for putting her business out these for everyone to know. For hurting her future.” Bakugo held you tighter as if to confirm you were still there, “I don’t care what side you’re on. The next time I see you… your dead.”

Dabi hovered by the door, “Don’t worry, I’ve already been dead a long time. I won’t bother her anymore. You don’t have to worry about me…” He took a step closer to the door but looked back one more time. “I know you don’t owe me shit… but when she wakes up… can you tell her I’m sorry.”

Before Bakugo could answer the sound of the front door sounded as it slammed open followed by the voices of Todoroki, Deku, Endeavor, and Hawks. When Bakugo looked back Dabi was gone.

Mercy lead the heroes to the garage. There Bakugo told them a modified version of the truth. The entire time Hawks’ sad knowing eyes never left your limp and bloody body.

*************************

Tags : @tspice283 , @realityisoftendisapointing , @imbi-101 , @thoughtfulpandazine2, @hotarumorikawa , @huh-iwasntpayingattention , @starfishlovingbnha , @weebnumber3622 , @mixedfeeelings , @munchmunch01 , @inumorph@xxoperatexx @runrabbitrun3 @insane-without-delirium @yolei94 @let-love-bleeds-red

#bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #mha bakugou #bhna bakugou #mha #mha x reader #mha imagines #my hero academia

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cowboyified · 3 years ago

Text

Below are some WIPs I’m releasing into the wild. They were all written at different times over the past two years so any mistakes/cliches you can blame on past June, I don’t know them.

Go, be free.

This first one I think is the one I’m most fond of. I had such a vision for it; bottlecaps in trees, river swimming, making out against the fridge, all that good stuff you get with weecest.

The summer Sam is seventeen they stay in one place for long enough Dean starts referring to it as ‘home’.

It’s an old farmhouse, miles from any other structure, bar an outhouse and hay shed. There’s a porch running the length of the front and back, the wooden boards pulled up from their nails, wavy with the weather. Weatherboard paint peeling, wallpaper inside torn and missing in most places.

They’re squatting, technically. The property owned by a family saved by hunters once, friends of friends of Bobby’s, too distraught by what they’d witnessed to raise their kids on cursed land. Dean had told Sam that Dad had been told by Bobby that had been told by Pastor Jim that it was chupacabras. A whole pack of ‘em, feeding off the lambs in the back paddock, tried to take a bite out of the baby girl and Sam had said, “As if man, those things are tiny, I’ve seen pictures, you could kick one and it would limp away like a fucking chihuaha, you scared of chihuahas, huh, Dean?” But Sam still hikes his sheet up under his chin when he hears scuffling under their window between sleep.

There’s remnants of the house’s past inhabitants still scattered around the place. Sam had stood and slid two inches on the wheels of a tiny replica car that had been jammed under the couch the second day they arrived, piffed it at his brother’s head, who’d caught it, exclaimed that it was Camero, dude, treat her with some respect and had sat it on top of the fridge.

The bookshelf in the corner of their shared bedroom holds mostly dust and tattered occult books stolen from libraries from all over the country, left by hunters who have found what they’ve needed and moved on. There are a few of the worst Stephen King novels shoved haphazardly on the top shelf and Sam finds something funny in that, the irony in enjoying bad horror when the real deal lurks behind the screen door.

Dean gives him a look when Sam pulls down and cracks open a copy of The Tommyknockers, snorts, “Haven’t you read that one already?” and Sam says, tucking himself into bed, “Yeah, it fucking sucks, King was royally off his head while writing it, that’s why it’s so good.” Sam finishes three quarters of it in one sitting while listening to Dean’s quiet snores from the other side of the room.

It’s a ten minute drive to the closest town, an off the highway, invisible to the outside world, kind of one-street community. No reason to take the exit if you don’t already know it’s there, one store, one gas station, one bar in an old brick post office building, unfitting, the carpet pulled up at the corners but home to the best fries Sam has ever had in his life.

Sam follows Dean out to the courtyard, neither of them are legally old enough to drink but there’s nothing else to do but to get respectably drunk in a place like this, anyone that has lived long enough in the true country is some kind of functioning alcoholic, so Dean orders a beer and isn’t asked for ID. In a town small enough for everyone to know every intricate detail in the threads of dirty laundry, they are foreigners. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re going and Sam knows that Dean likes it that way.

It’s never been a secret that Sam prefers to feel like he has a part in everyday normalcy. Dean thrives under anonymity, gets a kick out of it because it makes him feel dangerous. He had stopped accompanying Sam to school two states ago, a silent agreement with their father when Dean had come home early and helped John cut splits into the tips of bullets instead. Like hell I’m signing up for compulsory extra curricular activities. What’s the point in making friends with people whose biggest concerns are the answers to whatever bullshit test and who fucked who last Friday?

Finding comfort in a nine-to-five kind of community is a flaw Sam’s been burdened to deal with.

It’s early afternoon, the courtyard is empty and the table they chose rocks on its legs every time Dean slides his drink over for Sam to share. It’s bitter and Sam hasn’t had enough beer in his life to know if it’s supposed to be like that or if it has just soured from the long journey it took to get from the brewery to their glass. He drinks it and doesn’t grimace because his brother is looking at him through the rays of warm country sun.

“Tastes like piss, huh,” Dean says, leaning forward out of the light so Sam can see him clearly again. He takes back the glass.

