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highstwildflower · 3 years

Text

Highly

A/n: this is really long I’m sorry!😂

Words: 2000 ca.

The cloud that erupted from your lips vanished into thin air, reminding you of the man who used to fan the smoke away from his reach. Now the spot next to you was empty, no one was complaining and no one was bugging you about being unhealthy. The thick joint was pressed between your lips once again, sucking the poison into your lungs. The relaxing plant infected your system and everything slowed down. The stars swimming above you dripped into the moon that was filled to the brim. You finished the joint, leaning back with a heart that was aching. Moving around you found the position that allowed your heavy heart some rest, your phone was out of reach and you were too lazy to retrieve it. You wanted to shoot him a text tho, telling him all the words he never got to hear.

Instead you lay there, images burning behind closed eyes. Images of his green forrest eyes that disappeared when his laughter erupted, how you would kill to hear that laugh again. The feeling of the vibration through his chest as he sung you a new tune. How he used to look at you, eyes searching for inspiration and the look in them the second he found it. Being his muse had been the greatest achievement of your life. Your favorite memory was from the frosty night in December only five moths prior, ditching a party the two of you had ventured off into the night. He had held you close when you arrived at your shared home, bodies moving in sync, the rhythm you fell into in the bed had been steady and slow. Intimate love making till dawn. Your bodies not craving sleep, instead you had moved to the patio. His large body had been pressed firmly against the lounge couch and he had pulled you against him. Limbs draped over each other's and low voices filling the air with words of adoration. The conversation following the flow of the wind, the chilly morning offering you an excuse to snuggle closer to your love. He had happily accepted the closeness, and soon series of laughter had erupted into the slow morning. Just the two of you, bodies pressed together and love flowing freely.

You mind had turned off to the memory of him, and next thing you knew you woke up in your lonely bed. It had never felt so big when Michael had been taking up half of it. The empty room taunting you and the long halls hunting the memories that was made here away. As days fell into night and night turned into days your speckle off hope had vanished. The hope of feeling his body once more, his lips on yours and his voice rumbling against your skins. Instead you tugged away your emotions everyday walking through life as someone else, and only allowing the emotions to take over at night. Most nights your mind raced to the loving memories, but some nights it was the burning memories of pain the pressed into your head.

Dating Michael had been fun and easy, when he asked you to build a home with him you had been ecstatic. Slowly reality dawned on you, the rockstar lifestyle being far away from the life you wished to led. His drinking turned into situations that was hurtful, a large number of girls pressing on. Wishing to enter your relationship, you begging him to change every night when he would stumble through the door.

The last time you saw him stung in the back of your mind. Just mere hours after you had told him that he had to stop with the excessive amount of alcohol and he has kissed you with a promise of doing better. You were fuming when you heard him fumbling with the front door, the creaking of the door setting you completely off. With steam clouding your mind you had entered the entrance and he had shot you a short smile. As he came close the words that left his mouth dragged your breath away, leaving your body defenseless "I though you were out with us? Who was the girl I kissed than?" He carelessly moved through your house towards the bedroom. Tears drawing pathways down your cheeks and hiccups threatening to spill passed your lips. You stayed up all night, waiting for him to sober up. Every minute of the night was spent considering the conversation of tomorrow. When he was clear in his head, he yelled out for you, his words bouncing of the walls. Your fragile body towering over him, and your voice anything but fragile. He was shunned from the house, leaving in a hurry as you yelled out your pain. Months passed where you awaited his next move, silently hoping that he would beg for you to forgive him. Instead you got nothing. His stuff was still where he left them except from his guitars. And you knew everything but his guitars was replaceable. When Calum had turned up at your door with a sorrowful painted across his face you knew he was there to pick them up. It hurt every time you glanced at the empty room having yet to entered it, dust was covering the corners and slowly tugging the room into a dull forgotten memory.

Your high ponytail was swinging from side to side as you strutted down the sidewalk. The pep in your steps were just a reminded to yourself that you had the power to move on. When you spotted him at your favorite coffee shop, your steps came to a halt. His eyes meet yours long before yours meet his. He saw you and froze. Your smile telling him that you were doing good but your eyes spilling your secret. Awkwardly you walked over to him "hi stranger" your voice was a pitch higher than usual and you mentally scolded yourself for the preppy outburst. His voice was darker than you remembered but the impact of his words stronger than you expected "Hi. How are you?" The concentration on your face told him that you were trying your best to stay cool "I'm good , yeah very good. What about you?" The forced smile made his heart ache and his guards grow weaker. "Im glad you are doing good y/n. Im getting through day by day. 4 months sober yesterday" His voice grew with pride as he told you about his sobriety, and his smile grew even larger as he saw the proud look on your face. Without thinking twice you leaped into his arms, hugging him tightly against yourself "Im so proud of you Micky." Your cheeks grew red as you realized that this wasn't what was normal for you to do anymore. The break up meant that you had to sacrifice being close to him and just watch his life from afar. You knew he was sober, his instagram had told you so. But to hear the words leave his mouth made you ache with pride. When he felt you draw back he pulled you into himself again, not ready to let you slide through his fingers once more. Your smell was filling his nostrils and he wanted to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. When he let go of your body, you stumbled back and took him in. He looked better than ever, more fit and more alive. The silence laid as a blanket making the air hot and thick and just as you were about to say your byes he spoke up "Do you wanna catch up some day? maybe drink a cup of coffee?" you smiled shyly at him, and the fact that he had cheated on you was forgotten, "Yeah I would like that." Just like that you had a date with him, your body felt like yours for the first time in months and the pep in your step were no longer forced.

The knock at your door alerted you that he had arrived. You opened the door and smiled at him a laugh followed shortly behind "Quite weird having you knocking on your own door" he smiled back at you before he spoke "Thats ok, you look absolutely beautiful love" he handed you the flowers in his hand and you felt oddly embarrassed, such gestures never fell naturally to Michael. More a man of words he would praise you, shower you in physical affection but stray away from gifts. The ride in his car was longer than you remembered it, the small drops of sweat that was collecting at Michaels hairline let you know that you weren't alone with the crippling feeling of anxiety that started to form the second you woke up. His hands were both clutched to the steering wheel and as he turned into the coffee shop your stomach turned with anticipation. "I was thinking we could do to go? And then go to our spot?" You smiled at his idea, that he remembered how much you enjoined your spot.

The car came to a halt at the empty parking spot. Michael was quick to climb out of the car and open your door for you. Slowly you made your way towards the spot. Surrounded by nature you felt your breath become easier. The large stones that leaned against each other offered a place to take a seat. He came prepared with a blanket and a packed picking. Like so many times before you took place next to each other, the still warm air clinging to both your bodies as the sun continued it's decent. The ocean reached the stones and splashes were sent into the sky. His legs rested and made contact with the firmness of your other thigh. Slow conversation filled the space between you and drew you closer. Coffee was sipped and sandwiches shared. The sun came into contact with the ocean and Michael dived into the cruel conversation that was awaiting you. His body turned to yours "I'm sorry" his words were low but you heard him, your eyes meet and you signaled for him to go on. He took deep breaths of fresh air, worried that his fragile words wouldn't be enough "I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I've realized that I was so far out of line. All my decisions fell back onto you. And I'm awfully sorry about kissing another woman. You are truly the only one for me. I understand if you aren't interested in being with me ever again, but I've changed y/n. I'm still working on myself, but you are my motivation every single day and I want to make it up to you." You mind was clouded by his words, the mentioning of his infidelity was like salt in wounds but you wanted to give him a chance. "Yeah you sucked" you tried to lighten the mood but you both knew that, that was a light way to put it. You continued while gripping his hand " I want to be with you Mickey. But it is definitely going to be difficult for me to trust you" you smiled a careful smile at him and he moved even closer, desperate to feel you. His hand moved to your face as he silently asked for your permission to press his lips against yours. You nodded your head, eager to feel the movement. The world stood still, birds chirping became louder and the intensity of the small gesture made you dizzy. Michael was right there with you, you soft lips sending him into a feeling of ecstasy.

Silent promise between lovers who had been torn apart filled the now colder air. Sun kissing the ocean and dancing in warm colors. Pulling one another closer, and thinking of each other highly.

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komori--shoma · 3 years

Text

Shoma Umi Komori.

🦢

(I'm sorry if my english is shitty-)

❛A sad soul can kill faster than bacteria.❜

—𝐽𝑜𝒉𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑘

⟅☙⟆ Universe ⟅☙⟆

Diabolik Lovers. I plan, however, to take her out of the universe and make her a character of her own. Or maybe I'll just drop it and do both. Who knows?

⟅☙⟆ Full Name ⟅☙⟆

Shoma Umi Komori.

