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itzagothamcitysiren · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Family

I’m going to do the same as last time and post two chapters in a row because I suck and waited so long to update again. I’m not sure what it is about this particular story that has been dragging my feet with writing it lol. I only have the last chapter to write out so I’m going to try to finish it tonight. It won’t be long like my usual chapters, but be more like a epilogue of sorts.

Love Is a Burning Thing and It Makes a Fiery Ring pt.4

The first thing that had come to Halley’s senses when Bruce found her was the cold; her body left in the warehouse, laying on the concrete floor below her. The second thing that came to her senses had been a voice; Bruce’s voice. It was gruff but showing concern. Where is Robin, he asked her as he finished administering the antidote to the Joker venom into her system. Where was Jason, she questioned, her mind blurry as she felt the needle leaving her arm. The last thing that came to her senses was the pure adrenaline and dread that snapped her back to her senses completely as she and Batman raced to his bike.

The wind whipped Halley’s hair across her face, the cold night air making her come out of her foggy state as the seconds dragged. Her grip on Batman’s waist tightened as he took another sharp turn, the beeping of the tracking system on his bike echoing in her head. She closed her eyes just to open them again as if trying to blink away the rippling anxiety pounding within her. She winced as she was once again jerked from another harsh turn, her muscles still sore from all the laughing.

She looked at the buildings as they passed by, almost counting them to distract her mind from the fear of what was happening beyond their eyes. She barely remembered Jason being so foolish and offering himself off to the Joker. Who knew what the clown was doing to him? She tried not to think about it as they rounded another snowy street corner. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. She knew that they wouldn’t just find Jason tied up to some chair waiting for them. No, the Joker would want to put on a show; he would want to give them something to see. Something to provoke Batman. She knew Jason was going to be in rough shape and she couldn’t wait until he healed already just so she could slap some sense into him. She had healing powers for crying out loud, she would’ve been the logical choice for Joker to take.

They had just reached the building where Jason’s tracker led them when she jumped off the bike. As she flung her leg over the other side, she wasn’t expecting for the next couple of moments to pass her in slow motion but appear to end in a flash at the same time. The instinct to wait for Bruce before proceeding long abandoned as relief and urgency bubbled in her chest; those feelings were short lived though. In a matter of seconds she was torn backwards and away from the building, letting out a huff as her body roughly hit the rocky and uneven ground. She hadn’t even had time to learn the reason why she was thrown away from Jason and instead found herself being shielded by Bruce, heat overcoming her and not just from the body hovering over hers.

It clicked together as Bruce’s hold on her grew tighter and she found herself clutching just as tight onto his shoulder. She didn’t realize the scream she let out and felt no comfort as she felt Bruce pulling her closer into his chest protectively. The breath was taken from her as the air got hotter, flames sparking and cement and ruble crashing felt and heard from behind the dark knight's cape. The cape was the only thing keeping them safe, the fibers strong and heat retardant but Halley could care less about their safety right now. She pushed against the older man when everything seemed to settle or settle as much as it could.

She heard Bruce’s harsh voice ordering her to stay down as he began to rise but she didn’t listen. She heard him tell her a second time but she still didn’t listen. Her breath was shaky as she stood up with him. Bruce looked away from her now just as silent as her. He looked up and around, trying to get a grasp on what just happened. Just like her he was speechless. He knew what happened, the evidence around him was clear enough but he just couldn’t believe it. But how could he not? Did he really think the Joker wouldn’t go this far? The burning remains of the building surrounded them telling him that yes, the Joker would go this far.

“Stay here.” He said for a third time as he moved forward, his voice trying to keep its sternest but for once failed.

All she heard was a buzzing in her ear from the explosion. Her breathe stopped shaking as she sharply inhaled, only to cough from the smoke around them. Her eyes were wide as Bruce began to make his way through the wreckage, the depth of the damage now fully hitting her. Halley could feel the walls starting to close in as she felt her right foot stumble forward into a step.

Jason, she thought feeling a lump grow in her throat.

She watched, unable to move a step further as Bruce began to move different chunks of debris away as if he was searching for something. She knew she should help, but Bruce did tell her to stay put. She was good at following orders; she always followed orders but she found herself incapable of as he moved another piece. She moved forward, suddenly in denial because there was no way he was looking for Jason underneath all of that. No one would have survived the blast from inside and there was no way Jason was gone.

Gone.

The word repeated in Halley’s mind like a plague: it was like a death sentence. No, Jason wasn’t dead, she repeated, he just wasn’t. It was a joke being played by the Joker. He wanted them weak, he wanted them vulnerable and what better way to do that by making them think one of theirs was dead. They were wasting time here, they had to go; they had to go find where Jason really was. This was a huge waste of time, she thought, her mind racing as her eyes grew wide.

“Bruce?” She pipped up, finding somewhat of a voice. “We need to go. We need to find Jason- Joker-,” she couldn’t finish speaking, feeling her throat clog up with fake optimism. “Joker must still have Jason. This isn’t real. It’s a trick.” She muttered, now talking to herself more than to Bruce.

The man looked at her sadly, taking in the look on her face. It was the same look he wore the night his parents were killed in front of him. He gave her the same look he wore when he witnessed Dick’s parent die. He felt his own mind start to go afire with what ifs but he knew this was no joke. He knew the outcome of this situation. He knew he was too late. He kept pressing forward knowing that he had to ignore the girl’s desperate pleads to leave. He had to find his son.

He found himself successful and couldn’t help but feel bitter as being so. His blank face showed emotion as he regrettably looked down at the boy now thrown down messily below him. Once the wall fragment was out of the way he knelt down,

“Jason,” he whispered, unable to hide the pain he was usually so good at keeping hidden. Capturing the sight of the broken boy that had been caught underneath the rubble, Bruce reached down. He carefully lifted him into his arms, staring down at Jason’s empty face. “No.”

“Bruce?” Halley’s voice approached him.

Bruce rushed to try to shield her view but failed; she was too quick. The moment she saw him drop to his knees she found it in herself to rush forward, knowing that Bruce was surely mistaken. It was a decoy and she’d prove that to him, she decided as she pushed to look over his shoulders. But even she had to begin pulling herself out of the forced doubt the moment she caught site of Jason’s form. Her body kicked into action with a strangled cry escaping her lips. She rushed to sit in front of Bruce as she still clasped onto the thought of it being some twisted joker desperately.

“Jason!” She shouted, her hands grasping at his face before practically tearing the boy out of Bruce’s grip the moment he didn’t stir awake. Her eyes traced over the countless cuts and burns scattered on his face. “No, no, no, no-,” she kept saying in a seemingly never ending cycle.

Bruce reached a hand to pull her away; she didn’t need to see this. He gently called out her name, placing a hand on her back when she wouldn’t budge. She only responded by swatting his hand away from her. She let out a chocked out sob before giving Jason another look, the walls fully closed in. The tears fell down freely as she collapsed onto Jason’s chest. Hearing no breaths of air escaping him from the impact rocked her body even harder as she now gripped onto the tattered uniform for some form of comfort.

She begged for him to wake up, her words starting to fade into madness as they twisted to make no sense and became barely coherent. Bruce looked down at the two teenagers for a moment, his own heart begging for the situation to be staged. His mind drifted to vengeance, thinking to the Joker and how he was long gone by now and Bruce once again let him get away with murder. He brought down his hand again, placing it back onto Halley’s back as the other rested underneath’s Jason’s head.

Halley hadn’t known how long they stood there like that. She was huddled against Jason, clinging onto him as if it would bring him back to life as Bruce simply let her. But Bruce knew that they couldn’t stay like this forever. He had to get them out of here; he had to think of how he was going to explain this. Oh god, he found himself full of dread, Alfred, how was he going to tell Alfred? He struggled to bring the pair of them to the Batplane, the girl stuck in a haze and Jason’s body weighting heavily on his mind instead of his arms. Once he placed the boy’s body down on the plane, he found the strength to call Alfred.

Halley started to feel as if the Joker venom was still surging through her veins and if the antidote had no affect after all. She watched as Bruce took his cowl off after placing Jason down, seeing how truly lifeless he was. She sat across the way, plopped against the wall unable to move or think straight. She simply couldn’t believe what she was seeing, long stopping her tears but eyes still burning from them. She covered her mouth with her hand, completely ignoring the blood that she still had on it. Jason’s blood, she noted as she felt it rub onto her skin. She let out a laugh; this wasn’t real.

Her body felt numb as it did for the days that followed. She and Bruce barely spoke, both unsure what to say or how to comfort the other. She even ignored Alfred’s attempts. The old man was having a hard time coping himself which only made her feel even worse. He tried, he truly did, knowing that Bruce was in the same boat as her. Sure, Bruce had helped Dick cope with his parent’s death but this, this was different. This was Jason; this was his son that was now dead.