“S’not that bad,” Sam replies, rubbing the leftover condensation into his hand, doesn’t look at Dean, finds it hard these days, twists in his gut all wrong. Sam knows why.

His brother hums, “There’s gotta be something else to do around here.”

Sam thinks, Dad’s left the car, we can go wherever we want, but doesn’t say it because his brother is loyal to a disastrous fault.

That’s a recurring thought. Sam in the shotgun seat, his brother behind the wheel, driving away. Just away, to someplace else and they’d be okay because they’d have each other and all Sam ever needs is his brother, like water. But John will be back in two weeks, term starts again in a month and he needs his father to sign the enrollment forms. Two more years.

“You see the old dredge outside of town?” Sam asks, remembers passing it when they arrived, all twisted, rusting metal, the bones of it against the setting sun.

“What did I tell you about respecting your elders?”

“You told me that they all smell like porridge and are easily susceptible to sleight of hand. No, Dean, Dredge,” Sam stresses. “Big rusty old machine that pulls minerals out of water.”

“Looking to strike big, Sammy?”

“Yeah, you see, my family is poor, brother at home too dumb to get a job. Our father went to get milk and never came back,” Sam sniffs for effect. “I can’t go home empty handed again, sir.”

“Ah, a real sob story,” Dean nods in understanding, tips his head back and finishes the beer. “Let’s get out there then, sonny. We shan't let that simpleton, downright fool of a brother go hungry.” Dean jabs Sam in the ribs when he stands, hard enough for him to gasp, gets Sam’s head under his arm before he can recover. Sam claws embarrassingly at his brother’s torso, face pressed warm into the side of Dean’s waist.

“I will pray for us young Samuel, for I too, dream of riches,” his brother is exclaiming, tripping them out and onto the street. “I only ask that we share whatever bounty dredged as I saw the most exquisite pony a few miles back and I simply must have it.”

And Sam thinks - with his flushed cheek hard against Dean’s skin through the thin sweaty fabric of his shirt, heart beating too fast against his ribs in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion - you can have it all.

---

Sam’s brother’s perpetual state of being is ten miles over the speed limit; this can be applied to almost every aspect of him. Dean goes and goes and rarely stops. They’re pushing double that out of town, north of their property, into the forever stretch of flat land and Sam loses himself in it. That idea of away, of going and going and that Dean could take him because he’s an expert in the field.

The Impala blasts Born To Be Wild and Sam imagines the lyrics spreading out over the dry grass. He rolls the window down and throws his head out, trying his best to keep his eyes open against the road’s wind. The sun beats down, warmth soaking through and into his bones and Sam laughs as the cattle turn to catch a glimpse of them soaring.

Dean pulls him in, tugs at the back of his shirt, says something along the lines of, what are you, a dog? Should get you a shock collar for all the times you’re a little bitch, but Sam can’t hear him over the roaring of the open window and the look of transparent glee on Dean’s face, it’s loud and assaulting and Sam has to turn away because seeing Dean like that wobbles him dangerously from the nonchalant facade he has going on in relation to how he feels about his brother. But mostly his face hurts from smiling too wide.

Used as a warm up last year. Boyking!Sam

He thinks he’s in Louisiana, maybe. That he got here in the tray of a pickup and that he couldn’t feel the wind in his hair like maybe he should. The driver had stopped for a piss-break and Sam had snapped his neck without his hands.

He rubs them together now, tries to feel guilty but there’s nothing to feel guilty about because his hands are clean; he doesn’t have to use them anymore.

Sam thinks he’s in Louisiana because he stepped out of the truck and into a wet kind of heat. There’s a church with thick greenery growing over the roof and white wood that’s been mold-blackened by the humidity. He laughs to the darkness because it's very funny to him that he’s driven himself subconsciously to a place of grace.

He skips up the steps, two at a time, gleefully. The smell of the bayou and rotting wood has put him in a good mood. The lock snaps when he blinks, the chain unraveling and snaking into a coil at his feet. The doors open for him and maybe he did that with his mind too, or maybe they were just expecting him.

The church has been used recently, its interior better kept than the outside, bibles tucked neatly in the backs of pews, ribbons tied into plaits. The white of the moon falls in blankets through the windows, shadows of leaves moving over the floor like rippling water and the bust of Mother Mary prays for him at the altar.

Sam spreads his arms and addresses her, says to the room at large, “Shall I repent for my sins, oh Lord?” and it echoes, gives him goosebumps, a current under his skin. He has an audience here because God is omnipresent, this is a place of worship and Sam has always been good at that.

A church in Louisiana, standing before a plaster of his mother’s namesake in a church for a God he used to think could have some defying factor in a destiny that was always going to be concrete. It’s funny, blatantly. Sam puts his hands gently to Mary’s cold face, kisses her on her lips before crushing her head, spraying ceramic.

Sam stands behind the lectern, hands red with his own blood now, sticking the pages of the Good Book. He’s read it before anyway.

“Am I to be forgiven?”

Last is a casefic I had planned out in 2019. I didn’t get very far into the actual writing part of it, but I still think the setting is cool, less so the plot I had in mind.

Just outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut there’s a community built on a sandbar. A small secluded semi-island, connected to the mainland by a mile-long beachfront. A town of forty to fifty now abandoned, vandalised residences.

The police find the bodies of the boys there, bleeding out and into the sand, each other’s skin caught under their fingernails.