"Shoma" is a Japanese name that means "Woman who seeks the truth, who is not conformist at all." Her second name, "Umi", is also a Japanese name that means "ocean".

⟅☙⟆ Kanji ⟅☙⟆

ショマ

⟅☙⟆ Nickname ⟅☙⟆

Despite being initially confused by these, as she was not used to it, she was given the nickname "Engel" (which means "Angel" in German) by a family quite close to her. The nickname was given by the mother and head of the family, since in the eyes of that woman, Shoma is an angel.

Seiji, who was the adoptive father of the girl, called the young woman "Astertea", which is quite a "peculiar" name in the bible.

Yui, with whom she is no longer in contact with Shoma, used to call her "Sho" or "Shomi" affectionately.

⟅☙⟆ Age ⟅☙⟆

She is eighteen years old, although she looks a bit younger.

⟅☙⟆ Gender ⟅☙⟆

Feminine.

⟅☙⟆ Sexual Orientation ⟅☙⟆

She doesn't know yet. Doesn't really bothers her to know.

⟅☙⟆ Height ⟅☙⟆

160 cm.

⟅☙⟆ Weight ⟅☙⟆

She used to weigh 35 kg., But now she is a proud 64.5 kg.

⟅☙⟆ Blood type ⟅☙⟆

OR-

⟅☙⟆ Status ⟅☙⟆

Alive.

⟅☙⟆ Race ⟅☙⟆

Human

⟅☙⟆ Birthday ⟅☙⟆

June 20th.

⟅☙⟆ Sign ⟅☙⟆

Gemini.

⟅☙⟆ Favorite Color ⟅☙⟆

Light blue and night blue.

⟅☙⟆ Appearance ⟅☙⟆

There is a great before and after in her appearance, and even though she is not shown in her story (at the end of the card), there was the occasional change in her future.

The girl has oculocutaneous albinism, so her skin and hair are snow-white. Her hair, due to a small "situation", was long, straight and lifeless. Her hair almost touched her waist, and she basically managed to cover her view. She is now a cute short hairstyle down to the nape of hers, wavy and neat.

Her skin is very pale and fragile, although now she is somewhat better, before she was simply rough and damaged. She has several deep burns and scars on this one as well.

The young woman, despite not having very good eyesight, has beautiful eyes of a light blue color, somewhat grayish.

She has a mark on her right leg in the shape of a fox with several stars on it. It's a pretty special symbol, but she keeps it covered most of the time.

She usually did not wear clothes other than bandages to cover herself, although she still finds old clothes to wear, even though she was a little too big. Now, she got used to wearing light clothes that cover most of her body; like jeans, leggings, or long dresses with something underneath. She doesn't really like to wear short or see-through clothes.

⟅☙⟆ Personality ⟅☙⟆

Many think that she simply doesn't have any kind of emotion. Shoma never shows any kind of expression in public, she is shown with her face up and with a look so cold that she makes it true to her appearance. The young woman is too serious, and depending on the person, it is very difficult to get her out of her typical attitude.

Sho is an elegant little girl, and full of grace despite all her troubles. She will never be friendly enough in front of someone (again, it depends on the person), but she will also not feel uncomfortable or unwelcome unless that is the goal of the little one. Shoma knows that she is able to erase someone from the earth fas if she wishes, but she doesn't abuse that thought, you just have to be careful not to make her angry or touch her too much. It could be a big mistake.

Still, well ...

She is always alert, so it is very easy for her to get nervous or anxious most of the time.

She can also happen that she cannot do something right (she finds it very difficult to concentrate / think on several occasions, as well as sometimes she finds it difficult to understand what happens around her, etc). Still, it is something that doesn't happen as much as before, after leaving the aforementioned situation in which she found herself.

She is easily frustrated, and this happens when she recognizes that she has trouble thinking. It's very easy for her to cry or tear up in frustration (she doesn't do it in public, she refuses to do it, but that only makes it worse). Also, her coping strategy is simply not talking about her emotions and keeping a straight face all the time.

Still, and even though she very reluctantly accepted help, Sho is willing to change and improve (even if she has to go through hell first). She has shown to be too cunning for her age and to behave as if she were an adult, and even though she is slowly trying to behave according to her age, she is very difficult for her as well.

Anyway, Shoma can also be a girl who listens to others and is willing to do it regardless of the situation, and she is always there to be a shoulder on which one can cry. She also tends to have fun when she feels calm around her, being one of the few moments when she feels and acts like a young little girl.

⟅☙⟆ Relatives ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Seiji Komori: Adoptive father. Currently dead.

⟣ Yui Komori: Adoptive sister. Currently alive.

⟅☙⟆ Favorite Food ⟅☙⟆

She doesn't have a single specific favorite food, but she definitely likes sweet and simple foods, like grated applesauce and banana, or a fruit salad.

⟅☙⟆ Hoobies ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Shoma likes to make paintings with her hands. She serves to entertain him and clear her mind.

⟣ She also likes to make crowns with different types of flowers, even some bracelets and necklaces.

⟣ She has a certain fascination for mathematics and literature, so it is normal to see her do either of the two when she is bored. The problem is when she has a hard time doing a difficult exercise.

⟣ She Likes to play decorating and decision-making video games. She likes to decorate and combine, so it is normal for her as a hobby to do the odd combination in video games, or in a room.

⟣ It may not count as a hobby, but Shoma loves to watch an episode of a series that she likes or a movie many times to imitate the lines, as if it were some kind of dubbing attempt.

⟅☙⟆ Occupation ⟅☙⟆

None, she doesn't consider herself a student, even if she studies at home.

⟅☙⟆ Relationships ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Seiji Komori, adoptive father.

She did not have a good relationship with him no matter how hard she tried at the time. It was too obvious the favoritism that he had with Yui, and how she always stayed in the shadow of the blonde. Despite trying to be like Yui, he could never have any kind of acceptance with her father.

⟣ Yui Komori, adoptive sister.

He adored her with her soul. Yui was Shoma's heroine, and she always tried to follow her example despite her unruly attitude as a child. The elder Komori was Shoma's world, and he simply wanted to be with her all the time.

Things have changed now. She can't even look at her. The disgust and hatred that he has for that now young woman is simply immense. And believe it when I say she tries; she tries too hard to forget so many things that caused this feeling, but she just can't.

⟣ Yvonne Beauchene, the right hand.

Shoma's only trusted person alongside her family. Yvonne was Shoma's guardian from the day he arrived at the church, although she had some problems because of it, and that is the reason why she had to leave, but surely nothing bad could happen, right?

⟅☙⟆ Likes ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Despite not having tasted it in recent years, she liked (and still remembers the taste of it, so she still likes) Yvonne's orange tarts a lot. She used to do them when Seiji was not at home for her, Yui and Shoma.

⟣ She loves music, especially the one that doesn't have any type of letter and is only a beautiful and hypnotizing melody. Her favorite, and also Yvonne's, is "The Vampire Masquerade", which is the melody which Yvonne met her husband.

⟣ Regarding the above, she usually daydreams many times with music in the background and she likes that (because the real world sucks and it is her only way out of the stress and anxiety that she feels most of the time). She sometimes even draws or paints those scenarios that are formed in her head.

⟣ As said before, she likes to play decorating and decision-making video games. Also, despite having the face of wanting some horror games (these make her heart race and sometimes she has panic attacks), she prefers Animal Crossing by a lot.

⟣ Loves snakes (which are not poisonous), cats and dogs. Snakes are very good company, and cats and dogs are responsible for keeping her calm.

⟅☙⟆ Dislikes ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Despite having been seen surviving based on it, she does not like meat very much. Of course, she can bear it, she even likes some (very few) meat dishes !, but there are certain types of meat that remind him too much of ... well, her own meat.

⟣ Obviously, she can't stand going to churches or things related to religion. She gets too anxious and nervous.

⟣ Her body and mind literally rejects any kind of physical affection if she doesn't know the person very well or doesn't trust them. It's no surprise, considering her personality. Very few people are lucky enough to even put a hand on her shoulder and not get hurt (Shoma doesn't do it on purpose).

⟅☙⟆ Fears and Phobias ⟅☙⟆

⟣ Somniphobia: fear of sleeping.

Oneirophobia, somniphobia, clinophobia or hypnophobia is an irrational and excessive fear of the act of sleeping. People who suffer from it enter a state of panic caused by the fear that while they are sleeping something terrible will happen to them, such as the possibility of stopping breathing or that they will never wake up, even knowing that there is no threat, but they stay awake, presenting insomnia. Some people who have this phobia associate going to bed with death.

In some cases, panic is unleashed by the belief that the dreams that will be had when sleeping are actually delusions and these will favor falling into a state of permanent madness. This type of phobia generates a great deal of stress and significant physical and mental deterioration, so it is not uncommon for many people to end up suffering from hallucinations, a fact that further aggravates this type of phobia: fear of sleeping.