She vaguely remembered Bruce telling he put the Joker was back in Arkham but she didn’t care. Bruce was a fool if he thought telling her that would make her feel any better when he should know it would only make her feel worse. The damage was already done and that monster would just break out again anyways. She just glared at him after he told her, asking if that was supposed to make her feel any better. He stood silent, knowing that of course it wouldn’t; of course he knew that.

She barely acknowledged as Dick arrived at the manor upon hearing the news and tried to comfort her. She wasn’t in the mood to talk about it or even begin to find the words to describe how she was feeling. Dick understood though and let her quite literally use him as a punching bag one night when he found her over exerting herself in the cave. Bruce had refused to let her go out on patrol and she was furious. If he was ready to go out so soon than she should be too.

Her body ached as she delivered one last punch towards Dick’s chest, finally realizing what she was doing to him. Her fist stood pressed against his firm chest, the punch being the weakest she’d ever delivered. Her face was contorted and scrunched upwards as she found herself trying to hold back tears. Dick saw past her wall and pulled her fist away, using her extended arm to pull her forward into a tight embrace. When her face was buried against him she let down the walls that she enclosed herself in for days crumble. Crying, she allowed Dick to carry her up and out of the cave, bringing her to his room and settling her into his bed and allowing her to cry herself to sleep against him.

The funeral was excruciating to say the least. It was private, allowing the family to properly mourn without putting on some guise over what happened. To Gotham and the world, Jason Todd died in a skiing accident during their vacation in Bosnia. Who the fuck even vacations in Bosnia, she swore as Dick and Bruce informed her of the insulting cover story they made up. Jason didn’t die in a pathetic skiing accident. That was almost disrespectful; Jason died at the hands of some mad man.

A mad man who was still breathing, she thought as Jason’s coffin lowered deeper into the ground. She felt something flash within her, as she thought about it.

He was still breathing for now.

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

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Dear Dean (Chapter 7)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 3.6k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: There’s a little angst and fluff!

SERIES MASTERLIST

August 12th, 1944

“We’ll be moving out in the next few days. Get your men ready, get some training, double it if you must. Anything to get the men used to being in the front line again. Any questions?” Lieutenant Novak looked around the room, searching their faces to see nobody objecting. “You’re dismissed.” Novak, the new CO of Baker company, said, nodding at his men.

Dean turned around trying to make a quick escape, when Castiel singled him out. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“How’s your ankle?”

“It’s fine. Cas, I’m fine, don’t you worry.” It wasn’t a lie. It was so much better already. Dean only hoped that it would be good enough come the time to move out.

“You’d tell me if there’s anything alright?”

“I will.”

“How’s Bambi?” The question was sudden, Castiel’s blue eyes flickered to Dean. Dean swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wondered if Cas knew.

He frowned at Cas, raising an eyebrow. “What’s with Bambi?”

“I mean, how much do you need him in your platoon, because as you know, I lost a lot of men in two and three platoons. I could use him there.” Cas looked at him, unfaltering.

Shit, he really meant it.

“I’m sorry, Cas, but Bambi is not up for discussion. He’s valuable to my platoon, too.” Dean knew that Cas was the CO. He knew that if Cas wanted Bambi in another platoon, he could just fucking do it, and Dean could do nothing against it. His only hope was that Cas was still his friend and would act like it. He always used to consult him and thought highly of Dean.

“That’s what I thought.” Cas lowered his gaze and fished out a cigarette tin from his webbing before he flickered open the tin and tugged a cigarette between his teeth. “Just wanted to ask.”

“Sure.” Dean nodded, and made his way out with his hands full of mail from home.

Dean made his rounds, dropping the mail off to his men. They eagerly tore open the envelopes, swallowing down the words they read. Some of them laughed, some of them had tears in their eyes.

He saw Bambi, sitting by the fire, his gaze fixed on the flames that were dancing, making his face light up in a warm glow. Looking at the fires reflection in his large eyes made Dean shift his weight, he decided that there was no time like the present to talk to Bambi. Talk about what happened on that day in the alley. Clear the air. He avoided it for too long already and hell, he still had to work with the guy. He wanted it out of the way. Dean wasn’t really a poster child for healthy communication, he knew that, but he was a leader in the damn war and he needed to act like one.

“Sir, anything else?” Harvelle asked eyeing Dean when he didn’t react to their questions. To be frank, he didn’t even realize they were talking to him.

Dean blinked. “Huh? No. As you were.”

The soldiers went on with their duties, some were cleaning their weapons, some opted to write back to their families and sweethearts.

“Bambi,” He approached the small private who still watched the flames and cupped a metal mug in his hand.

“Sir?” He was at attention immediately, like he’d being drilled in Basic, and then when Bambi looked at Dean, the small private grinned.

Dean put a hand on the private’s shoulder. “Everything ok?”

“Uh..Fine.” Bambi put down his coffee. “Just lost in thoughts, sir.”

It was almost funny, Dean thought. Bambi’d been lost in thoughts and Dean’d been lost in him.

He was curious what Bambi was thinking about. Was he thinking about what happened in the alley? Maybe he thought about it as much as Dean was? Because even if Dean didn’t want to think about it anymore, the last thing on his mind before he laid himself to sleep is of the private’s gentle lips and how they felt on his.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Dean asked him, squeezing his shoulder a little, and Bambi looked up to him. Bambi’s grin was gone, but he nodded. “Let’s take a walk.” Dean suggested and began to walk ahead.

Bambi caught up to him quickly, and was soon walking beside him, his hand in his pockets.

“You sure you alright?” Dean asked after a while as they took a turn into a street which was less busy. Abandoned and destroyed buildings left and right of them.

“Sir, I’m fine.”

I’m fine. Dean knew that saying. It meant that nothing was fine, but he’d take it and didn’t ask more.

Dean needed to be somewhere more private for him to talk to Bambi about what happened. He knew that he couldn’t risk someone eavesdropping on them, because the last thing he needed was being thrown into jail for being queer - which he was not.

He tried and opened up the next door he found that was still in its hinge and peeked inside. When he saw that it was clear, he opened up enough for Bambi to step in and Bambi did it without questioning him.

Bambi stood in the room, turning to face Dean as he closed the door behind him.

Dean took a step closer to the private. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he didn’t even know why. He felt blood rushing through his head and he couldn’t hear anything other than the drumming of his heart that, by the growing smirk on Bambi’s full lips, he assumed that Bambi could hear it too.

Dean cleared his throat before he spoke.

“Listen,” He started to say and took a deep breathe. Hell, he’d been practicing before. He had this whole speech prepared to tell to Bambi; had his words carefully arranged to tell the private that he was not queer and the kiss was a mistake and he didn’t mean to; but it seemed like now, his mind was blank.

“I’m listening, Lieutenant.” Bambi was still smirking. He didn’t wear a helmet for once. They didn’t have to around there, and Dean could see that the private’s hair was slowly growing out. It was sticking out a bit over his ears, and it looked really cute on him.

Dean shook his head. No, shit… he couldn’t think that the private was cute. Especially then. Not when he was supposed to be shutting it down.

Dean swallowed again. “I..uh.. I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”

“What did happen, Sir?” Bambi raised an eyebrow with a grin.

That stupid grin.

“Bambi, the kiss.” Dean hissed. Bambi was clearly fucking with him and Dean was slowly growing impatient.

“Oh, that…” The private had his lips in a tight line, his cheeks puffed out as if he’s trying to hold back a laughter.

“Look, I’m really not queer,” Heat rose up Dean’s neck and cheeks, his heart still beating fast and he thought, well, I’m really not? “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake… huh!” Bambi exhaled the huh empathetically, raising an eyebrow at Dean again, paired with a frown. “And there I thought that you were in love with me, Lieutenant.”

Dean gasped, his eyes widening. It felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs.

The private’s face turned red from holding in his laughter.

“Just kidding.” Bambi doubled over, laughing hard then. He gathered his breath and he looked at Dean smugly after he composed himself.

He exhaled and tried not to look into Bambi’s big doe eyes. Instead, he looked at Bambi’s boots. “We shouldn’t. It won’t happen again.”

“Sure,” Bambi shrugged nonchalantly and it drove Dean nuts. Why was the private shitting him? Did he not realize how serious it was? What was at stake?

Bambi was standing in the middle of the room, a wicked grin on his face and even though Dean said that it won’t happen again, all he could think about now was that he wanted it to happen again. He wanted to just grab the privates soft cheeks and smash his lips against Bambi’s pink and plum ones.

Dean balanced his weight from one foot to another. His ankle is doing much much better already.

“I’m really not… you know, interested… in men.” Dean muttered half heartedly, taking a step towards the small private to try to intimidate him.

“Me neither.” Bambi was still grinning very arrogantly, when he too, took a step towards Dean. Unfazed by Dean’s demeanor.

“But the kiss,” Dean began, as he took another step. All of a sudden his mouth felt too dry and he licked his lip deliberately.