Sam watches as his brother pulls the sheet back from one of the corpses, laying blue on the steel morgue tray. He’s a kid, a boy, not even eighteen. Hairless, lanky, multiple stab wounds puckered around his belly and Sam thinks he does not look peaceful for someone who is meant to be at rest.

Dean is quieter than usual, his body language stiff. They’ve seen their fair share of dead kids but Sam thinks that this one might look a little too much like an adolescent version of himself. Shaggy brown hair, too long limbs, college on the horizon. Sam blankets the sheet back over the boy’s face and hears his brother exhale in what he thinks might be relief.

The coroner tells them that the other two are the same, besides the youngest one. He’d been blinded, thumbs pushed through his eyes until they popped like grapes. He asks if they want to see him too and Sam says no, thank you, we’ve got what we need.

Which is a whole lot of nothing, but they’ve only just arrived and there’s evidence that doesn’t involve corpses that needs to be checked.

“Pussied out in there huh, Sammy?” Dean says as they’re walking down the funeral home’s front steps, past the manicured roses and trimmed lawn. You see these perfect hedges? We’ll treat your dead mother with the same detailed care!

Sam pulls at his tie and scoffs because he knows he wasn’t the only one uncomfortable standing in the morgue; cases that involve kids always rub them both wrong.

#wip dump #wincest #my words

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aal-archaeology · 5 years ago

Text

Ph.D. Applications for Anthropology/ Humanities/ Social Sciences (with examples from a success story)

Doing a Ph.D. is a really scary thought. Especially in humanities and social sciences. Especially in today’s job market.

Here I’m going to speak a little about my approach to Ph.D. applications, why I chose to do what I did, and how I put it all together including examples.

1. The Doubt

After coming out of my Master's degree, I already had a year of research set up, so I didn’t have to think about jobs like all of my friends I had made during that degree. I watched many of them struggle to find a job offer. Some were successful in attaining a job in Cultural Resource Management, a couple got smaller jobs in local museums, but for the most part it induced a lot of stress to have come out of a Master’s degree with no prospects.

How I imagined my future at that time: I knew I didn’t want to work in a museum, I knew I didn’t like Cultural Resource Management, I knew that after all this hard work I didn’t want to end up underpaid somewhere doing data entry.

A Ph.D. has always been something that I wanted. Ever since entering the Anthropology discipline, I imagined myself working towards becoming a Professor.

Here’s what I was told when I started to consider a Ph.D. Program:

“Don’t do it” (said by someone who already had her Ph.D.)

“I wish I had gone into something with more money, even after my Ph.D. its been difficult to find stable work”

“If you’re doing a Ph.D. in social sciences, ONLY go if you are fully funded, otherwise it is not worth the financial debt”

“Most people don’t get in their first try, that's why people apply to 10+ schools”

Coming up with a plan: After hearing this, I came up with a couple different options. Plan A: Apply to Ph.D. programs, if I get into one my first try and it's fully funded then I’ll do it. Plan B: Find a job in Environmental consulting, I could put my GIS experience to use, make some money, and then try again for a Ph.D. later down the road if I wanted. Plan C: Move to Japan and live out my weeb dreams (I’m part Japanese and have a lot of family there so this wasn’t as crazy as it sounds).

I was genuinely okay with any of these options. They all involve things that I enjoy, none of them are bad options, none of them would feel like “failure” if I ended up not getting into a program. I think this step is very important because it forces you to figure out what you care about, and allows you to be open to change if plan A doesn’t work out.

2. Choosing a Program to Apply to

I knew that I didn’t just want to apply anywhere. Getting a job outside of a PhD is already hard enough, and I wanted the school that I chose to reflect the work that I would put into it. As much as we want to think that name brands don’t matter when it comes to education, it sure as heck does help when it comes to opportunity and being selected amongst 100′s to 1000′s of applicants. Therefore, why not shoot for the stars? What’s the harm in trying. For this reason, I decided to only apply to schools that:

Had a prestigious name

Had a program that supported what I wanted to study and allowed for cross-disciplinary research (Digital Archaeology focused on SE Asia)

Had an advisor that had done research paralleled to mine (whether that included SE Asia or just Digital Archaeology in general).

I started research into programs with the Ivies and went down from there, also cross-comparing programs that had been ranked as best schools for studying Anthropology.

At the time of researching, the programs that stood out the most to me were:

Stanford (ideal because it was close-ish to home, fully funds their Phd students for 5 years, has opportunity for additional funding, had professor working with digital archaeology in Asia)

Harvard (had professor working in Digital Archaeology though it wasn’t in my preferred region, also has good funding, and its Harvard)

U Chicago (traditionally one of the top schools for Anthropology, however I had heard that a lot of this is because of “legacy” professors, and not much has come out of the department in recent years. Did not have someone specifically in my region of focus)

ASU (Also considered one of the top Anthropology schools, but funding is often fought for between students)

UC Berkeley (Had professors studying Asia, but it is a public school and also has limited guaranteed funding)

I sent e-mails to advisors that I thought I could support my research (this was probably around May, when applications are due Sep-Dec).