Shoma cannot sleep because various things used to happen during these. She remembers well once a nun (then she disappeared without a trace) entered her room and hanged her, almost killing her if it weren't for Yui screaming for help.

⟣ Theophobia: fear of religion.

Theophobia is the fear or aversion to religion or the gods, and being more common among people who are raised in an environment of iron religiosity. Theophobia can express itself as fear, aversion, anger, or other negative emotion towards religious practices. In some cases, the theophobic representation can categorize the deity as an arbitrary totalitarian dictator or, conversely, as unworthy of worship.

It is common among people who suffer from theophobia to avoid religious texts, houses of worship (churches, mosques, synagogues ...) and even the parishioners of a religion.

The young woman lived in a church for years and was not treated as "a daughter of God", but as "an aberration of satan" by her father and certain nuns. She causes him so much fear that, if there really is a god, she has abandoned her for "not being worthy". Many things together caused this irrational fear of religion in general.

⟣ Hafephobia: fear of being touched.

Hafephobia is a specific phobic disorder (unlike agoraphobia or social phobia) that causes great suffering in the person who suffers from it.

It is an irrational fear of great intensity that manifests itself when the individual suffering from the phobia comes into physical contact with other people and is touched. It produces a series of cognitive, physiological or behavioral responses, among which extreme anxiety and the attempt to avoid the feared stimulus to reduce the unpleasant sensation stand out.

Shoma, of course, is working on this and for now she's doing very well, but if she's some stranger, she isn't going to allow herself to be touched or touched by another individual. She is so afraid that every touch will turn into a blow or something to harm her.

⟣ Atazagoraphobia: fear of forgetting.

Atazagoraphobia is the excessive fear of forgetting, which includes both the fear of forgetting and the fear of being forgotten or replaced by others. Despite the fact that it is a common sensation, atazagoraphobia has been little described in scientific language. In fact, it has been more pointed out by philosophers and writers who speak of atazagoraphobia as the fear of eternal anonymity.

Shoma was literally forgotten or ignored from a young age, and she doesn't want to go through it again. She doesn't want to feel so cold again that she can't breathe properly or move. She can't, she doesn't want to...

⟅☙⟆ Headcannon Voice ⟅☙⟆

Mia Rodríguez.

⟅☙⟆ Skills ⟅☙⟆

⟣ She is impressively good with knives and razors. She usually uses them for cooking.

⟣ Literally she can imitate many voices, even male ones. She uses it to make jokes or for some plan (to get some dessert) that she has in mind.

⟣ She is becoming more and more independent, and that is why she is getting very good at cooking. She even manages to focus on that rather than other things.

⟅☙⟆ Extra ⟅☙⟆

⟣ She has undiagnosed “attention deficit hyperactivity disorder”.

⟣ She tends to bite her arm or bite her nails if she is very anxious.

⟣ It is difficult for her to accept some changes in her life, but she manages to adapt step by step.

⟣ She likes to play with Yvonne's family, August, her husband, being Shoma's favorite.

⟣ She is considerably innocent of the world around her, but at the same time, she isn't. She is aware that the world revolves around that filthy green paper, and she is very clever with it. She knows that her "condition" and her situation may be a weak point, but it is for that reason that she is also careful who she hangs out with.

⟅☙⟆ History ⟅☙⟆

Shoma arrived at the doors of the Komori family church on May 22, 2001, with only a note that said "My name is Shoma, Mom and Dad can no longer take care of me," just three weeks after I was born. She was greeted by one of the local sisters, a favorite of the owner and leader of that church, Seiji Komori. The latter named was not on that cold night, with the snow falling slowly in that beautiful place, so the same sister took care of the girl in his absence.

A girl with blond hair and pink eyes like the petals of a cherry tree approached said sister, curious by the cries that began to be heard. Seeing her up close, and seeing that beautiful celestial gaze, the seven-year-old girl took the girl in her arms (with the permission of her sister), and did not leave her during that night until the next day. It was no surprise to the sister that her crying stopped as soon as the young Komori began to gently cradle her in her arms.

Still, from the moment Seiji arrived, he knew that something was wrong with the girl, that she was "not human", and that he probably knew whose "gift" it was. Shoma was unwelcome, and he couldn't show her that in public, not with Yui close to her. Also, the plan deviated. No, he isn't supposed to have two daughters, and she is supposed to be just one more orphan, but the young blonde girl already called her "Shoma Umi Komori", and that could be ... Something dangerous for him. Obviously, the orders for Shoma to come to his office were not long in coming as soon as he was two years old.

What Shoma saw in her supposed father's room was sealed in her mind, and nothing else. Every time Shoma was called to her father's office, her heart raced because she knew something bad was going to happen. Every time that happened it was because she Shoma found out more and more that she was going to happen to every sixteen, maybe seventeen-year-old on certain dates. It was because Shoma knew too much about her, and if he couldn't make her forget everything she had seen, then she would silence her to her grave. Every time Shoma gained courage and told Yui, she was scolded for inventing such things, and she would see her father again for "breaking her promise" to him.

The only one who managed to believe her is the same sister who received her the day Shoma arrived there, although that same sister would get a serious face everytime Sho told her that, she never had to see her father when she told Yvonne.

But, one day, Seiji went a bit far with the punishments, and let the fury just blind him, even if he didn't even regret it afterwards. Seeing Shoma talk to someone... Important, once this man left the church it just infuriated him. That man's smile when he stopped talking to her and saw him in the eye was not good news at all. That night, everyone heard the screams of a three-year-old girl resound throughout the establishment, and she was found in the middle of the hall with a desperate Seiji, saying that she had been playing with a poker and that she tripped, with it smacking part of her face.

Shoma began to startle every time someone moved near her, every time someone placed her hand on some part of her body, or when they called her, or when they approached her. She didn't separate from Yui or the sister she trusted so much, and even though it started to be annoying for Yui as she grew older, there were very few times when she was really rude to Shoma due to the fatigue of having her on her back every day three seconds, but they just didn't help Shoma with her fear of being alone, either with Seiji, or with certain nuns. The sister who had her trust steadfastly refused to leave her alone if she wasn't with Yui, although it was only because she slipped out of sight once.

Things escalated to the worse on December 12, 2006, at exactly a quarter past two in the morning. It was precisely an exhausting day for the girl, because the nun who was taking care of her and her sister had to leave due to family problems, or so they told her.

The albino-haired girl couldn't sleep due to some nightmares, even though she had become very habitual. The young woman began to hear murmurs and footsteps outside the room that she shared with Yui, and she could make out her father's voice. She could make out her desperate tone from her ... And, strangely, anger.

Carefully, she got out of her bed without making any noise, but following a little voice in her head, she took the camera that belonged to the blonde that was a gift from her only trusted caregiver, and opened slowly the door. Her father had locked himself in her office, and she could hear someone else's voice. On tiptoe, he approached the door ajar, and looked behind it. Tears welled up in her eyes as she saw the body of one of the older girls on the ground, tied up and with blood pouring from her head. That memory is somewhat blurry, but it remembers very well various parts of the conversation between her father and a man with long hair. She took photos, and to her surprise, they did not have flash, and the photos came out perfectly ... That woman had many strange objects.

Once she finished, she turned, intending to leave, but one of the nuns spotted her, yelling to warn Seiji. Shoma wasted no time running and closing in on her sister's room, which she was awakened by her scream. Shoma told her everything quickly, leaving the photos to hide them, and the little girl didn't hesitate long to jump out the window (it was not the first time that she did that out of boredom), and she ran away from there. Still, the nun had gone ahead, and it wasn't long to be just a few steps away from her with her father's poker, part of them burning.

She remembers her sister with hatred seeing it all in horror and just standing there with the camera in her hands, shaking, to simply turn and turn her back on him.

In the blink of an eye, she was dragged by her hair by her "father" and other nuns, and before she had a chance to run away, the girl was thrown into the basement, away from other people, away from Yui, away from everyone. She tried to get out, scream, but no one ever came.

Nobody, nobody at all...

And here ends her story. The young woman, thanks to her curiosity, sealed her fate. She was destined to die in that place, even if she didn't want that, alone and starving, not knowing if Yui or someone would remember her...

But they say that there is always someone who takes care of us somewhere, right? Even if she has no hope... Maybe there really is someone, even without her knowing it.

#shoma komori #komori shoma #diabolik brothers #diabolik lovers #diavolik lovers #diabolik oc #diabolik lovers oc #diabolik #diaboliklovers #dia lovers #dialovers #describe your oc #oc info

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watayaaratamblr · 3 years

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Arata is an unfortunate character.

No, he is NOT!