“What kiss?” Bambi asked when he took another step and then the private echoed Dean’s lip licking and he flashed his teeth and fuck… Dean’s heart picked up speed. The private’s lips were slick and shiny and it looked more kissable than before.

“Bambi! Focus!” Dean was now so close to the small private and he could smell the coffee Bambi just drank a moment before when the private let out a deep breath.

“Oh..,” The private’s lips curled up into a grin. “You mean that kiss!” Bambi giggled and Dean really didn’t know how he should react to that until Bambi added “It was a nice kiss, sir.”

And if Dean was blushing before, he was a tomato now. He swallowed the lump that built up in his throat as he tried to form something coherent to say. Something he could come up with as an answer to that, but Dean’s brain failed him once more. It was a nice kiss. Before Dean even realized what he was doing, he scooped Bambi up into his arms and smashed his mouth against Bambi’s.

Bambi hooked his feet at Dean’s back and his arm around Dean’s neck, clinging to Dean and opened his mouth for Dean to lick into. He walked the couple of steps to the next wall and pushed Bambi against it while he kissed the private hungrily, his tongue tasting the familiar taste of burnt coffee. Bambi moaned into Dean’s mouth as he nibbled at Dean’s bottom lip with his sharp teeth.

The kiss was all tongue and teeth. Raw and sweet at the same time, and Dean groaned as Bambi sucked in his tongue, making him forgetting his own damn name.

Bambi cupped Dean’s cheek, his tongue pushing against the roof of Dean’s mouth and Dean ground his hips up, searching for friction the private would provide him, but then something was not right.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Pulling his face away from the private. His bulge would have met another bulge when he ground his hips up, but there was no resistance. Nothing. Nix.

Dean’s eye widened as he looked into those big eyes of Bambi. He was met by a stupid grin on the private’s face. “What the fuck?” Dean muttered out of breath, his forehead resting on Bambi’s as his gaze travel down between them.

Bambi giggled then and Dean started to blush more and more.

“Bambi, what’s going on? Where’s your fucking dick?” Dean can’t believe he would ever say a sentence like this in his life.

“Uh..I guess I left it back in Trenton, sir.” There was a cheeky wink and Dean didn’t know if he should punch the private or kiss Bambi stupid for that. He was confused and as of yet, undecided.

“What the fuck is going on? Are you… wait, no.” Dean shook his head, not sure what was going on and he was irritated to say the least.

“Come on, sir. You really didn’t notice? You’re a smart man. Come on now, show me that you can put two and two together.” Bambi cupped Dean’s cheek again, making Dean look at him. His brow furrowed but the private’s thumb painting circles on his scruff and strange enough, it calmed him down and put him at ease.

Dean searched his brain, trying to put two and two together.

“Fuck! No shit!”

There it was. The realization that hit him like a freight train and Bambi laughed at him now before she pecked his lips again, and Dean muttered underneath her lips. “How did you get in?”

“Lieutenant, you just have to know one thing,” She said, her eyes glistening in the dim light of the room as she winked at him and smiled ever so sweetly. “Never, ever, underestimated me.”

And then Dean rested his forehead back on hers and chuckled out a “Yes, Ma’am.” before he bumped their noses together.

Bambi kissed him again now, and this time, the kiss was different. It wasn’t laced with a weird feeling of doubt, fear and uncertainty anymore. It was more passionate, more sweet, demanding even. Dean broke the kiss just to be able to breath and look at her again. “Fuck, what are you doing to me?” He murmured, kissing her cheeks and down along her jaw to bury his face in the crook of her neck. “As much as I want to spend more time with you, Bambi, but I think we need to get back.”

Bambi giggled before Dean let her down. They’ve been away for too long and it’s close to dinner time. There would be another opportunity where they would have more time together, Dean was sure of that. Even if it would mean that Dean needed to convince Cas to double up sentry.

Dean tried to rearrange his combats to conceal the straining bulge that he wished he could act upon, before he looked at how she straighten her jacket. “But hey, I told you that I wasn’t queer, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, sure.” She laughed at him with a shrug, “Told ya I wasn’t queer either.”

Dean opened the door for her but pulled her back by her arm before she could step out and kissed her one last time. He couldn’t get enough of her, Dean knew that much and maybe it would be his downfall.

They talked on the way back to the campfire. No, of course she doesn’t want anyone to find out and she’ll rip Dean a new one should he tell it to anyone. Dean made a mental note of that, because he was sure that Bambi would be true to her words.

No, she doesn’t want for him to send her home. It’s not that he didn’t try to tell her that he could send her home with a lame excuse.

No, she doesn’t want special treatment, but she was glad that the secret was out so at least she had someone who knew why she might not want to do things with the others. She explained why she did it and her motives were sincere. Dean would have done the same if he was her. Hell, he was sure that he probably would. Knowing that Sam was out there and he had to sit at home because he was a damn girl? Nah, he would have done the same or at least he would have tried. He probably wouldn’t have come that far.

They parted and when she walked back to her friends, Dean watched her go. He was glad that he really wasn’t queer because damn, how could he tell Sam about that one. He was glad that he didn’t have to. But on the other hand, there was a new problem. Bambi was a freaking girl. A girl that he liked and fuck, he didn’t want to get attached during war, but he gets what he gets, right?

“And there was this broad, right? Fuck, her hips as wide as my shoulders,” Trenton was telling them about a conquest in England and they were all grinning, including Jamie. They all knew that Trenton was all talk, but they let him because his stories were amusing. Now, Jamie was there that night, and she knew exactly what happened but she kept mum.

Trenton went on, “Fucking child bearing hips, man, and all I thought was that I wanted to give her the children she deserved because those hips should have been illegal!”

“Cut the chase, Trenton! Did you?” Dopey was leaning closer to Trenton and Jamie could see that he was obviously on edge to know if Trenton did in fact, bed that broad. Maybe it was the lack of entertainment while they are awaiting to move out. Meaning, there was none. They kept each other entertained by telling stories and jokes and honestly, Jamie thought that she heard them all.

“Of course I did, man! Pumped her full. Maybe I’ll be a dad real soon!” Trenton chirped, a shit eating grin on his face.

There were cheers of oooohhhhh’s and uuuuhhh’s. And even though Jamie knew that it was a total lie, she kept it to herself. There was no way that she’s going to steal Trenton’s thunder. She’d let him shine. The war is though enough and hell, she didn’t even know if half of the stories of the others were accurate, so.

“What’s so funny?” Jamie knew that rough voice. It was Dean’s. She looked behind her to see him and Lieutenant Balthazar balancing trays of food. Gabriel and Castiel were still in line.

“Trenton is telling us about his baby mama he left back in England, sir.” Dopey shouted and smiled brightly at Trenton, but Trenton didn’t return the smile. He was a little embarrassed, and Jamie could tell that by the blush that started to spread on Trenton’s face.

“Is that so?” Balthazar chuckled, and instead of them going to another table where the other NCO’s of their company were sitting, Balthazar put his tray down next to Jamie. “I wanna hear all about it.” And they all scooched up to accommodate the Lieutenants and the ones who were still waiting in line.

Dean was sitting across of Balthazar and maybe Jamie just imagined it but he had a little smile on his face when their eyes met.

“Uh..sir, nothing really worth telling.” Trenton stammered a little. Sure thing was that he can tell the story to his mates, but for him, it was a whole other thing telling it to his superiors. Trenton didn’t know where the line was and he didn’t want to cross it and anger them.

Dean chuckled at that. “Come on, Trenton. Share it with the class!”

“Al-alright, but you asked for it, sir.”

Dean and Balthazar looked at each other, raising their eyebrows and shrugged before they turned their attention to Trenton and he began to tell them the story again.

Jamie didn’t listen. She had heard it too many times already.

At the end, they were all laughing again and she wondered if they were laughing to make Trenton feel better.

“Was that your first time?” Balthazar asked bluntly. He was like that. Balthazar always was a bit rude and a little straight forward. Jamie was glad that she wasn’t in his platoon.

“Balth,” Dean tried to defuse the situation, because everyone could see how uncomfortable Trenton was feeling.

Balthazar shrugged at Dean. “What? It was just a question. My god…”

“I think, with all due respect, sir. It’s none of your business.” Jamie jumped in and turned to look at Balthazar, now the shit eating grin was her face.

Balthazar was speechless for a moment and the distraction came in the forms of Lieutenants Gabriel and Novak who sat down at the table.

“I think Blum’s right, Balth,” Castiel took a bite from his food, “You’re being an asshole.”

Balthazar looked at Jamie, grinning back now. “You think I’m rude too, Bambi?”

“Balth,” Dean said again, this time, a little louder, a little stern and it made Balthazar blink a couple of times. Jamie knew that he was probably pissed that Dean jumped in.

“Yes, sir.” Jamie’s voice was calm.