Hello Professor______,

My name is _______ and I am interested in applying to ________’s Doctoral program in Archaeology beginning in the fall of 2020. I would like to inquire whether you are accepting graduate students for this period, as my research interests align well with your research. I received my B.A. in __________ from _________ in 2017 and am currently _______. [Enter what you’re doing now, and any relevant experience that shows what you’re interested in researching]. [Enter something about their research, and why you’re interested in working with them/why you think you would work well with them]. I am eager to continue along this path and I feel as though your experience with _______could provide an interesting opportunity for future research. I would also be interested in working with [enter any other faculty that have similar interests, this shows that you’ve done some research into the program and the school in general] For your convenience, I have attached my CV here. If you have the time, I would appreciate the opportunity to speak with you further about the program and future research.

Best,

Full name

I also researched the financial aid provided to incoming Ph.D. students. After doing this, the only schools that sounded good to me were Stanford and Harvard.

Yeah, I know, only applying to Stanford and Harvard was a “big risk,” but this is how I thought about it:

I don’t want to commit to a Phd program for 5+ years if it's not fully funded, doesn’t have a big name, and isn’t going to guarantee opportunity after graduating.

I wanted an environment where I knew I could be happy under immense amounts of pressure (California by family, Boston by friends).

If I didn’t get in, I had back up options that honestly sounded really fun to me, so I was okay with pursuing those instead.

I didn’t want a Ph.D. just to have a Ph.D., I wanted a degree that would set me apart from others so that I could give myself the best chance for success afterward. I wanted one that, if pursued, could lead me to become a professor.

So I applied to 2 Schools.

I got scolded for this by many people... but whatever...I got in, so ha. Why spend money and time on an application for a school that you don’t really want to go to? :P

3. Applying to a Program

What an application looks like:

1. At least 3 recommendation letters:

Mine were:

Undergraduate Anthropology Advisor who has been helping me throughout the years with grant applications, etc. She knows me well, can speak well to my accomplishments. She is also a very well decorated anthropologist.

Undergraduate Professor of Geography who can speak to my GIS coursework. I’ve been updating him with my whereabouts and successes since graduating, so we have kept in touch regularly since taking his course.

My Master's dissertation advisor (he stressed me out submitting his letter 3 hours before the deadline >:| )

It’s good to have your recommendation letters come from people within the academic world. These people can write on your ability to achieve your research goals, your drive, etc. It’s okay to have maybe one letter from a workplace environment, however, it’s best to get as much street cred as you can from these letters, and this comes from Professors that know what they’re doing.

2. Curriculum Vitae (C.V.): This is important because it shows everything you’ve accomplished up to this point. This is how mine was set up:

Full Name, Current Position, Email, Phone Number

Education: University Name, City, Degree in ____

Publications: In Edited Volumes, Journal Articles, Manuscripts in Preparation

Conference and Workshop Participation: Papers, Presentations

Grants, Awards, and Fellowships:

Research Experience: Project Roles, Fieldwork

Teaching Experience

Additional Employment History

Leadership and Extracurriculars

Skills/Languages

A C.V. is a list of EVERYTHING you’ve done in your career, unlike a resume which is tailored to the specific job that you’re applying to. If you’d like a specific example, send me a DM.

3. Personal Statement: This is where you tell them why you want to be there and what makes you qualified. Why should they consider you?

Personal Statement Example

1st paragraph, introduce the program and your research interests: I am applying to _____ for admission to the Ph.D. program in Anthropology with a focus in Archaeology. My research interests are to explore [the consequences of ..... on the environment and human responses to environmental change] in [region of the world], and how these actions of the past can be visualized through the use of remote sensing and GIS applications to archaeology.

2nd paragraph, why you’re interested in what you’re doing: I learned the value of digital applications in archaeology through my undergraduate and master’s degree. [Digital archaeology] is appealing to me because [.........]. I first became interested in [example of why you’re interested in the topic/what inspires you]. After witnessing this, I began to seek out opportunities to partake in similar research.

3rd and 4th paragraph, what makes you qualified to pursue this degree?: I have many research experiences that qualify my pursuit of a Ph.D. dedicated to using digital methods in Anthropological research. [Talk about your undergrad experience, do some name-dropping of professors you’ve worked with], [why did these experiences inspire you to take the next step?], [how are you where you are now because of them?]

5th paragraph, what are you doing now?

6th paragraph, why this school in particular?: This is where you name drop the professor you are interested in working with, talk about how their research aligns well with yours by mentioning specific things that they’ve done such as theoretical approaches. What are you interested in doing that would fit well within this program? Are there any facilities on campus that you are particularly eager to work with? Show that you’ve done your research.

7th paragraph, what do you plan to do after you get your Ph.D. from this institution?: With goals of continuing archaeological research in ________ and expanding off the networks that I have established in _______, ________’s doctoral program in Anthropology is the ideal match to further my career as a Digital/Landscape Archaeologist. The Ph.D. in Anthropology at _______ allows for _________[reasons why you like the program]. Ultimately, my postgraduate goals are to remain in academia by continuing research and gaining a university faculty position. My foundation in archaeology gained in my undergraduate, graduate, and ______experiences have equipped me with a unique set of abilities to offer to ______’s Anthropology graduate program, and I look forward to the opportunity to exchange ideas with faculty and students alike.

Have your resume and statement looked over by as many eyes as you possibly can. It took me a good 6-10 revisions before settling on something that I liked.

4. Let the professors that you’ve been in contact with know

This puts you at the front of their minds when application review comes around. They’ll be like “oh yeah, this person messaged me about this.” I hadn’t spoken to the professors that I reached out to since those first few exchanges back in May, so sending this message was very valuable to remind them of my existence.