But if we wish to make him one, then we don't need one fifth of the effort put into making Taichi the "sad" character that most fans keep labeling as "Poor Taichi", and Arata would have been then the most unfortunate character in Chihayafuru. All we need is a good mangaka (Suetsugu is!) & the intention to make him draw sympathy (the whole point), simply because Arata’s story is well packed with good material serving the purpose.

Starting with the fact that he was an almost blind child … Like “looking through a magnifying glass”, hearing voices outside but being unable to see anything~ A child who had to wear glasses from the age of 3, any writer can make this a touching story if so they wished -But Suetsugu sensei did not want to.

Growing up as a weak boy who is a letdown in everything most boys do, crying alone when he fails to fit in, disappointing his father who kept pushing him to go outside and be “normal” like all the other children all while letting go of Karuta that he was confirmed to have liked since he was very young. Writing a bit of his struggles to find a place for himself within the norms could have made readers cry a lot.

His grandfather thankfully extended his hand to him, offered him a place where he can be himself; But that too, created a situation where he maybe had to take a side & deal somehow with the other side because his grandfather & his father had a fight and he can only be torn between them. I’m no writer myself, but I can make this sentimental.

Then his father took him away to Tokyo where he had to be a part of a poor family, and not only to cancel his needs & desires (like for example having different outfits for school instead of the few he will be noticed to wear frequently) but to also work sometimes to support his parents, to wake up before school time in the early mornings when other children are probably sound asleep in their warm beds, to go outside in the cold, to earn some cash and to give it to his parents … I read some real sad stories with this idea. So yeah, Arata could have been one of the saddest characters if Suetsugu wanted him to be.

And not to mention being bullied and laughed at for not only his impoverishment (which he can hope to change) but for his identity (as a boy from Fukui speaking a “weird” dialect). He received all this with lot of patience, and tried to comfort himself by himself with his grandfather’s “gift”, how it was a refugee for him.

Any writer can make a sob story out of Arata’s unspoken loneliness & yearning for home, his grandpa & for playing his beloved Karuta properly.

Or out the fact that he couldn’t make any friends in his new school either (he was confirmed to never have real friends since his childhood through the fact that he struggled to fit in + he stayed like that even after he grew up (like Murao said), and he is not someone who doesn’t care about having friends because he was confirmed to almost worship his bond with Taichi & Chihaya, Taichi specifically even though their friendship isn’t really a comforting one; he longed for friendship however it is!)

He enjoyed that friendship nonetheless, he might even have felt like he was compensated for everything he wished for through it but he was soon robbed of all of it as he was separated from these friends & while he could still enjoy a bit of it through correspondence (at least Chihaya kept in touch), he wasn't as untroubled as needed for that because he was about to lose his precious grandfather.

And the process of losing him wasn’t something to take lightly either. Having busy (or rather negligent?) parents made him (a boy not even 14 years old) a caregiver for an old man who suffered from paralysis on the right side of his body and later dementia, not as simple as that, he had to watch what his most beloved & respected person turn into day & night, when he worked “really hard” (as stated in the manga) with his rehabilitation exercises, when he helped him with his baths, he massaged his limbs, he fed him, constantly talked to him & showed him Karuta cards to “keep him” in this world. And when it's too much for him, he goes outside the room and cries bitter tears silently, all alone! There was this person who suffered from (PTSD) for years because their sick aunt didn’t recognize them (they were her favorite nephew before & they were 17 yo at the time), this person couldn’t visit her since & couldn’t see her before she died & they developed a fear of “getting too close” & of seeing sick people, they had to seek long & serious therapeutic help. And Arata actually suffered from PTSD for over a year & half, any psychologist can easily recognize that from the fact that he quit Karuta, refused to touch & hated to see the cards (I stress on this), how he answered Chihaya when she called him, how the calm & patient him (that we knew from his childhood) was agitated & treated her rudely when she insisted on playing a match. And it was all confirmed in Arata’s last words in the same chapter: “I wanted to see you, I always had, but I didn’t want you to see me like this” (in the official tr), he knew that he wasn’t himself (contrary to what Taichi thought, his friend who decided to abandon him instead of trying to help. Chihaya still had faith in him but Taichi was louder -ch10)

Still, thanks to Chihaya, Arata was back to his beloved Karuta, though we all questioned how much fun he really felt while playing again, how much of him was involved with the game now. And eventually, he himself expressed the pressure (not the fun) he felt while playing. What took his passion away, what turned the feelings of a Karuta baka into mere obligation, this also is good content for an emotionally charged story, it only needs the intention of the writer.

And he shone in the world of Karuta. YET he was never “proud” of it, that was never received as anything special. When he comes back home, none really cares (or at least, none shows any enthusiasm), he goes to the western-challenger qualifiers and his parents won’t even go watch, won’t even prepare some food for him, he comes back home late & finds none, and prepares everything by himself (apart from Yu’s help). His parents pray for his defeat, meaning that his DREAM to become Meijin/be strongest in Karuta doesn’t mean much to them, and he knows it, and he was never shown telling them the news like when you want to share a happy one. Arata’s mother -before giving up after acknowledging Arata’s dedication- wanted his defeat even though there was enough money to support him, the lack of money being the excuse she & her husband claimed to be the reason of their lack of support.

The support system Arata lacks isn’t only in his family. Since the death of his grandfather he seems to stand alone in Karuta too. Murao was the only one who spared some time for him but only after he realized how “alone” he was and took pity on him. Murao's realization implies that the training Arata was doing at the Nagumo society didn’t really count for what he really needed. Kuriyama sensei (being expected by fans to be the “Harada” in Arata’s side) was almost useless & he himself expressed his confusion about what to do with him & how to help him. We never saw him particularly guide him in any way either. "Experiences" & "taking chances" were two factors that helped Mizusawa members for example to grow a lot, but these chances are doors without knobs & we know that they were opened for them by adults who were taking care of them in a way or another + being friends ensured that they encouraged each other then proceeded with every idea they got to learn & experience more. Arata lacks both these sources (adults around him rather burdened him with their expectations) so he kept training on his own mostly & we saw how it felt frustrating to him to be relying only on his solo training & an "image" encouraged by a long-dead teacher, he realized the toll of lacking real opponents in practice with whom he can measure his abilities & correct his mistakes to grow stronger. Support can also be emotional. Did Arata ever receive particular emotional support? I can only remember panels where the people worried for him kept watching him from afar while he dealt with it on his own.

Yu was an exception but even her support was written in a way suggesting that Arata was prepared to go on without it. Because with time, Arata learnt to "not expect much" which is also a very interesting trope for a sad story.

And he was described as “a lonely player on top” but this was never elaborated to show how it felt like to be one for Arata himself. This idea is also brilliant for melancholy if the author wanted fans to sympathize with Arata but she didn't go beyond praising Chihaya who could somehow reach him & Shinobu chan.

And while playing on his own (or working part time to support himself), taking care of himself, he met his two precious friends again (they were the only selfish desire Arata has openly expressed throughout the series). But what he felt is that he was left behind & that he was the only one so far away. And he was. They got to experience so many things he didn’t, they made new friends & new bonds & he didn’t, they got closer to each other & he didn’t… At the end he went back to be the outsider & them the two old childhood friends. If the author wrote just a little bit more about these, if she highlighted these facts they could have made a good drama.

Love is the main reason Taichi is "felt for" (because he progressed in karuta but not in Love ..not yet at least). Arata is also a part of the love triangle in Chihayafuru, and if we try to summarize it with the intention of making it sad, then let's go, there is enough to say for that, we just need a good writer (which I'm not sadly). Still in short: Arata seems to have started to develop feelings for Chihaya a long time ago but he had to keep that in check because he thought she was dating Taichi & he kept his distance out of respect for that assumed relationship even though he craved at least connecting with his old friends. When he came closer, Chihaya was interested in him but he never knew, the enthusiasm she showed him was not different from how she is with everyone, no, Taichi received special treatment, while for him, every time he tries to say something to her he is cut off somehow. Everything seemed to be against them getting close. Later Chihaya seemed to have ultimate fun with Taichi too, maybe that was the only thing he thought he could give her, now she didn't need it. Maybe he had that thought again when she praised his game against Harada sensei that's why he confessed but soon, She is once again so far away, she seemed to need Taichi to function properly, he understood that & he used that to cheer her up in her most important tournament. He wanted badly to play with her again to only be totally iced, he couldn't even be seen by her, he was so far away, she belonged to where he wasn't part of (& even her friend kana found a way to express her disapproval of him) Can we not make a drama out of this? Or out of his stuttering, awkwardness & introversion? Or maybe the fact that his parents don't understand him? And did anyone alse feel that in most of Taichi's mother's appearances, we got this feeling that Taichi is a son who should be cared for while when Arata's parents appeared, many times, we can feel how Arata was used to highlight their feelings as individuals & he was drawn there as the member of the family who had to pay attention to that? Anyway, every single one of these points alone is very good material for a "tearjerker" so what about all of them combined? because they are all facts from Arata's reality.