Balthazar looked at her, and then he started to laugh, throwing his head back dramatically and everyone was just looking at him, waiting for him to calm himself down. She raised an eyebrow. She thought the behavior was weird because it really wasn’t funny.

As Jamie thought, it wouldn’t be long until Balthazar would pick on her again and she was right. He turned his attention back to her, “And you, Bambi? Did you ever get laid or are you going to die a virgin in this war?”

“Balth!” Dean stood up from his seat and smashed his fist on the table angrily, spilling some drinks on impact. The whole hall went quiet. “Shut the fuck up! If you want to shit on a platoon, do that to your own. These are my men and they deserve to be treated with some goddamn respect!”

Dean lowered himself back to his seat, as he let his words sink in, and Jamie grinned before she spoke with a steady voice. “With all due respect, sir, first of all, Bambi is the name that only Lieutenant Winchester and my platoon are allowed to call me. Second of all, sir, I’ve probably bedded more broads than you because I’m cute and you’re just an asshole.” She grinned wide and added “At least that’s what your mom said to me.”

The table was still and Balthazar gasped. Nobody dared to say a word until a laughter broke the silence. Novak, who knew Balthazar since they went to Kindergarten together had a laughing fit, snorting even signaling that it was safe for everyone else to join in.

Dean smiled at her, his green eyes glistening, silently telling her that she did good.

CHAPTER 8

#dear dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan ficiton #dean winchester x oc #dean wincester x ofc #dean x oc #dean x ofc #nathalie writes

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rpgmgames · 6 years ago

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August’s Featured Game: Shroom Soup

DEVELOPER(S): Shroomy ENGINE: RPGMaker 2000 GENRE: Adventure, RPG, Psychological Horror WARNINGS: listed here (may contain spoilers) SUMMARY: You play as Arnika, a gloomy teenage girl. Perpetually tired, you live off excessive sleep, lime juice, and instant soup. You look into the vortex forming in your cup of said soup, this time mushroom flavour. Next thing you know, you are in an entirely different world where everything, from buildings to people, is being devoured by fungi. It seems like you have no choice but to walk on... Your journey involves exploration, puzzle-solving and battles.

Download the demo here!

Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! Hello! I am Shroomy, and I still haven't figured out which one of my nicknames I should go by, but I use "uboaappears" for art and "toxic shroom swamp" for games. I have a bachelor's degree in biology since two weeks ago and like everything surreal, gory and gay. Nice to meet you. I have been in the community since about 2012, and that might be also when I first wanted to make a game - a Yume Nikki fangame, because YN brought me here. I messed around with the engine for a long time, and certain characters and ideas gradually mutated to whatever this is now.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create your game initially? *Shroomy: It's about making a cup of instant soup and accidentally going on a very weird adventure. ...Okay, actually, it's a coming-of-age story with an emphasis on mental health, relationships, and toxic flesh-eating mushrooms. The idea came to me when I made myself an instant soup once. For some reason, I thought it would be cool if there was a portal into another world in the cup. That's how it started. (I was also into drawing mushrooms growing on people at the time, so that naturally made its way into my Awesome Game Idea.)

How long have you been working on your project? *Shroomy: ...A while. It's enough to say that I graduated from both high school and university with it. But to be honest, I didn't really do much with it until about two years ago. Right now I tend to think of the time before that as trial and error, playing around with ideas and learning to use the engine. I feel a little self-conscious about how long it took me to come up with a coherent story, but that might be a good thing. Since this is quite a personal game, it helped to grow as a person. I think it made for a more interesting and mature work than it would be otherwise.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *Shroomy: I feel like I take little bits of inspirations from everything. But I'd say Yume Nikki and Re:Kinder were the biggest game influences. Maybe Hello Charlotte, too - the minimalistic world gave me some food for thought :> Design-wise, I think my current (character) style is a lovechild of Danganronpa, Killing Stalking and something else I am not sure about. Maybe just me.

Have you come across any challenges during development? How have you overcome or worked around them? *Shroomy: I think the biggest challenges for me have always been centered around the lack of free time, the lack of energy or the lack of motivation. Some people manage to juggle life and gamedev, but I get exhausted really easily, so it's hard. This is an ongoing issue. I tend to try and free up a day just for relaxing and creative stuff. I've also started using the Forest app for focusing on things, and sometimes use it for gamedev as well. At the beginning I found it frustrating that my skills (in pixel art, for example) didn't match what I wanted to create. That one was improved by - you guessed it - making a lot of pixel art. Making and scrapping a bunch of tilesets for the game. It's as simple as practice and learning how to get the most out of your art program. (It also helps me to make a detailed sketch of a map before I start working, or at least brainstorm the main elements of it.) Another challenge was the incoherence of the story. Originally I wanted to make something really vague and open to interpretation, but... that actually didn't give me enough material to work with. In the end, I played around with the characters, tried to write them some backstories that no one was going to see, and somehow ended up with an actual plot..? Shocking, I know! And the final thing is putting gameplay into the game. To be honest, the puzzles in the demo were pretty random on my side, I just thought them up on the spot. In subsequent locations I tried to make them relevant to the game's themes and/or hint towards the story.

Have any aspects of your project changed over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *Shroomy: For one thing, the current project has a story and a plan, even if the story is presented in quite an obfuscated way. The original concept was not much more than an idea of a shroomy world. The characters also have a lot more depth and pain to them than they used to. The locations have changed a lot as well, to the point where most of the original ones don't exist anymore.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *Shroomy: My team is mostly just me. At the beginning it was a young and naive me, and now we have a slightly older and better-at-art me. After I started my dev blog, I was contacted by Tommuel, who now helps me with sound design and music. And my old friend Robin has made a few NPC sprites for me, and might give a hand with more pixel art in the future. They're not really involved with other aspects of development, but I really appreciate their help anyway! I prefer to keep most of this game to myself - it feels too personal to share, plus I'm a bit of a perfectionist.

What is the best part of developing the game? *Shroomy: I would say it's putting my work out there and sharing it with the world. I'm also really proud of how much I've grown as an artist and writer through developing this. I got attached to this story and this world, with all of its fun, weird and sad details. It's also been really fun, amazing even, to get to know other devs and make friends through being part of this interesting and creative community. I owe some wonderful friendships to it.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *Shroomy: I definitely play other games for inspiration, it helps me a lot. Though I try not to make things "just like" other games, but make it a transformative learning experience instead.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *Shroomy: I feel like I have been through stages. At first I was Arnika, then Lina, now I feel like I'm turning into Arthur. I guess I put my traits into all of them. (Does that mean that Bernard is the next stage? I'm /so/ ready to transcend humanity, finally learn how to do maths and become everyone's favourite character.)

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *Shroomy: I think the biggest mistake I made was jumping straight into making a game without thinking it through or considering the scope. In the end, the lack of planning set me back a lot. Admittedly, I was young and excitable, so I guess it was a learning experience? I didn't really know how to write stories or plan long-term projects, but over time, I somehow built up those skills. I think it's good to have a clear-ish idea of what you want to make before you start, and maybe start with something small. (So basically, do the opposite of what I did.)

Once you finish your project, do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *Shroomy: Aha. Actually, yes. I have accidentally started writing two sequels already. They will be small games focusing on other characters' perspectives (as opposed to Arnika). I'm not actually touching them yet though, only making some notes and writing scripts. Perhaps by the time the first game is released I'll have enough material to comfortably work on them.

What do you look most forward to upon/after release? *Shroomy: Fan reaction, I think? To be honest, I'm not really sure. I think I'll just be enjoying the incredible dopamine rush after finally setting this child of mine free to explore the world and infect people's brains with all the shroomy memes it contains. (Also will probably get off the internet for about a week from the anxiety.) Then maybe being free to work on other things, indeed. And posting spoilery concept art >:D

Is there something you’re afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *Shroomy: I am a little worried about the reception of the game's subject matter. If you looked at the list of warnings, you might have an idea what I mean. Sometimes it feels dangerous to explore certain themes in your stories, because people misinterpret depicting something bad as promoting it, for example. But that's why that list exists. I'm just going to let people know straight away that I explore dark themes in this project and I'm not going to hold back on how I do it. Creativity should flow freely, I think. (I am also a little worried about the ratio of my free time vs. gamedev time and /when/ I will finally be able to release it, but... Thankfully, I'm the one in charge of that.)

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *Shroomy: Take some time to make a plan for your project, start small, fail faster, and aim for something finished before you aim for perfect. Make a system for organising your files. Back up often, and on a different drive/cloud than your game is on, preferably several. Most of all, make something you would love to play! And don't be too hard on yourself.

Question from last month's featured dev @blackcrystalsrpg: What are your game dev pet peeves?? *Shroomy: I dislike the fact that sometimes I want to have made a game more than I want to make a game, but to have made a game you need to go and make the game. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But there's no escape from fate, so... go, go and make that game happen!

We mods would like to thank Shroomy for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Shroom Soup if you haven’t already! See you next month!