This email can be as simple as: Hi Professor ____, I hope you have been well since we last spoke. I am writing to inform you that I have submitted my application to _______. Since our last chat I’ve been [whatever you’re up to now that's relevant]. I look forward to hearing from _____ soon. Best, Me.

5. Productive Waiting

Yay, you’ve submitted! That was hard, but you made it through. Time to start diving into those other plans you’ve been thinking about. What will you do if you get into your top school? What will you do if you don’t get into your top, but you do get into your 2nd or 3rd choice? What if you don't get into any of them?

Remember that none of these options are bad, and in this world, you have to be open to change and welcome it. A Ph.D. is a really long commitment, and it doesn’t have to happen right away.

If you get in, accept only if:

It has the research you’re looking for

It has an advisor that’s supportive of what you’re doing

It’s transparent about what it offers its students

The current students are happy with the culture of the program and quality of life

The location is something you're comfortable with (for me having family nearby was a very important factor)

The money you are offered is enough to live the lifestyle you need to maintain good mental health

There is an opportunity for networking and expansion of your research outside of the university

As always, feel free to reach out with any questions at @aal.archaeology on Instagram or DM here! I’m happy to share my documents with you.

Happy writing!

-Lyss

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years ago

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Director Carter, Badass peggy being in charge of everyone and everyone being scared/intimidated by her, especially the newbies, including but not limited to coulson, hill, may, etc

Oh my God Y E S. So I’m sorry I just kept rambling on. You can figure out the timeline, because I can’t, lmao.

Director Peggy Carter knew she was a hard woman, knew she was intimidated by extreme means and that’s how she wanted it to be. She’s lived her life, a woman in this career where she’s frowned down at for being a woman while working in the military. Where doors have been shut in her face, where she’s been talked down to, looked over for promotions despite she’s the best choice for the matter next to another Agent, bluntly ignored, or even had her sex used against her.

Peggy Carter was a hard woman because life her that way, because she knew the life of an agent because she knew that the world would not be easy on an agent because he was new. There were crazy things out there and she had the feeling they were just barely scratching the surface – starting with Schmidt and Steve and there was no end in sight.

Her age was not something these agents would use against her either – they knew better. She was harder and stronger because of all she’s done in her age. Sneaking behind her officer’s back as Captain America’s liaison, ignoring bluntly given orders? It was the first of many things she’s done quite illegal that should have her still sitting in jail if she did her math right. Her only saving grace was her quick wit and skills – and of course a few close friends in good places.

Howard Stark and Chester Phillips had pulled her ass out of the fire more times than she could count and Peggy was grateful for them. Phillips knew her worth better than anyone but also knew how to play the game. He knew how the world worked and fought back against it in his own means. What may seem like him yelling at Peggy for disobeying an order was his way of giving her what she needs. It wasn’t like he could stop her anyway – a lesson he learned quite well during the war and after.

Phillips had appointed her Director of Shield when he was ready to retire, claiming he was tired, and Peggy knew it was his age getting up to him. He’d left her in the perfect position with people they trusted to continue the work that he’d started and left his own files and notes for her, so she wasn’t alone. His death had hit her hard and reminded Peggy no one was immune to death – not that she needed a reminder. It just reminded her all the same of what was at stake here and how she had to do her job, no matter what these agents thought.

The knock on the door caused the Director to raise her head, glancing down at her withered watch to read it was nearing midnight. She hadn’t been aware of the time or the fact she was burning the midnight oil – no wonder she was exhausted. Her eyes were burning and she had to sigh and rub at her face.

“Come in,” she croaked, standing up to pour herself a glass of water. She wasn’t surprised when the door opened to see their new agent enter – a young Phillip Coulson. “Ah. You’re finally back. I was wondering when you would be coming in. Are you hurt?”

Her eyes scanned over his body, taking note of the gauze peeking from his collarbone and the burned ends of his dress shirt.

“A little,” Phil admitted with a slight shrug. “No more than normal. I wasn’t sure if you were in but I wanted to drop off the mission report before I left. The mission was a success – we retrieved the 084 and it’s currently being investigated by Stark and his men.”

Poise. Proper. This man would make a fine agent, Peggy was sure once she’s whipped him into shape. She can’t think she’s had any problem with him actually. While it wasn’t her job to train agents, Peggy liked to give a personal hand unless something called her away. She wanted her agents to be aware from day one when she recruited them that she was their direct boss, that she not only signed their paycheck but was the reason they were here. She handpicked every single one of them.

“That’s great.” She tossed the file on the desk, intending to take it home and read it while in the bath. She deserved that at least. “You may leave. We’ll resume training tomorrow. Be sure your friends are on time this time. I don’t feel like waiting.”

“What was that?” Peggy asked, her tone sharp as she rounded on Hill. “Agent Hill, I believe I asked you a question. What. Was. That.”

The woman’s head snapped up, a strand of her hair escaping the high bun and sticking to her sweaty forehead. She looked on the edge and devilish, unable to focus. Good, that’s how Peggy wanted them. It was beyond boiling in this room, the thermostat read nearing 90 degrees in a small room. She wanted nothing more than to strip down to her slip but the Director hadn’t even removed her scarf.