Again, all we need is a good writer (we have it) & the intention to make it that way which isn't there. Suetsugu decided instead to put double the effort to make Taichi the "sorrowful/anguished" one because Arata is not a character written to feel sorry for or to commiserate. He is rather written for the most part of the manga as an inspiring one, an aspiration, to be a drive & a goal. So despite having all the above circumstances, he is instead written as a character who keeps to himself, doesn't complain, hides his hardships, makes it seem that he fine when he notices that someone is watching, tries to focus on what he has & be happy with it however little or simple. That's why it's easy for him to forget & forgive, easy for him to recover & stand up again because there are other characters who need him there as an example, who think that he is perfectly fine so they should only focus on themselves and thus, Bildungsroman can be used for them. And finally- wait, what were Taichi's problems again?

----------------------------------------------------

Writer adds:

#chihayafuru #wataya arata #ayase chihaya #chiharata #mashima taichi #this is dedicated to Arata fans who are constantly told they love a one dimensional character which is just ignorance speaking #or at least looking the other way when Arata actually is there!

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anextraordinarymuse · 3 years

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Head vs. Heart: Part 1

A discussion on which woman represents Oliver's head (Holly) vs his heart (Shane), complete with gifs. This will cover moments from the Pilot through Truth Be Told.

(@jonesgirl88 KATIE

ARE YOU READY KATIE)

This is going to be so long - I have so many gifs. There will probably be a read more. You've been warned.

Okay so, obviously I still believe that at the time we meet Oliver and Shane Holly is the personification of Oliver's head, and Shane becomes his heart. That got me thinking about all of the moments in the show that led me to believing that. First off, everyone knows that the heart is on the left side of the body. I was curious, so I did a Google search about the left side of the body and what it represents. Now, I'm not saying that I believe this necessarily, but some interesting results came up: the left side of the body is commonly associated with receiving or taking in; the mother; asking for help; and is considered the feminine side. I emphasized those points because I thought they were interesting considering 1) that Oliver's mother abandoned him, and 2) that, as we'll see from the gifs, more often than not when Shane is engaging with the left side of Oliver's body (or he, hers) he's receiving something - usually emotional support and connection.

But really, I was also just thinking that Shane spends a lot of time subconsciously connecting with Oliver's heart. She does this by consistently being present on the left side of his body (physically closest to his heart) in emotionally charged or foundational moments, or Oliver does this by putting/drawing her there. Let's break it down.

Starting here:

The first time Shane asks Oliver to dance, not only is she on his left but she turns so that all of her is oriented toward the left side of his body (his heart). She's also right up in his bubble - and she gets in his bubble a lot. This is before we find out that Oliver doesn't dance, and that he connects this lack of dancing as a reason that his wife was unhappy. Considering how important (and synonymous) dancing becomes to Oliver and Shane's relationship, it's telling that the very first time they do so it's 1) because Shane initiated it, and 2) initiated from Oliver's left side (and physically close to him, not from a distance). But this isn't the moment that first came to mind when I started this project.

This is:

This is after Oliver has shared the pain of his wife leaving him with Shane, and she has shared the pain of her father leaving her at ten years old. Look at where Oliver has drawn her hand into: it's against his chest, over his heart, and completely covered by his own. Shane allows herself to be vulnerable with Oliver and he stops them in the middle of the dance floor and pulls her hand into him like this, so that it's safely sandwiched between his hand and his heart. Oliver doesn't look at her in this moment, but he can't resist connecting with her - and he does so by placing part of her literally against his heart.

After the pilot episode, we jump several episodes forward before we get another moment of connection like this, and it's not surprising that it's in The Masterpiece during that famous dance in the DLO.

Who doesn't love this dance moment? It's easily one of my favorite moments. But I included both of these moments specifically because of the placement of their hands. In the top one, look at the way Oliver once again draws Shane's hand into him. This moment is ridiculously intense: they've stopped moving in any way except toward each other. Oliver's face is getting closer to Shane's and he's once again subconsciously drawing her into his heart (look at the way Shane adjusts her fingers in that top one - it's a tiny movement but it kills me). In the bottom one, Oliver has once again enveloped Shane's hand in his own so completely that you can't actually see it - and he's holding it against his heart. BUT! in that top gif he's staring intensely into Shane's eyes (and at her lips, don't forget that) as he draws her hand in; in the bottom one, his head has kicked in (his duty and promises to Holly and their marriage) and even though Shane is connected to his heart - and he's literally holding her there - he's no longer looking at her, and then he drops her hand and moves away.

In this moment, Shane is his heart (what he wants) and Holly is his head (obligations, promises, duty). We don't see this hand over heart movement again for a while after this, but the symbolism doesn't stop here.

In The Future Me, Oliver and Shane are still at odds. But look at this moment, from early on in the episode. Not only is Shane on Oliver's left, she goes to remove something from his left shoulder and Oliver shies away from her touch. This is interesting for so many reasons: once again, Shane is trying to establish connection with Oliver's heart (aka his left side) and Oliver physically will not let her do so. This is the only time we see him move away from Shane like this - and it happens after their argument about Holly (who, arguably, should be in Oliver's heart ... but maybe isn't there anymore, at least not as firmly as she should be). The moment where Oliver witnesses Ellie removing something from Bobby's shoulder though, Shane is standing to Oliver's left. Interesting ... but let's continue. (gif credit for this gif: alameda and downing blog).

The next time Oliver and Shane dance is at Bobby and Ellie's wedding in The Future Me. At this point, Shane is aware of Oliver's motivations for learning to dance in the first place; they've shared that intense moment in the DLO; and there is no reason for them to dance in this moment, especially if Oliver is trying to follow his head and maintain a professional distance from Shane.

But Oliver wants to dance with her, and his heart wins this moment. Not only is Oliver the one to broach the subject of dancing with an indirect invitation ("We never did get our dance, did we? ... Do you think we could remember the steps?"), but look where Shane is standing. Once again, she's not only on the left side of his body, she's once again turned to face him. This is also interesting blocking since Shane is the one that is more open to/aware of their connection. She's literally facing it, and Oliver, head on. Anyway, after the surprise chemistry of their DLO dance, Oliver lets himself have what he wants in quite an interesting moment: a freaking wedding, of all places. This is also the last time Oliver and Shane dance in the TV series except in flashbacks.

Now, by the time we get to this moment in Dark of Night, we know how much importance Oliver places on this award and those cups. He's proud of his family's work, and the moment he finds out that he and his team are going to receive the Dark of Night award is a huge one for Oliver. In fact, this moment is so foundational that we see it as one of Oliver's flashbacks in The Treasure Box when he's thinking about Shane. And, once again, look where she is:

Not only is she on his left, she's physically connecting with him in that moment, on that side - again. This is even after Oliver has overheard Shane's conversation with Becky and presumably come to the conclusion that Shane is romantically interested in him. And then we get to The Treasure Box. My gosh, my love for this episode knows no bounds. But that's beside the point. (I have a lot of gifs for this one.)

As Oliver and Shane really settle in to reading the letters and connecting with Jonathan and Katherine, we get this moment of Shane seated on the desk to Oliver's left.

Shane spends a lot of time in this episode on Oliver's left. One of the moments that I find interesting that I didn't gif is near the end, when Shane is so upset over thinking that Katherine died (and that they might die). As she becomes increasingly distressed Oliver audibly tries to connect with her by calling her Shane, which she doesn't seem to realize or respond to - so Oliver moves to his left, around the desk, and comes to embrace her. And Shane sees him coming and actually turns to face him but backs up a step or two before letting him approach. I just find this interesting because, at least from the way the scene is shot, it looks like it would have been a shorter distance for Oliver to step to his right and around the desk. It's probably nothing, but still. It made me wonder.

Let's also mention Holly's letter, because earlier in the episode we get to see where Oliver puts it when he's finished writing it:

In his inner left breast pocket. Now, this is the only inside pocket on a suit jacket, but I'm left wondering why he puts it there when we were shown not many moments before that Oliver has his briefcase with him. He easily could have put it in there for safe keeping, but he doesn't. He puts it in a place that's close to his heart, and it stays there ... until after he and Shane read those letters and are free to leave the vault, at which point the letter falls out and Shane is the one to return it to him with the words "you forgot this." Oliver puts the only physical piece of Holly we've seen up to this point close to his heart and it literally will not stay there - and he doesn't even know that it's gone until Shane points it out. I think it's safe to say that at this point, Holly's grasp on Oliver's heart is tenuous at best. It's not an organic connection - Oliver is consciously having to put her there, and her presence is being overshadowed more and more by Shane. Nothing truly tangible of Holly is left in Oliver's heart, just memories and echoes.