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpgmaker #indie games #pixel games #rpg maker #rpg maker 2000 #shroom soup #gotm #game of the month #gotm august #august 2018 #august #2018 #interview #game making #game dev

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missytearex · 6 years ago

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Hi! So I’m combining my October and November favourites here, as I never made a post for last month! Oops. Anyway, I’ve started making fic boards! I’ll link to those throughout. Here you go!

Larry

Boiling Blood Will Circulate by whoknows | @crazyupsetter (42k)

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

deleted your number (so i can't call you) by tofiveohfive | @tofiveohfive (9k)

Harry wakes up to a voicemail.

It’s Saturday morning and it’s raining, a barely there drizzle. He sees the notification as soon as he picks up his phone from the bedside table, bleary eyes making it hard to distinguish the words. He’s got a few instagram mentions, a couple unread texts, but what really stands out is the “Missed Call and Voicemail”.

From Louis.

Or the ten hours before Harry comes home to Louis, and the five hours after he does.

Lilo

don't you hear me howling by theamazingpeterparker (13k) - [my board]

Liam turns and looks at him for a while. A scruffy, sleep-warm Louis Tomlinson curled up in a Star Wars blanket, asking what’s for breakfast after a night of running around the upstate forests. Werewolf or not, Liam had almost forgotten what a goddamn menace Louis Tomlinson was.

Louis has seen An American Werewolf in London enough times to know that city living isn't an ideal lifestyle for a new werewolf. He moves back home to find that Liam never left.

i'm never gonna fall (but i'm never hard to catch) by carissima (5k) - [my board]

TFLN: we were supposed to fuck one time, but ended up fucking for 2 years

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” he mutters, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Liam’s boxers and shoving them down past his knees. He’s inordinately pleased to find Liam’s dick is just as nice as he remembers. He curls his hand around him and hums happily as Liam fattens in his grip. “You know that, right? Who cooks breakfast for their one night stand? And then washes up afterwards? I feel like I should send your mum a thank you note or something for raising such a polite young man.”

“God please don’t,” Liam says fervently.

Lirry

the stars look very different today by colourexplosion | @jessimond (5k)

Harry's an alien who blogs about aliens. Liam's a human. Or is he?

an AU

Narry

just a little rush, babe by theamazingpeterparker (10k) - [my board]

“You know everything they say about Dracula? All that stuff I wrote in my paper?” Niall asks as he rips one of the glazed donuts in half. Harry hums. “It’s all bullshit. Real vampires do tomato juice cleanses and do yoga. Fuck.”

Harry's a vampire who's awful at parallel parking, being scary, and being alone. He meets Niall walking home alone one night.

Niam

Building Castles in the Air by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (10k) - [my board]

Liam is overwhelmed by his bootcamp roommate, who is loud and friendly and so totally up-front about what he wants out of this competition.

"I plan on winning," Niall says, twenty seconds after introducing himself, slinging his duffel bag down on his bed. "Touring. Playing my guitar, you know. Selling albums. Maybe working with Justin Bieber, if I'm lucky."

Lately I've Been Taken In by el_em_en_oh_pee | @dulosis (53k) - [my board]

Niall is the youngest in family of vampire hunters that extends back, generation after generation, for the thousands of years since St. Patrick brought vampires to Ireland to get rid of all the snakes. He's been well-trained in the fine art of slaying practically his whole life, racking up over eighty kills by the time he leaves the motherland to join a boyband.

His new bandmate, Liam, swears up and down that he’s not a vampire. But Niall’s senses never lie.

Nouis

Ask If You Know The Answer by disarm_d | @onedisarmed (4k)

It takes them longer than it should to realize that something is up. Telepathy.

Zarry

baby I'll never leave if you keep holding me this way by estrella30 (10k)

“Does he have your mark?” his mum asks. Zayn shakes his head. He’d looked at Harry’s wrist explicitly for the edgings of Zayn’s family crest but couldn’t find anything. Not that that means Harry’s not the one; it might need a touch or connection to come to the surface. Zayn’s not sure he wants to find out though. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to know for certain.

“Ah, well. It could be coming,” she adds, and Zayn shrugs. She’s silent for another moment, before quietly adding, “You could pick him, you know.” She sounds thoughtful, distant even. Zayn wonders what she’s thinking about, what she’s remembering. “If you want to that is. I know you’ve not been looking for your mate Zayn, but maybe this was what you needed. Maybe you needed your mate to find you.”

or - Zayn is an immortal modern times non evil sexual incubus who is reluctant to find his mate. And then he meets Harry.

Ziall

our names are written with starlight by softzindagi | @softzindagi (7k) - my board

After four years of failed attempts, Niall is still hopelessly single with no match to his soulmark in sight. But just because he can’t find his soulmate, doesn’t mean he can’t find love.

Got fire for a heart, i'm not scared of the dark by geewhizmo | @sleepymouses (45k)

“I dunno,” Zayn mutters. “I just think you’re much more in the business of flying than falling, y’know?”

That’s not entirely true, Niall thinks. I’m falling for you, aren’t I?

Niall leaves home for the first time and moves to a big city. There, he meets a group of people who will shape the course of the rest of his life. He tries (and fails) not to fall in love with one of them.

Also, they all have superpowers.

Ziam

Heart of Stone, Life of Fire by SoftlyandSwiftly (96k) - [my board]

A war with the city of Banshia and its conquering King threatens all of the Cities on the continent of Kiza. Young Zayn Malik finds himself hopelessly entangled in the web of the war, his future rewritten in the span of a morning as allies and enemies shift. Traded for the promise of an ally, Zayn finds himself among the warrior tribes of the Nakizi people, where he must carve out his own place and take his fate into his own hands.

For All the Stars We Cannot See by iambluehead | @iambluehead (30k)

Zayn grins sheepishly, the light hitting his face and making him squint, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag and his other hand rubbing at the back of his neck, a habit of Liam’s own that he recognizes on the other boy. “Yeah,” he finally says. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yeah,” Liam says, letting out the breath that he’d been holding in his lungs until it burned. “Yeah, see you then.” The door slams shut, and Liam watches him walk up to his front door, wondering what would have happened if in that moment, he would have just leaned forward and— “The boy’s in bloody love with you,” Louis says bluntly, pulling away from the house and slamming around a corner at the speed of light. “You should get over your fear of everything and just kiss him already.”

(This is the high school AU where Liam plays football and is afraid of failure until someone puts Zayn in his life and he learns to be brave. There’s music Liam’s never heard of, eventful rides home from school, and drunken toasts to the stars they can’t see from Wolverhampton.)

Zouis

all the stars were crashing by sarcangel | @sarcathlon (25k)

“We should practice,” Louis says. He’s got a faraway look in his eye that doesn’t bode well for anyone, based on Zayn’s newly-formed knowledge of Louis. “Find a place, set up a schedule, all that.”

“What?” Zayn says, not sure where the conversation is exactly headed anymore.

“You know, in a movie - like, this would be our montage sequence,” Louis says, hands everywhere, gesturing wildly. “There’d be some song playing in the background while we spar and gain strength and -”

(and lick sweat off of each other’s necks, Zayn thinks, and then you knock me to the floor and lay on me and)

“Yeah, that’d be sick,” Zayn says, instead, not knowing if he’s more surprised that anything coherent comes out of his mouth or that he’s actually agreed to Louis’ awful plan.

In A Small Town I Saw You by zouee | @louiswmalik (153k)

Zayn nods a few times, judging whether or not he should just fucking spit it out. He should rip off the band-aid, jump into the cold water, throw this earth-sized weight off his shoulders and look Louis in the eye. “You should’ve remembered me.” He feels like saying. “I’m the reason you couldn’t.”

Zayn Malik spends the past eighteen months alone - using whoever and whatever he can to take his mind off of the one person he regrets leaving - and it’s not until he finds himself residing in a small town called Hillside when he finally remembers what peace feels like. Louis Tomlinson spends the past eighteen months surrounded by people - he’s coddled, fawned over, and most sickeningly; sympathised with - until he finally breaks away from the suffocation and finds himself face to face with someone who instantly hates him. Cue: endless angst, devastation, pathetic pining and Disney references mixed together in a pot full of misunderstandings and one-sided memories. The end result is ghastly. Proceed with caution.

Gryles

hold this thread by disgruntledkittenface | @disgruntledkittenface (26k)

The air is heavy between them as they both watch Nick’s clumsy fingers mend the fabric. It must only take a minute, but it feels like ages. Beads of sweat form on Nick’s forehead and he can’t tell if it’s from the panic of the moment or the way the man seems to be waiting for something. He’s done a bad job of it, but finally the hem is stitched up. Nick loops the end of the thread and can’t stop himself from lightly poking the man’s skin again, next to the dark ink smudged on his hip that Nick is currently dying to ogle in full, just to… see.