The sand beneath them blew across their face, feeling like sand hitting her and making her skin raw. No doubt a cold shower was in their future. If they got out of this room. They stood in a room simulated to be a desert, the humidity quickly rising by the hour, making their throats ache for a drop of water. The weather was designed to put them on edge, to stress any agent out. They were to think and act. A few agents were spread out in the room, hidden behind various objects. Hill had just an hour beforehand to read the files quickly and choose which was her current target. She had one choice, one ‘bullet’.

And of course, Hill chose wrong.

“A mistake, ma’am,” Hill replied in a soft tone, her eyes snapping to Peggy. “I-I panicked.”

“You panicked.” Peggy’s fingers snapped and all at once the simulation ended, an agent slid down from the top of a dune and tumbled down to end up at their feet. She helped pick him up and brushed him off. “Agent Hill, I am aware of how this situation is, how you’re in a stressful situation, but this is what life is like on the field. You have very little time to choose and remember which one is your enemy, your target in a stressful situation. Sometimes you don’t even get files, sometimes you don’t even get five minutes. If that had been a real bullet, a real situation then that man would be dead and I would be left with the fact to tell his family that their father is not alive because of your mistake.”

Peggy’s sharp eyes never left Hill’s face, seeing the realization they both knew sinking in. Her head slowly nodded before she looked down at the agent she ‘killed’, his vest splattered with red paint. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

“No, you won’t. Let’s take a break, then we’ll try this again. Go wash up, Agent, and get some water.” She patted the young agent on the shoulder, watching Hill being the first to leave the room. Peggy sighed heavily and rubbed at her temples. Agents made mistakes, she told herself, Gods know she’s made a few of her own.

“What do you call that?” Peggy mused, cocking her eyebrow at Coulson as they looked in on the darkened figure sitting chained to the desk. A faux interrogation, but Coulson believed it to be real. To his knowledge, they’d gotten a suspect in for the deadly gas that was threatened to explode half of Manhattan.

It was an interrogation they’d set up for weeks, slowly spreading information, letting it seem real as possible, to even Howard designing a fake formula for their use. They had to go to these extremes, clean up included to train her agents. Peggy would not take anything less here, damnit.

Coulson’s eyes snapped to her from the side of the room, licking his dry lips. He’d become nervous and wary of her over the past few weeks, her clear reputation getting around Shield. “Ma’am?” He turned to look at her, finally turning his back to the perp. “Call what, ma’am? I looked at his file, I asked him questions.”

“You asked him questions that anyone could fake answers to! You need to get in his head, you –“ Peggy was cut off at the perp running into the glass, Coulson jumping away and turning to see the man standing against the glass, dragging the table with him despite he was cuffed. “I want you to handle him. Now. I need to go on a conference call but when I come back, you better have some answers – more so than I can find from reading his file.”

She paused and turned to read Coulson’s expression. He was soft, too soft and it made her heart pull at a reminder of Daniel. “Agent Coulson, you must become used to these interrogating techniques and think outside the box because I can guarantee you that half the perps that we have in there have already thought of what to say when they’re in here. And fifteen different ways to get out of those cuffs and to get into your head. You have got to be five steps ahead of them or I’m afraid you won’t make it as an agent. At least not fieldwork. Now, excuse me.”

The call lasted less than an hour, plenty of time for the brunette to grab a cup of coffee and wander back into the interrogation room. She found Coulson sitting on the other side of the glass again as if he’s never left and staring down at the file. She could see his scribble and notes he’s made while she was gone. The man on the other side, she noticed as the lights flicked on from her arrival sported raw spots on his wrists.

“He has a fear of snakes,” Coulson mused, snapping the file closed. “The wonders you can do with Stark technology at your hand and a few scenes from Indiana Jones. I believe you’ll find everything inside is all you need to know on the formula and the counter effect.”

Peggy’s fingers closed around the file and snapped it open, her eyes skimming over the pages. A smile pulled on her red-stained lips and nodded. “Very good, Agent Coulson. Remember these techniques for later.

“Director?” Fury stopped in his steps, looking down at the small file that Peggy had given him two days prior. It was late at night, meaning this man had stayed up late, not like she was in any better position. Two agents had just gone missing out of the blue and she couldn’t figure out why.

“I thought we talked about knocking?” Peggy sighed, waving the man inside and watching him collapse in the opposite seat of her desk.

“No, you talked about knocking. I pretended to listen.” Peggy’s eyes snapped to him and all the co-director could do was a smirk. “Listen, I’ve been reading over this proposal you gave me and…no.”

“What do you mean no, Agent? Those are your only two options. You are Co-Director and have to make decisions without my regard. Yes, the files will pass my desks but not all of them I will be able or have time to approve of. Are you telling me you want to take back your promotion, Agent?”

Fury was silent for a beat, Peggy counted watching his chest rise and fall. She could see the gears turning in his head. The way he held himself, his hand gripping his kneecap to a frightening point.

“No,” he said finally, breaking the silence between them. “I do not, Director. I mean that I am not listening to your asinine directions here. I mean no disrespect, ma’am but I believe there’s another course of action here that won’t put so many lives at risk and still give us the intel that we need, and rescue our two missing agents.”

Peggy smirked as she sat up and take a long drink of the bourbon she’s had sitting on her desk. “I see,” she sighed, as if it pained her to look through the file Fury had given her. “Very good, Director Fury.”

“This…was a test?” She could see the frustration growing in his eyes. “I already sent my agents out!”

“Of course this was a test! You will be tested many times while under me. You need to know when to make the hard calls when to see that your only two options are not your only options. You need to see there is much more than what meets the eyes.” She paused in her sip of the drink and cleared her throat. “You already sent your agents out?”