This moment is just cute. But also, look at Shane's hand: it's completely covering Oliver's left hand and wedding ring.

.... And apparently I've hit the limit for number of gifs you can put per post! LOL!! I guess even tumblr is telling me that we're going too deep, but whatever. That just means we're moving on to a part two!

#Oliver x shane #ShOliver #shane x oliver #shane mcinerney #oliver o'toole #Jess' thoughts #this got so long that even tumblr said it needed a break #but I won't be stopped #we are down this rabbit hole for good now

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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years

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September 8: Homecoming Dance

Wrote another HAICG ficlet! Could probably use more editing but tbh I’m going to crash at pretty much any moment so I’m just gonna throw it out there. Maybe I’ll fix it up some more before putting it on AO3.

This is for @ellavere who asked for Kirk and Spock being embarrassing parents.

Post-5 year mission, ~1600 words

Sevin leans in closer toward the mirror, adjusting the knot in his tie one more time. Logically, objectively, he knows that it’s already perfectly straight, and that he should leave it alone. But he can't stop himself from fidgeting with it.

"It's fine, you know," a voice behind him declares. "You look great."

He doesn't turn around, but he does watch in the mirror as his dad stands up, and walks over from the bed to stand behind him. He rests his hands briefly on Sevin's shoulders, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in his jacket. Sevin is in his parents' bedroom, because they have the only full-length mirror in the apartment. But he's wishing he'd just stolen the mirror and set it up in his own room, because at least then he'd have an excuse to tell his dad to get out of his space.

Being alone with his own unfettered anxiety would be easier. Not comparing himself to his confident, handsome, Starfleet Captain parent would be easier. His dad is smiling at him in the mirror like he's the proudest person in the universe, and Sevin can barely remember to keep his shoulders straight. And he won't remember anything else, either, like how to act or what to say, and his suit is the right size, but feels like it’s much too small.

"This is dumb," he says, instead of trying to explain the rest. "I should—I should tell her I'm sick—"

"No! No, you're fine and you're going to have fun. Spock—!"

Sevin glances at the mirror again, at the bit of movement from the hall that caught his dad's attention. Jim is waving Spock over, drawing him into the room.

"What do you think? Doesn't he look great?"

Sevin half-turns so that he's facing both of his parents now, his dad still grinning and his father, next to him with his arms crossed, and what any human would think was an inscrutable expression on his face, deeply and seriously considering. "You look very handsome," he says finally, seriously, and reaches out to straighten the knot in Sevin's tie.

"It's already straight," he insists, with a hint of a whine, and his father just raises his eyebrows innocently.

"I must admit, I still do not fully understand the concept of the high school dance," he says, and Sevin rolls his eyes, because he knows this isn't true. His father does understand. He just doesn't entirely approve. Sevin's not sure if this disapproval is his protective streak showing through or just the way he sets himself apart from purely Terran rituals—or if it's no more than the usual parental denial that his little boy is a full fifteen years old. But if his father forbade him to attend the Fall Homecoming Dance, he wouldn't even put up a fight about it.

"Oh, they're great," his dad answers, while Sevin pulls at his jacket sleeves. "A real coming-of-age thing for Earth kids. You go to a crowded, stuffy gym, decorated with streamers and balloons, and stand around by the bleachers and drink unnaturally flavored punch, and sometimes dance a little, and try to avoid seeing too much of the chaperones."

Spock raises his eyebrows again, the corner of his mouth pulled sideways, his eyes starting to narrow. He is immensely amused. "That does not sound 'great.'"

“He means ‘terrible,’” Sevin mutters, in Vulcan.

Jim doesn’t hear him, but he considers a moment, then admits, "No, it's awful. But," he adds, turning back to Sevin, "also important. Rite of passage, like I said."

"Did you actually have fun at any of the dances you went to?" Sevin asks.

"I did. Once, my sophomore year. I went with my girlfriend at the time, and it was actually pretty decent. Plus, I bet a San Francisco high school dance is a step up from a Riverside High dance, so—" He reaches out, claps Sevin once on the arm. "You'll have fun."

"You will have to tell me about your experiences," his father adds, "as I have never been to such an event, and I am very curious."

"Or dad could just tell you about his and I could stay home," Sevin mumbles. His parents are already standing with their two forefingers touching, which they do almost any time they're in reach of one another, and they don't even seem to hear his comment, because his dad says:

"It's too bad we didn't sign up to be chaperones. Then you could see for yourself."

Sevin fully expects his father to protest, as he himself is protesting—"Oh, no, I don't think you'd have any fun"—but Spock seems to be giving the idea serious thought. He's tilted his head to the side, watching Jim with a careful, appraising, subtly pleased look.

"That would be an interesting experience. Of course, I do not dance—"

"That's a lie. You dance. We've danced."

"That was on a diplomatic mission and thus not comparable."

Sevin's dad is wrapping an arm around his father's waist, pulling him close, only half-joking as he drops his voice a little lower:

"What about our wedding?"

He feigns shock. "A special occasion."

"Okay—can you just—?"

They stop abruptly, almost nose to nose; both turn to him but do not disengage. Spock, at least, looks faintly embarrassed. But Jim just grins.

They are always like this. Sevin can imagine them, showing up to the dance, probably in the dress uniforms that are their only conception of fancy outfits, completely failing to police amorous teenagers because they're too caught up in their own little romantic bubble. As if fairy lights and wilted balloons really set a mood. He has a sudden fantasy of one of his teachers, perhaps Ms. York from Physics, forcibly disentangling them and chiding them for their bad example, and it almost makes him laugh.

"You can't be chaperones anyway, because who would watch Selen?" he asks, proud of himself for his logic.

His parents exchange a glance. "A babysitter," his dad says.

"Nyota, perhaps. Or Dr. McCoy," his father adds.

"Oh, well, too bad they have all the chaperones they need. Maybe another time." Another time, when he stays home with the baby, and they enjoy last year's pop hits echoing drearily in a poorly lit gym. Before either of them can answer, the doorbell sounds, and he's flooded with an intense and refreshing sense of relief.

The relief is followed just as quickly with a twist of nerves so intense, he's half-sure he's about to be sick. Do regular humans feel this way, he wonders, this strongly, or is the strength of his emotions part of his Vulcan heritage? And what mental barriers or strategies could possibly hold the Vulcan version of adolescent confusion at bay?

"I'll get it," he says, in the half-second's pause that follows. That's his date. His date and this is really happening but it will probably be fine--it's just a dance! It's just a dance. Something to laugh about when he's thirty and high school is just a series of anecdotes from his past.

He gets two steps toward the door before his dad reaches out, grabs him by the shoulder, and turns him around. He rests his hands on Sevin's forearms, and looks at him seriously, right in the eye. His dad's go-to move for weighted moments. He'd like to squirm out of the grip, and he could—he's twice as strong as his dad, at least—but in a sense more important than the physical, he is completely incapable.

"Dad, what—?"

"Just wait a moment, okay? I know you have to go. I just wanted to tell you that I've been to these dances and I know that sometimes...the night goes in a direction you don't expect, so... I want you to be prepared. No sex without safe sex, right?

He can feel his face turning red, like a tomato. Like a furnace. He is going to overheat and then faint. Maybe if he tries hard enough he can sink into the floor.

"Dad."

"I know! Dad, so embarrassing. Just promise me, okay?"

He wriggles himself out of the grip at last, ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. He can feel his father staring at them both. "I'm—You don't have to worry because I'm not having sex, okay? I'm... not in the same galaxy as having sex."

He glances at his father, stone-faced and tense, his mouth a thin and impassive line.

"He's not having sex," Jim says, as if to translate, and Spock nods, once.

"Good."

Even to Sevin's ears, it sounds like a threat.

Luckily, the doorbell rings again, and he's saved from further embarrassment—of the parental variety, at least.

"I really have to get that!" he says, and half-sprints from the room.

Three steps down the hall, he realizes both of his parents are following him, and he turns abruptly on his heel, almost running into his father in the process.

"What are you doing?"

"Meeting your date," his father answers.

"And taking pictures," his dad adds.

Sevin opens his mouth to argue, but one look at his parents' faces, and he knows he's already staring down defeat. "Just one picture," he insists, as he starts walking toward the door again.

"Three," his dad counters, while his father suggests, "Perhaps four," and Sevin starts calculating the odds that they will scare away his date before he even gets her out of the building.

The outlook appears, at first, bleak, but they are ultimately in his favor.