The man shudders this time and luckily Nick is still looking down or he would have missed the man’s cock very clearly twitch in his bloody loose trousers.

Fucking hell.

On his way to visit Henry getting ready for his London Fashion Week show, Nick bumps into a (stupidly pretty) model and pulls a loose thread on the sample he’s wearing. Horrified, Nick tries to mend the simple mistake, but it may just unravel into the best thing that ever could have happened to him.

Tomlinshaw

Lost and Found by shiftylinguini | @shiftylinguini, Writcraft | @writsgrimmyblog (31k)

In a year when things are coming to an end for Nick, an unexpected chapter begins at the start of a long, hot summer.

An accidental romance in Malta. Featuring Annie on the decks, Nick and Louis below deck, a handful of bad nautical puns and weather that's far too hot for trackies.

OT5

The Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous (Volume One) by sunsetmog | @magicalrocketships (5k) - [my board]

Sometimes trying to pass for human is hard. Monthly meetings of the Youth Branch of Magical and Fairy Tale Creatures and Beings Anonymous offers them the chance to be themselves, have an agenda, and work on some life goals. Just so long as Zayn can stop asking people to marry him after just one kiss, Harry can turn his Veela powers down, Louis can stop pre-emptively trying to usurp the god of mischief, and Niall can stop turning things into scythes. Liam just wants some orange squash and a biscuit.

steal my heart tonight by ThankYouMerlin | @thankyoumerlin (40k)

Niall rips off his ski mask, it was cliche and stupid (and totally Harry’s idea) anyway. “This is my mission.”

“We know,” Liam says, pulling his own mask off. Niall thinks they’re all wrapped a bit too much around Harry’s finger, maybe. “We just like watching you work.”

or,

An OT5 international thieves AU that contains very little actual stealing because I have no idea how to break into vaults in real life and lots of friendship and feelings from five boys in love.

Lilourry

only because you know (that you wanna feel the same) by words_unravel (34k) - [my board]

Liam may be able to catch glimpses of the future, but he never saw this coming.

Shiall

After All, You're My Wonderwall by alienharry | @aceniall (7k)

Guitar Prick: best eagles song, hands down, is peaceful easy feeling. they knew their stuff.

And Niall can't hold in his outrage. He's pissed. The Eagles are his thing, and how dare Shawn think he can message Niall, only nineteen years or so of experience under his belt, and shove his shitty musical concepts and overall terrible taste in Niall's face.

Niall: victim of love is clearly their best song. ya really ought to get your head out of your ass and educate yourself before running your mouth lad.

Niall's used to being the center of attention, so when a bright, musical boy with a charming smile starts routinely stealing his spotlight, he decides then and there to do everything in power to put an end to it.

#monthly favourites #fic rec #my recs #one direction #my lists

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therewillalwaysbeapril · 5 years ago

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Chapter 4: Sixteen Hours

6:30 AM The alarm rang abruptly in the stillness of the morning, a rude shrill noise, splintering our warm, nocturnal embrace and throwing us both into the coldness of the day.

“April, we gotta get up”, I said, mumbling as I shook off the last remnants of sleep. She groaned softly, rolling over and pulling the covers away. “Hey, get up. Geee-tta UGH-PUUUU! Get TU DA CHOPPAH!” I did my terrible Arnold Schwarzenegger impression loudly and poorly, adding in a loud grunt for full effect.

“Argh, I need muh clothes, my boots, my motorcykalll”, she said, in the same bad Austrian accent without opening her eyes. “Come ONN, do it. Do it Nah-OW!”

Stumbling out of bed, vision still blurry, and nearly tripping over the corner of the blanket now fallen to the floor, I reached over and grabbed from the basket the first item of clothing on the pile of clean laundry that we neglected to fold from the previous night. I pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and felt around for a bra. I threw both toward the bed as I made my way to the bathroom. April put on her top as she stood up. Hair a mess and eyes barely open, April exuded a dreamy, other-worldly quality as she floated from the bed to the sink wearing the dark red floral patterned shirt dress I had bought for her the weekend before. I blow dried my hair into a more presentable state and shaved as she washed her face and finished combing her hair.

I packed April’s belongings into her backpack for her, the both of us hurrying downstairs to my car. After stopping by a McDonald’s drive-thru on the way, we ate Egg McMuffins sitting in the early traffic heading toward Downtown LA. I looked at her as she opened a ketchup packet.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” she said, laughing as she carefully squirted the ketchup onto her hashbrown.

Briskly walking up the parking lot escalators and half-skipping across Pershing Square, April got to the bus stop just in time as the vehicle screeched to a halt. “WESTWOOD/SANTA MONICA” said the display. A quick kiss goodbye and she was off to class.

8:00 AM The office was dark as I stepped out of the elevator. Walking toward my desk, I was greeted by lights flickering on as motion sensors began to stir. Fresh cup of coffee in hand, I left the kitchen for the far side of the floor toward my favorite viewing spot.

The Los Angeles morning was peaceful when viewed from high above. Cars moved slowly down Broadway; I could hear their distant honking noises in the early rush hour. Construction workers below near Third Street walked carrying their equipment, passing by the shops just beginning to open in Grand Central Market. From my hawk’s nest I saw a cyclist zipping down Grand Avenue past the Museum of Contemporary Art, in front of which a food truck was beginning to set up shop. My breath and the steam from my coffee fogged the glass as I stepped closer to look at the crowd of people gathering by the Broad. The early light bathed my city in a warm amber glow, thawing its sleepy commuters as a new workday began. Flecks of gold and saffron twinkled as the dawn bounced from the stirring skyscrapers and automobiles, blinding me. I, too, was beginning to wake as I finished my coffee.

With my headphones on, back at my desk, I continued sketching out the wireframe concepts from the day before. Wireframes are the foundation of plotting out designs for interactive products such as apps and websites. They are a high level way of designing ways in which someone can use a product and the organization for which types of information and interaction appears on which screen, before a designer has to focus on the finer details such as animations, visual appearances, and the style of smaller items such as buttons. Even though the other designers created wireframes in programs I was also familiar with such as Adobe XD or Sketch, I always took great care in sketching out early ideas neatly on paper. I felt there was a purity in shaping ideas away from a computer, a kind of humility in making things with my hands.

8:30 AM The office is still dim as I make myself a second cup of coffee. This was one of those sluggish days; I felt slow to start, and was glad to still be the only person in the office. There was less pressure this way. I returned to my desk and cleaned up my lines with an eraser, reinforcing others with a Sharpie. Boxes with crisscrosses represented images, various other shapes representing icons and call-to-actions. Simple line patterns signified text, clearly showing the underlying grid to the layout. Adding final touches, I drew an outline of an iPhone over all of the screens before using a green colored pen to create the markings that showed how a user interacted and navigated from screen to screen. I felt pride for the cleanliness of my draft, as I never knew whether the second draft in the computer would be made by myself or a different designer. Finished, and satisfied with my work, I walked over to the simple Kanban board on the far wall and moved the task’s corresponding post-it note from the column labeled “in work” to the column labeled “done”.

Aside from a few coworkers from accounting, the floor was still mostly deserted. Sitting back and listening to the rest of Bach’s Goldberg Variations on my headphones, I fidgeted at my desk for a while. Impatient, I walked back over to the job board and grabbed one of the tasks from the column labeled “backlog” and moved it to “in work”. This should keep me occupied, I thought.

10:00 AM Standup was always kind of fun. Normally I have always preferred to work alone, with headphones on, lost in thought as I built designs and mockups, in an almost-meditative state of flow. However, I liked my coworkers very much, and it was also nice to see everyone at the beginning of the day and update one another on our work progress in the morning as we created the pieces of our product together. I enjoyed this kind of organized interaction that afforded me boundaries and space to create.

<Walalala..>, texted April. It was her way of greeting. Warm and cheerful, albeit at times a little silly, it was a greeting that I had come to love. It would also be a salutation I would receive less and less over time until I would not see it at all. <What you doing?>, she added.

<Lol. You should pay attention! I’m pretty tired too. I don’t think I woke up yet>

<Haha, I miss you a little too.>

<Pfft, you still need me to remind you?>

<Ha, you should pay attention in class. Your mom will kill me if you fail because of me>

11:00 AM Sketches spread out on the table before me, I began to create the second round of digital wireframes. As much as I enjoyed sketching, this step was also one of my favorite things to do. The useful aspect having hand sketches was their looseness — from a high level perspective, during this stage there were still so many possibilities. Creating the first digital wireframe versions, despite their inherent roughness, narrowed down those possibilities. To do so felt like taking a camera lens and turning it slowly into focus. At this stage, it was not a crisp focus, but much more recognizable as a coherent direction. The process was therapeutic as it was methodical; moving through it step by step, there was room to make improvements on the fly, perfecting each idea. However, today, my process of refinement would be interrupted by a different task.