“Of course I did! I-“

“Good.” She cut him off, Fury raising a brow at her. “Because then you’re two steps ahead of me and the situation. Because that’s what I want. You’ve done well. Now go monitor your agents and the situation and report back to me when they’re home. You might make a fine Director just yet.”

Agent May. Melinda May. Her mother had shortly worked for Shield before being recruited elsewhere, claiming Shield’s life was not for her. If her daughter was anything like her, Peggy knew her hands were full and that was fine with her.

Just the challenge of Agent May was far more challenging then Peggy had imagined. The woman was a fine agent, she was great at combat, never wanted a weapon until she needed it and by then, she’d get it herself. She was great in training, and in just about every area but one.

Espionage. Keeping a low profile. Pretending to be someone else. To keep your head low and level and keep to the situation, until you had no other choice.

“I have not forgotten my spy days,” Peggy told May with a roll of her eyes. “I am still a spy, a codebreaker if you want to add another term to it. What you’re doing….” She waved her hand with a frustrated sound. “You’re awkward. You need to fall into the role easily, at the drop of a hat. You can’t help who you will be working with or what you’ll have to do to survive and get out of the building.”

“Knowing you it was guns blazing,” May smirked, leaning into the opposite wall and pulling her hair up into a bun.

“Don’t believe rumors that you hear,” Peggy mused. “It was not just guns blazing. It was sneaking around my own agents, my own bosses back to get the information we needed, that I needed. I’ve had to dance with many sexist men who loved to squeeze my ass in order to just get out of the building. Did I want to knock some sense into them? Yes, I did but I refrained from doing so.”

May looked at her up and down, chewing on the inside of her lip. She knew her problems in dropping her guard and trusting her partner if she had one. She knew the problem to fall into a role, keep that guard up, but not act if things went wrong. It was a frustrating feeling.

“Let’s go through this one more time?” She asked, causing the Director to rise from her seat and smile. “You sure you should be walking on that broken leg?”

“Don’t you worry about me, Agent. I’ve had much worse. Remind me to tell you about the time I was pierced by a piece of rebar.”

It was another late night for Director Carter. Save for the night crew, she was one of the few remaining people here. Fury had just left a few hours ago, muttering about not hearing from Coulson for a few days now. Last she checked, the man was still on a mission Fury had set him on with a suspected 084 in the Arctic.

Habit caused her to think of Steve and the fallen plane, but she knew better than to give herself false hope. She couldn’t survive on false hope alone.

Her personal phone ringing caused her to jump, frowning at the undisclosed number. No agent had her personal number, so who would be calling her? Frowning, she had no choice but to answer.

“This better be good,” she sighed. “Enough to risk calling my personal number, Agent.”

“Ma’am? Director.” It was Coulson. She could hear the wind-breaking up the man’s words. He had to practically shout in her ear. “I had no choice, ma’am. Too many bugs.” Wherever he moved to, Peggy could hear him a little better. His words started to echo. “We found him.”

Her heart leaped to her throat, but still, she couldn’t allow false hope. “Him who, exactly?” Could it be…

“We found him, ma’am,” Coulson murmured just for her to hear. “We found Steve Rogers. He’s alive.”

#Steggy #Minor Steggy #Steggy Prompt #Nonny Prompt #Peggy Carter Prompt #Director Peggy Carter #Phil Coulson #Maria Hill #Melinda May #Steve Rogers #some ending huh?#this is a HUGE ramble

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fang-wolfsbane · 3 years ago

Text

Transformers Animated: Morning After: Chapter 03: Breathe

“Tyla, table five has been waiting for half an hour already!”

Lie.

“Be right there! Just take care of my table for me!”

Lie.

“Hey, you, you got my order wrong.”

Lie.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to give you a pay cut.”

Lie.

“Hey Tyla, snap out of it.”

Tyla blinked, her attention snapping to the thumb and index finger that appeared out of nowhere, clicking against each other repeatedly. They belonged to one of her co-workers, one whose name she couldn’t bring herself to remember. They remembered hers, so she supposed that she should at least return the courtesy, but their name plate was missing and she didn’t feel like raking her brain until their name popped back into her head.

“Huh? What is it?” Tyla asked, looking to the figure beside her, watching their long fingers popping open the top of a cigarette carton and pulling out one of the small white sticks residing inside of it. Personally, she never understood the reasoning behind smoking, but she didn’t care to find out either. She took a broad step to the side, wanting to limit the disgusting smoke smell sticking to her clothes and invading her lungs without her consent.

She could have stood somewhere else, but she had been standing there first, plus the smoker’s area was inside the building, not outside. Her co-worker must have thought that no one would mind the air being poisoned. She minded though she kept her mouth shut about it. The last thing she needed was to start something and end up getting another pay cut simply because her co-worker was too inconsiderate to take her health into consideration whilst throwing their own away.

“Oh nothing. You just seemed like you were off somewhere better than this,” they smirked, putting the cancer stick to their lips, lighting it up a second later, the smoke curling its corruption against the air, off to poison something in its path. “We can’t have that now, can we?”

Tyla forced herself to smile at the depressive comment, albeit a weak one. If only they were right on their assumption. A daydream would have been nice, if only providing a temporary escape from her workplace. She tilted her head back against the wall of the local Burger Bot, blonde hair sweeping in front of her eyes. She didn’t feel up to moving them out of her eyes, so she let them stay there, blinding her for a couple of seconds of pure sight deprivation.