#the year 2020 #2020: free write #2020: answers #home also i cannot go #mine #my writing #the ending isn't strong but i literally had to wrap it up and run or i'd be late for work

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peantbutter-honeycombs · 4 years

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Close to the Ground

Title: All In a Name

Word count: 4,204

Characters: Peter Parker, oc

Warnings: fluff? Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Sweet damn!!! This came out a lot longer than I intended for it to. Let me tell you. As I was writing I kept thinking of more ideas and the word count kept getting longer. I'll edit this when I have the time if I'm able, so forgive typos. There are so many typos. I'll change this when I've edited the story.

I came up with the idea years ago back when Civil War came out. But now I have time to headcanon and perfect it.

———

The little girl stared at Peter and he in turn stared back the two looked at each other as if they were deer caught in the head lights. That both sat criss cross, across from the other on May's living room sofa. Every time Peter even tried to make a move the little girl would flinch, a cold chill creeping up her spine so Peter tried to remain motionless.

While he appeared cool on the outside, inside his thoughts were spiraling out of control. What do I do!? What do I do!? Where's aunt May? One of my first real "rescues" as Spider-Man and I come home with a kid!? In the grip of silent panic his right foot beat uncontrollably against the cushion. It seemed to be the only acceptable action, as it didn't send the pipsqueak into a tizzy.

He had been doing a routine sweep of neighboring area swing through the cityscape when a scream as good as a a banshee's rent the air. Nobody screamed like that unless they were in fear for their life. It came from a darkened alley, and like a true hero he'd taken off toward it ready to take on whatever threat lied ahead. He shocked to find the alley seemingly empty though after a careful look around just to be safe he had found her. Lonely, buried beneath bags of trash, she laid out.

Peter wasn't sure what he'd been thinking back then, forty minutes ago. Scratch that, he knew damn well. The city streets were no place for child, especially one so young. It was going to be dark soon and thunder had been in the forecast for later that evening. He'd used his best judgement.

He mentally scoffed, best judgment.

Now here he sat just him and what could be more than a two-year-old. Her icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul unsure yet whether to consider him friend or foe. Her clothes were of the spring variety a season that would becoming to an end in following few weeks. They seemed kind small for her, which was saying something, stained with dirt, garbage, and other thing Peter didn't care to name. Her hair was knotted and tangled giving it a troll rat nest appearance. If he had to guess, she was brunette.

The ringing for the apartments land line went of like a school bell. The two caught off guard both flinched at the sudden noise, the little girl letting out a high pitched yelp as she did. Second ring. Peter shared a look with toddler at the other end of the couch. He needed to answer the phone, but he didn't want to trigger a panic. Third ring. She whimpers bring her knees up into her chest. Fourth ring.

"I need to answer the phone," Peter said. His words were clear and concise, carefully spoken as to not spook her. "Please, I promise that's all I'm going to do." Her icy eyes softened, not by much but enough to convince him she would allow him to get up and move across the room.

He moved in at brisk walking pace very aware of the fact that with each step he was silently being judged. Once in the kitchen her scooped up the land line and spoke into it. "Parker residence. Hey this..." he listened for a moment.

"Hey, May... I'm- I'm fine. I could really use your help though... Can it wait?" He looked over to the child now staring out the window, from the couch, with wide eyed fascination at the rain outside. "It's kind of important... Oh I see... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... But still... Uh-huh. Okay... Later? Sure... Okay... No, no I got it... okay, see you then... I love you too...bye." He hung up the phone, placing it back on it charging stand.

With a sigh he ran his hands across his face. The child immediately turned her focus back to him eyes darting up and down to discern his current emotional state. He wouldn't cuss in front of her, at least not a loud. Inside his head he was Kenny McCormick.

He gave a feeble smile to the toddler when he noticed she was watching his every move, as if she were studying him. "What am I going to do with you?" he laughed somewhat dryly. She obviously didn't like that lowering her head so only her eye and above peeked out from behind the couch's back.

Indeed what would he do with her?

........................................................................................................................................................

It seemed there was nothing he could do to make her budge. She was't interested in his action figured, books, or legos— Probably a good thing she wasn't to keen on the legos kind of a choking hazard — she ignored his funny faces and attempts to make her laugh. She just stared on, gnawing on her fingers, curled up at one end of the couch. She had moved when Peter accidentally came too close to her but he wasn't about to do that again. It would be cruel to use her spacial fears against her.

"Okay I give up," Peter declared. "You can just sit there on the couch and do nothing." He was laid out across the rug surrounded by various items he'd pulled from his room in an effort to entertain the emotionless youngling.

At Peter declaration she raised a brow, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. As quickly as it came it went, Peter was none the wiser.

Grrbbrggfgrr

She hadn't meant to do that, Peter could tell by the light pink pink color flushing her cheeks. Her stomach rumbles again making her squirm in her seat.

Peter raced to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge, digging past the left over takeout none of which he figured she'd like, he found a box with leftover chicken nuggets from a meal he'd made himself a few days prior. He took out the remaining seven nuggets and quickly placed them in the microwave for 49 seconds before coming back to the living room.

He sat back down, set the plate out on the coffee table in front of the child and asked.

"Are you hungry?" A lick of the lips was all he got in response. She carefully eyed the plate, focus switching from,Peter to the tenders on a loop. "It's okay, the foods fine," he tried nudging the plate a bit closer to her. "It's chicken nuggets. Do you like chicken nuggets?" She curiously dropped her head to one side eyebrows drawing together as if to ask 'what are chicken nuggets?'

"There really good," Peter coaxed taking a piece for himself to demonstrate. "It's okay, they're not poisoned or anything." He took a bite and smiled.

Hesitantly she reached an arm out but was quick to realize her arms were to short. Cautiously, carefully she slid herself off the couch cushion, eye never leaving Peter. Feet firmly on the ground she let herself relax a little. She finally took one of the nuggets off the plate and sat her little bum on the rug. She sniffed the meat then just barely touched it to her small tongue.

She cooed, kicking her legging up and down, as she'd just been hut by a stoke of lightning. Her eye dilated losing there icy sheen as she devoured the chicken nuggets. Eyes shining with new found life she looked to Peter. Clicking her feet together she held out the plate, making series of inaudible noises.

Peter bit back a laugh, "do you want some more." There was bag in the freezer, they would actually require more than a microwave to bake. But she was happy, maybe more would make her smile.

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Making more chicken nuggets had clearly been the right decision. She chattered and observed everything with a newfound curiosity. He still hadn't seen her smile but that didn't bother him too much.

He sat on the couch watching her wander around the apartment reaching for and looking at everything. Every now and again she'd find something so interesting to her that she'd pick it up and bring it over to show Peter. She chatter and babble nonsensically then leave at his feet and amble of to continue exploring.

Peter was keeping a list in his head of where she was finding everything so he could later put them back. So far she'd gifted him nine items; an electronic candle, the tv remote, one fuzzy sock, his Mathematics of Astronomy textbook, a spare set of keys, a decorative flower, an orange, a quarter and two nickels, and his Wicket the Ewok action figure.

There was pull from under him. He looked over the back of the couch to see the little girl tugging atone end of the throw blanket, the other end firmly lodged underneath him. "Whatcha doin'?" She briefly stared at him, then continued to tug at the soft blanket.

"I don't think I can keep pretending you don't have a name." He said suddenly, lifting himself off his end of the throw blanket.

With no one else home it was easy to ignore the fact that he didn't know her name but it was starting to feel rude. She knew his name, he just thought she couldn't yet say it. Either out of shyness or verbal development.

"Do you have a name?" He asked. She blinked a few times before draping the blanket over her head. "Can you tell me what it is?" He tried. From beneath the blanket she chattered and honked at Peter stomping her feet against the floor.

"Really?" Peter smiled, pretending he knew just what she'd said. "Well, how about I give you a nickname?" she babbled some more craning her head to one side. "Okay cool," he pulled out his phone and brought up a cite for nickname recommendations. "Let's see... cutie? You are pretty cute," Peter teased. He couldn't see her face but he heard her blow a raspberry. "So that's a no... monkey?" she was curious. Another raspberry. "Bee?" This time she shook her head, her interest fading.

Blanket still over her head she traveled around the room like a ghost. A cute ghost. An unnerving tingle ran up Peter's spine making the hairs on his skin stand on end. He immediately looked to the toddler. "Ooah," she squeaked. She hadn't gotten far before bumping into one of the apartment's ceiling support beams. His eyes flew wide and his muscles went all rigid.

He surprised himself, he was at her side in seconds, still maintaining an arms length distance. Her arm length not. "Hey, hey are you okay?" He softly cooed, cautiously lifting the blanket off her head. He looked her over, as best he could from where he was, for any bruises or marks. She nodded.

"Yep? You're okay?" She continued to nod making clicking noises with her tongue. There was this twinge feeling in Peter that just wasn't convinced. Not a spidey-sense feeling just a fEeLiNg.