There needed to be a version of our project for a new client, said marketing. A simple mockup of our app must be made in the style of our new client, a baseball team. The refinement of the new screen designs would have to wait. Grumbling to myself a little, I closed the program and neatly piled the sketches into my drawer.

<Heyyy, why u ignoring me?>

<Sorry, some other stuff came up at work>

<I’m sorry. Would you feel better if you ate something? What are you gonna get for lunch?>

<Expensive grass, haha>. “Expensive grass” was April’s name for salad. They always cost more than they should, she would remark.

<btw…>

<what’s wrong?> Nothing good ever happened when April said “by the way”.

<We’re not breaking up. We can make this work>

12:00 PM It is lunchtime. Mood now sour, I didn’t feel like leaving the building. After informing my deskmates that I was taking my lunch break, I grabbed a stale bagel from the kitchen and microwaved it with a slice of cheese. Taking that and a diet soda from the fridge, I returned to my viewing corner.

We had only recently moved into the forty fourth floor of the building from six floors above. The company had now grown bigger and the fiftieth floor was not enough space. However, it was only the design, marketing, and accounting teams on this floor, leaving most of it empty. In fact, we only occupied one corner, leaving the other three quiet and deserted. I enjoyed taking walks around the empty areas, sometimes even bringing my cello to work and practicing in one of the empty rooms during breaks. Today though, I only wanted to look outside and think.

Now midday there was visible smog in the Los Angeles air. Protestors were forming on Grand Avenue. I looked closer, curious as to the reason for this group. I could not make out the writing on their signs. A car accident was visible further down on the 2nd Street intersection, blocking it off. The authorities closed off one of the lanes, backing up traffic. A bus awkwardly took up both lanes as it attempted to merge into the available space. An adjacent driver made a rude hand gesture out of his window. I sighed, feeling exhausted as I learned against the wall near the window. I sat on the floor as I drank my soda and looked out of the floor to ceiling window, thinking. The conversation I thought of was not with April, but one with someone else, from a different day, in a different language.

•••

<Yeah, I took her to the airplane museum the other day.>

<Well, she kept asking me to stay over, and then I had to stay with her after she crashed her car. Lately though, she tells me she just doesn’t like it when I’m away. It feels weird, but I’m really happy with her and I love her, so I guess I’m not complaining. She’s been coming to work with me and taking the bus to school too>

<Hey, you should pace yourself. All couples need their space from time to time.>

<Maybe? Sometimes I go to work and five minutes after I leave she texts me that she misses me. I think she’s very sweet.>

<Okay, I’m just looking out for you. What if she turns out to be one of those possessive types?>

<Hey! I knew it!! Is that why you didn’t answer any of my calls or texts last winter in China?>

<Sorry. I guess it’s just weird, what happened between us.>

<Well, nothing happened between us!>

<I know! Well, I don’t know. You are one of my best friends, and what happened affected me very deeply. It may have been nothing to you, but it was definitely something to me.

<I’m sorry about that. I really am. I was as confused as you too. I never meant to be cruel. I hurt you, and I ended up hurting myself too.>

<I’m glad we’ve moved past it and we’re still friends>

<Yes, I remember. And I will keep my word. I just need to figure this out. She’ll come around eventually. I really think the two of you would become great friends.>

<Well, you gotta figure it out eventually, because this is just awkward what you’re doing>

•••

1:00 PM I snapped back to reality as my phone alarm went off. It was time to go back to work.

The caffeine was beginning to wear off. Still debating whether or not I should have a third cup of coffee, I flipped through the Android Material Design Guidelines online, pondering what visual branding treatments were acceptable within Google’s design parameters. Writing down the correct color hex values on a notepad, I began to change colors on app elements in Photoshop, reskinning the interface. The phone beeped again, as another text message arrived from April.

<I’m sorry. I want to stay with you too. But I’m so worried>

<About what?>, I answered.

<Yeah, but what if we DO break up eventually? You’re not a doctor and I’m supposed to marry a doctor.>

I stopped working. Taking off my glasses, I sat back in my chair, rubbing my forehead. I was getting very tired.

, I texted back.

<There’s nothing wrong with what I do. I am a designer and I’m good at it. I make a decent salary and I like my life>

<It’s different>

<Well that’s just your viewpoint. We’re just different, I guess>. I saved my work and walked to an empty conference room.

<Why do you even love me?>, I texted. My thumbs began to sweat. Typing was becoming difficult.

<I’m getting back to work>

I stomped back to my desk, angrily chucking my empty soda can into a nearby wastepaper basket. A couple of coworkers stared.

3:00 PM For the next two hours, I tried my best to focus on creating more animations. More interactions. I compared the mockups I made against the Android and Apple guidelines. So far, so good. Sending the finished mockups back to marketing, I went back to the kitchen and made myself the third cup of coffee.

I chugged the hot beverage, nearly searing my throat. I went back to designing the wireframes. There were only three hours left in the workday, and I originally wanted to have had this perfected at the end of the day.

<Are you done with class yet?>. There was no answer from April.

Frustrated, I placed my phone face down on the table and returned to the designs. These have to get done, I thought. So little time. Fuming, I angrily threw the boxes together on the computer screen, connecting the button hotspots together as violently as someone could inside a digital space.

“Hey are you ok?”. It was Julie, who sat across from me behind my monitor. “I can hear you breathing from here”

“I’m fine”, I said. I sat back in my chair and looked at what I’ve made. It was sloppy and nowhere near the level of detail that I have been known for around the office.

“Take a break man. I just got an email that we have until the end of the week for these screens now”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. You can just chill”

“I think I’m gonna take a walk then.”

4:00 PM I looked at my watch as I waited in the elevator. Who does she think she is, I thought. So what if I’m not a doctor? Life can’t only be about status. I was so mad. That is such a shallow way of thinking! And it wasn’t me who started all this. I was just minding my own business working. She was the one who had to bring up Taiwan, and her parents’ crazy expectations for who she should be dating.

I walked outside briskly in the shade of the tall buildings. It was much louder now that I left the lobby. A street performer was beating a drum across the intersection. A crazy person was yelling about the end of times on the other corner. Good. Noisy enough that no one could see how angry I was.

And I hated the way she texted. How am I supposed to always be at her beck and call? I have a job to do; I can’t be there to simply answer every time she worries about crazy hypotheticals. I was doing fine today, I should’ve simply not answered. And now that she’s finished ruining my day, she’s stopped texting and has gone back to whatever she’s doing leaving me to pick up the pieces. Every single month, we have to have some fight about something completely stupid like this. Every single month —

Oh.

April had complained about being tired. April had experienced stomach pains during class. I counted the days since the last time I remembered similar complaints. There were many things I remembered for her. April could be so forgetful.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight….”, I counted in my head. I knew what she was going to need.

I stopped at the Rite Aid on 5th and Broadway. Quickly making my way through the aisles, I picked up a pack of Ibuprofen, a box of what appeared to be feminine pads, and a bottle of water. The cashier handed me the items in a paper bag after I made my purchase. Strolling further south, I began to think about what transpired.

Did she really mean all that she said? Perhaps a deeper question was, WHICH of what she said did she actually mean? You can’t tell someone you love them for who they are but also want to change them, I thought. Girls just say crazy things during their time of month right? I checked my phone.

Still no answer.

This is bad, I thought. Perhaps I was too harsh. Her car is in working condition. She chose to take the bus because she genuinely wanted to spend time with me. And now she’s probably on the bus home, in pain. All for me. I’m such a jerk, I thought.

Ducking into Bottega Louie on 7th, I bought a box of half dozen French macarons. They were rather pricey, but came in a beautiful box and were, I had heard, delicious. The small rigid box was not unlike jewelry packaging, with beautiful calligraphy and gold speckles dotted throughout its powder purple surface. It was a small gift that was sure to brighten up anyone who was having a less than perfect day.

6:30 PM The workday was now over as I closed my work laptop and packed away my things. The bus from UCLA arrived as I waited on a bench in Pershing Square.

“Hey what took you so long?”, I asked as I took April’s bag from her.

“I had the most horrible day!” she said.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I sounded so mean—

“No, not you! My period started and I forgot to bring pads so I had to use tissues. And my phone died, and then the bus had to take a detour. So I needed to get off and wait for another bus, but I couldn’t use Google Maps and I’m so tired and I just want something to eat”

“Well, first things first I guess”

I handed her the box of macarons and discreetly showed her what was in the paper bag. “Let’s find a bathroom,” I said.

She looked into the paper bag. She looked at me. She started giggling, the happiest I’ve seen her all week.

“What? What is it?”

“Have you never bought pads before?”

“Well, no, but I figured you needed them. Was I right?”

“Those are panty liners, not pads!”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, I’ll be alright. Cmon, let’s eat”

•••

8:30 PM After April had a chance to change, I took her to a nearby Hong Kong styled cafe. It would be nice to have some porridge, she said.