She wanted to reply with a cocky ‘if only’, but instead she shrugged her shoulders, a meagre gesture, but one her co-worker understood well enough to concentrate on what they were busy with instead. She had taken her fifteen minute lunch break in the hopes of spending some time alone with her thoughts, but that hadn’t gone as planned.

She could have chosen to hide behind the dumpster, but the smell would have chased her away faster than her co-worker’s. Although she had thought of spending the time alone, she supposed that it wasn’t really all that bad if she tolerated the other’s presence for the remainder of her break. Even if the two of them didn’t talk, she found some form of comfort in knowing that someone at least wanted to be within her company. They could have easily avoided her without a care, yet they had chosen to stand beside her instead. Maybe they needed the interaction just as much as she did.

Tyla glanced over towards them, breathing out through her nose to try and keep the smoke’s smell from drifting up through her nostrils. Her own hands were resting in the pockets on her jeans, the only place she could think of to put them instead of having them hanging at her sides with nothing to do.

Her lips parted, then closed. She didn’t know what to say, much less what to do, so she looked ahead of herself once more, brushing the stray strands of hair out of her eyes this time.

“Hey, Tyla?”

Well, it seemed that she wasn’t the only one that had been thinking of striking up a conversation for the sake of drowning out the silence. She looked to her co-worker once more. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we finally did it?” they asked, their blue eyes looking down to the gravel pavement pushed against the side of the building. Tyla’s gaze followed theirs, watching a tiny ant skittering off on its own with a bread crumb someone dropped when they were eating one of the burgers on their way out. She almost smiled at how happy the ant seemed to have found something for its colony. A true provider with nothing more than a simple wish to make those it lived with happy. It was cute, if not a little sad.

“Did what?”

“Reached the pique of humanity?”

Ah, that question. The question everyone living in Detroit seemed to have on their minds at one point or another. The most advanced city in the world, what with its robotic helpers taking over all the roles humans no longer wished to participate in. Window washers, refuge cleaners, even dogwalkers were replaced by those ‘automated helpers’ that the world-renowned Isaac Sumdac earned his fortune from. How he had originally come up with his idea for his robotics company, she didn’t know. She only knew his name because of the TV in the corner of the fast food restaurant she was leaning against like some kind of loiterer.

When she first moved to the city, she’d had to jump out of the way to avoid quite a few of those automated helpers. When it came to applying for the job she had right now, she had been worried about being turned down for not having some kind of robotic part inside her body.

What amused her was the fact that there were still a few humans that worked inside the building, doing the cooking and grilling, and even taking the orders of the customers all too happy to complain when their order took too long despite being prepared beforehand for their waiting convenience to be cut in half. If they had to make it themselves, they would have taken twice as long. She didn’t work behind the griller, but she noticed how stressed the cooks became when the table waiters and waitresses put pressure on them to hurry up before a customer decided they wasted their time simply waiting to be served, have their meal brought to them simply because they had the status and money to afford eating out once in a while.

She wanted to shrug again, not really knowing what her own personal thoughts were on the topic but found herself answering instead. “Probably not. All things considered, humanity could be doing worse.”

“Worse than we already are?” they asked, tilting their head as the ash at the end of their cigarette dribbled to the ground, leaving it for a refuge bot to clean up at a later point. Tyla felt her stomach churn at the sight but tried to ignore it. All things considered, she was surprised that she herself hadn’t turned to smoking as a way to cope with all the thoughts running rampant in her mind at times. That was their usual excuse, wasn’t it? That smoking helped them breathe. She would have laughed at the irony, considering that they wanted to ‘breathe’, yet were more than willing to ignore the obvious fact that they were busy poisoning themselves and those within their current vicinity. Still, she kept her mouth shut about it. If they wanted to rot their lungs, then so be it. Everyone had their coping mechanisms, some were simply more destructive than others.

“We’re humans, aren’t we? There’s always more ways we can screw up,” Tyla said, the unease in her chest lightening some. When was the last time that she had been so honest with her own opinions? She didn’t know, but she was glad to voice that at least.

Her co-worker nodded, seemingly agreeing with her, or at least pretending to. A short while later they dropped the end of their cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, stretching their arms high above their head, the soft snap of bones releasing tension from their shoulders.

“Well, guess it’s time to head back in and earn that money. Gotta make a living somehow right?”

With that, they turned and headed back inside, leaving the smoked butt on the ground to become someone else’s problem later down the road. Tyla found herself frowning, looking to the dumpster barely a few feet away, not to mention the ashtrays that were inside the restaurant for those who found it too inconvenient to dispose of the remains properly.

Tyla sighed, swooped down to pick up what remained of the burnt out stick and tossed it into the nearest ashtray when she walked past the smoker’s area. Luckily, she had gotten the choice of whether she wanted to work within that area or not. Her lungs thanked her for taking the choice to avoid it.

Looking out to the gathered crowd of waiting customers, Tyla took a breath, steadied herself and went back to work. That much needed money wasn’t going to go earning itself, not with her luck.

#Animated #Chapter #Chapter 3 #Fanfiction #MA #Morning After #OC #Original Character #TFA #TFAMA #Transformer #Transformers #Transformers Animated #Transformers Animated Morning After #Tyla

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