As we sat down and waited for our food, by reflex I folded April’s chopstick wrapper into an origami chopstick stand, as I have always done since our first date. I looked out the window into the dark.

The San Gabriel traffic outside was a lot calmer compared to the city. It was quiet and I could just make out the sounds of crickets. A high school couple walked out of the boba shop across the street, laughing to themselves, carefree. An elderly man picked out a newspaper from a box near the entrance. I felt a soft caress on my forearm.

April handed me a crudely folded flower made from a chopstick holder.

“I’m sorry about today. I keep forgetting how to fold that fancy origami, but I want to thank you for taking care of me.”

She smiled the familiar funny smile.

•••

9:30 PM As we walked in the darkness at a nearby park, digesting our meal, I stayed quiet. How can I make all nights like tonight?, I thought. Is there really an expiration date to our happiness?

Perhaps reading my mind, April said, “I don’t know what we’ll do if I really have to leave…”

I looked at her and kissed her forehead.

“Whatever”, she added. “If I have to go back to Taiwan, I guess I’ll just get another boyfriend, and it’ll be a doctor this time! HA HA!”

I did not laugh.

I let go of her hand and walked a few paces ahead, sullen.

“I’m kidding!” April grabbed my arm. “I really do love you, alright?”

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pursuingtheplanet · 7 years ago

Text

June - What to do now that I’ve finished University...

So…I’ve got a degree. After three years of hunched over reading, achy wrists from typing, and staring at a laptop screen for hours every day researching, I have finally earnt a 2:1 BA Hons in English Literature. Not bad, but obviously the key question now is “What next?” I’ve found that this question has overshadowed my latest educational experience throughout:

Me: I’m at university doing an English degree

Everyone else: Oh right. And what are you going to do with it?

The question has plagued me for the past three years, but it only feels real now that I’m officially finished. No “Oh, well, I’ve still got another year left to think things over”. That’s it, I’m done; I have to answer that dreaded question now. And the absolute truth is that I have absolutely no idea.

Well, that’s not strictly true: I don’t believe anyone doesn’t want to do anything, especially graduates of the 21st Century. We risk too much financially to just go to university “for the lolz”. Everyone has something that they want to do, something that they think could maybe be their ‘thing’, it just depends on whether they can do it or not. I realised mine towards the end of university amidst the chaos of writing my dissertation: while most people went home for the Easter break and didn’t come back until just before the dreaded deadline, I nipped home, earnt some much needed money, and then came back, spending four weeks straight glued to my laptop as I tried to write the bloody thing in coherent prose, along with another essay that was due a few days before it. There are some of you that may applaud my discipline and productivity, and there are others that’ll think I’m insane. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a coffee-induced month of research and typing 24/7; I’d been researching and close reading for four months. Unfortunately detailed bullet points, no matter how cleverly colour-coded, weren’t acceptable for submission. But while I was trying to create a comprehensible argument in the space of 8000 words, I found out that one of my friends was doing an internship for a travel publishing house. An old passion of mine immediately flared up.

I’d first come across travel writing at A-Level, studying Lonely Planet’s A House Somewhere. I’d been lucky enough to go on a once in a lifetime trip to China just beforehand with my college, and one of the stories we looked at was a British man who’d moved to China to teach. I really found his account entertaining, identifying with the problems he encountered due to the differences in culture. So when I had the chance to write a small travel piece the following year for a creative writing course, I leapt at it. We had to write three pieces in total, all different, for our teacher to then select the best two for submission. My piece on my trip to China didn’t make the cut, being too broad and rushed. I’d tried to cram my whole trip into 1000 words and it just didn’t work. While my poetry and short story were graded very well, I still felt disappointed and became convinced that it wasn’t the career for me.

I did take something away from that story though: during my summer breaks from university, I looked into teaching English abroad as a foreign language. I volunteered as a teaching assistant in a summer school for Chinese children, and then finally got round to completing a 120 hr TEFL qualification last year. I’d already decided after my trip to China that I wanted to travel, either for a year after uni to then come home and find something, or to try and make a career out of it. I convinced myself that TEFL was the way to go. I could return to the Far East, go to Vietnam, Thailand, or China again, and teach, earning money as I explored stunning locations. It was an achievable, and more importantly a practical goal. And so, thinking I’d cracked the secret to post-university life, I applied for a teaching position in China with a British agency. I felt great afterwards: I had quite a lot of experience for my age, had relevant qualifications, and was attending a decent university. I knew I had a strong application, and sure enough the invitation for a video interview soon appeared. I was nervous recording my answers to automated questions but it didn’t go too badly, just a few fumbling words and repeats. It wasn’t until the next morning that I felt a sense of dread. But not because of the interview, but about the job itself: I had just put myself forward to go out to China for a year, alone, to teach children English. I would not get the money back for my flights until I completed my contract, and I would be expected to be largely independent in the classroom. I had also ticked the box stating “When submitting this application, you are intending to accept whatever offer may be made to you” (or something like that), meaning I couldn’t really change my mind. All of a sudden I felt afraid. I felt very unready to go off to China on my own, and I felt even more terrified at the concept of leading a class of children in a culture I was not well-experienced with. I didn’t feel ready to be a teacher at all, and this anxiety only increased over the next weeks, not helped by a few admin issues between myself and the agency, and the constant cloud over my brain that was my dissertation. To be frank, I wasn’t in a great place mentally, and I realised that if a potential job had me that worried, was causing me extra stress to run alongside my final deadlines, then maybe I shouldn’t do it. Maybe it wasn’t for me. And the relief I felt when I was informed that I didn’t get the job (due to my actual application or technical issues with the video interviews I’d had to repeat, I don’t know) only confirmed for me that teaching, while a career option for the future, was not what I wanted to do straight after university.

So I suppose I did it backwards, deciding what I didn’t want to do after gaining my degree. But soon after my friend told me about her internship I remembered how much fun I’d had at A-level. How much I had enjoyed travel writing, and so maybe it could be my new goal. I immediately splashed out on some travel magazines, scrawling them for ideas and methodology. I planned on where I would write about, thinking of developing my China piece but creating new ones for other locations: Cape Verde, Canada, and Majorca, somewhere I knew pretty well. I would use my upcoming trip to Crete as practice for ‘real-time’ blogging, setting up an Instagram and training myself to be better at photography, making my writing richer. I had it all planned out. And then I found out that my friend had landed a full time job at the publishing house she’d interned at.

Jealousy is a powerful thing. I immediately felt happy for her, but terrible for myself. There was no way I could get into travel writing: I hadn’t done an internship, I hadn’t worked for a magazine or newspaper, my writing wasn’t good enough. Looking back now only a month later, the last thought makes me laugh a little. My writing can’t be good or bad, because I haven’t actually done any. Not yet. And no, I haven’t done any internships or work experience for travel publishers, but I can. I was so stuck on the fact that my friend had landed herself a ‘proper’ job straight after university, in a field that I was so desperate to get into, that I forgot that no one gets anywhere in the same way. While it took me a while to convince myself that I didn’t want to go straight into an office job after uni, that I wanted to enjoy my sudden freedom for a year or two before assigning myself to a particular lifestyle, I soon did.

So what am I doing after university? Well, right now I’m sitting in my room writing this piece. I had a brain wave to record at least my first year after university, since I knew that I wouldn’t go straight into a graduate job or go on to do a masters (I seriously think more education will kill me). I can be a voice to say “It’s okay, I haven’t done anything yet either”. I have a job in a restaurant on minimum wage, I don’t have a car, and I still live at home. But this isn’t my future. This is just now. I do have a plan, kind of. I lived off my earnings from my job throughout uni, so I plan to earn myself some money, while looking into internships, work experience, anything that involves travel publishing or one of the two. I am going to finally write something, utilising the wonderful travel experiences I have had and building up a portfolio, sharing them on a blog while focusing on photography for my Instagram (my ‘real-time’ plan didn’t work out thanks to some very dodgy Wi-Fi). I am going to enter photography and writing competitions, submit ‘readers’ letters’ to publications, and in a few months when I feel confident enough and have had more practice, I plan to submit some pieces to various publications. I plan to fill a year with earning and experience, before buying a plane ticket to somewhere in the Far East with my friend when she finishes her Zoology degree, and together we are going to travel and experience and write about different cultures and conservation, two very different degrees combining to complement each other. I keep saying ‘going to’ to keep the plan alive. We have a plan. It may be up in the air at the moment, it may be a dreamer’s idea and impractical, but it’s something.

I chose an English degree so that I wouldn’t be limited to a career path after university. And just because I haven’t applied for a masters or gotten myself a graduate job doesn’t mean I’ve failed. I may not know exactly what I'm going to do, I know what I'm doing right now. Besides I’m only 21, and I’ve got an aim, some ambition. And right now, that’s all that matters.

#student #travel #travel writing #travel blog #blogging #going global #post university #post uni #future #future dreams #1st post

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