She affirmatively nods, struggling to stand up in the blanket tangle she'd created. Peter couldn't help but laugh softly watching her struggle to stand. She reminded him of the videos of newborn calves standing for the first time. She sneezed tripping backwards back down on her bum.

His muscles went stiff, he had to stop himself from touching her. "Hey, be careful. Clumsy." He laughed dryly. "You alright?" She turned her head to him, wiping the snot dribbling down her nose away with her sleeve and nodded.

Peter crinkled his nose in disgust, he was compiled by sheer grossed outness to peel her arm away by the sleeve. She flinched at the sudden contact, her face washed blank with confusion. Then she remembered, and her muscles relaxed.

"Let's use a Kleenex," Peter suggested bringing her arm away from her boogered nose. Her clothes were already coated in a thin layer of grime. "Maybe... take a bath?" He added. She was in desperate need of one, he was getting used to it but she reeked. And he was curious to know what she looked like without the filth layer.

That being said, this was the first time he'd been allowed to contact her in anyway since he'd brought her home and she still seemed agitated. So bath would be hers and his summit.

........................................................................................................................................................

"Okay look it's just a little water."

He managed to coax her into the bathroom and fill up the tub before she'd put two and two together. She stood back against the one door and shook her head. He'd been at this for fifteen minutes, though her trust in him had grown she refused to enter the bath. Peter wasn't about to make her that'd just undo her confidence in him.

"Hold on I'll show you." Peter dunked his head into the mildly warm water. Her nervous became frazzled jumping all together in a frazzled panic. Heart rate spiking, she speeds across the room to the edge of the tub. It wasn't long before Peter brought his head back up, he'd only been under for a couple of seconds. His hair lies plaster about his forehead beads of water dripping down from the tips. "See? Perfectly fine?"

Looking to her his smile fell. Gripping tightly the edge of the tub, her eyes held a sweet amount of concern. Lower lip drawn back in her, eyes brimmed with watery tear threading to fall. Guilt hit him like a fright train. "I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He apologized. She shakily sniffled, gnawing on her middle, index, and ring fingers as she sat her bum on the tile. She needed to calm her nerves.

So bath was a no go. Something about the water unnerved her.

"How about a shower?" He offered. Sure the toddler was small but she wouldn't fit in any of the sinks for a baby style bath. It was after all a small apartment. So a shower seemed like the next option. Peter pulled the the drain stopper out, to let the water run down.

Her blues curiously watched the water drain until the base of the tub was bare. "I promise a shower isn't bad." She looked at him, monitoring his movements as he stood and took off the handheld shower head. "Promise, promise," he joked sending a reassuring smile her way.

He turned the nob over the water nozzle, activating the hot water. "It's just like a rain...shower." He explained spraying the shower head toward the bath's back wall.

Eyebrows arching toward the sky, her eyes widened. She chirped and squeaked pointing — with the hand not in her mouth — toward the watery spray.

"See?" He held his hand out in front of the gentle spray. She moved close to him, so close her shoulder brushed against his. She held out her own hand, the warm droplets tickled her skin.

"There you go," Peter beamed. She babbled about, looking between him and the spray, her senseless words ran into one another. Peter reached over her head and took out rubber duck from the shower caddy. "Ducky will even be your shower buddy." It hadn't had purpose until then, previously nothing more than a decoration.

"Quack-quack quack," he teased tickle the duck against her side. She hummed, crumpling up. Her mouth formed what wasn't quite a smile but also not a frown. She poked at the rubber duck, attempting to mimic Peter's quacking. Peter laughed, she sounded like a chick.

"Ducky?" He tried.

She crinkled her nose making a stank face. Another raspberry.

He chuckled softly, she really is cute

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't believe it. Under all that dirt and grime the toddler was actually quite adorable. She was cute before but now that she was cleaned up she had this new glow to her. The toddler was Celtic looking, fair skin, sharp eyes, spotty dotty freckles that shifted with her cheeks and beautiful strawberry blonde locks.

"And blue," Peter called out.

The two were back in the living room. They spent the better half of an hour sorting Peter's stuff by color, something he thought she wouldn't be interested in but took to quite naturally. They'd run out of stuff from Peter's pile on the floor to sort twenty minutes ago. He wasn't quite sure how it started but now all he had to do was call out a color and she'd toddle off to find a match, then return so he could add it to the corresponding color pile.

No completely clean she'd certainly perked up even more so then before. She wore a pink black-squared tank hooded capri romper, hair still damp it fell loosely on to her shoulders.

Prepping for her a shower he'd discovered she wore pull-ups. Shouldn't have surprised him. This however made him realize there weren't any clothes suited for her in the apartment. Luckily one of the neighbors a floor below had a child close to her assumed age. The mother was confused as to why he needed some of her child's old clothes and pull-ups. Peter had just said he was babysitting and the child didn't bring an extra pair of clothes. Which wasn't a total lie.

The patter of little feet filled the room as the toddler waddled over to Peter from where ever she had been. She held out a blue sandal, not a pair sandals, just the one. "Is there another shoe," Peter asked raining a single brow. She drew in her lip, rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet, and nodded hesitantly.

"Can you go get it for the blue pile?"

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless complied, scuffling off to retrieve the other sandal. She was really enjoyable to be around, a bit of goof ball.

It wasn't long before she came barreling in sandal in hand, a blue metallic 1966 model Chevrolet chevelle clamped between her teeth.

"Hey what did I say?" Peter asked adopting a stern tone. She blinked a few times before remembering. She widened her mouth allowing the car to drop to the floor. "Little gum monster."

This earned him a raspberry.

Peter was certain she was still teething. If she wasn't gnawing/gumming on her own fingers she was gumming on some object. She'd gnawed on the rubber duck, a spatula head, four of the gifts she'd given Peter and now a metal model car. He'd have to get her a teething ring.

Peter shook his head mentally hitting himself. She's not staying.

Peter had to found himself forgetting that fact a couple times in the past two hours.

"Okay go find..." he wanted to challenge her this time. "Yellow." She chirped and squeaked before toddling off. She was a little scout, obtaining articles and returning them to Peter.

This time it too, her bit longer to find something of a yellow color. The duck had already been used so she need to find something else. She found herself in what could only be Peter's room. She sifted and searched, eyes on the lookout for some yellow.

Bingo

He heard it... again. The litter patter of little feet approaching. Heart swelled as he saw her round the corner of the couch, proudly clutching a mustard yellow cloth. "You found yellow," he commended holding a hand out for her to give him the cloth. Peter couldn't help but laugh as he spread out what was actually his mustard yellow tee with the words 'Bacteria. The only culture some people have' printed on in bold black lettering.

The little girl tried mimicking his laughter, but sounded more like a dolphin or chipmunk. This only made Peter laugh more.

"Thanks Gummy."

The name just slipped out. Her eyes sparkled like freshly fallen snow. He could tell by her body language and lack of raspberry that she at the very least didn't hate the name. In fact Her babbling happily like spring brook suggested she liked the name.

"Gummy," he repeated.

There was something about the nickname that just... suited her.

........................................................................................................................................................

When this kid, Gummy at as Peter now called her, got her energy she made the most of it. He never wanted to hear the Hokey-Pokey or the Baby Shark songs again. His muscles were tight from the childish motions. Simon says had been much more his speed for the night, at least until it was Gummy's turn be Simon. Hide-and-Seek nearly gave him a panic attack.

He could no longer deny the fact that he cared about her. Her bright eyes, bubbly chirps, and button nose. Her in all her quirkinesses.

"Okay Gummy, behold one of the greatest movies ever!..." He exclaimed holding up a colorful dvd box. Gummy did her cute curious head tilt, crinkling up her nose. "That we own." Peter murmured somewhat sourly.

Peter had the room set up for comfy movie watching. She'd burned out after four rounds of hide-and-seeks, showing clear signs of tiredness. Now she sat tired-eyed rather sluggishly on the couch. Peter himself was sort of tired too, she'd drain a lot of his energy. A movie seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He wasn't sure how long she'd last, her eyes already glazing over, but he'd enjoy himself even when she inevitably fell asleep.

Gummy reached for the box making grabby hands. Peter took out the dvd and handed it's case to the two-year-old. "It doesn't go in your mouth." He emphasized before turning his back on her. She tried to play with the thin plastic case but quickly discovered the only thing interesting about it was the sound it made when she opened and shut it.

"My Neighbor Totoro. It has animals I really think you'll like." After getting the dvd ready, he sat beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions.

They sat, brains off, engrossed. Peter would peel his eyes away every few minutes to check if Gummy was still awake. Though the television blared her eyes were half closed and her fingers were back in her mouth. She'd yawn, little tongue curling as she did. Her eyes lit up when the first Ghibli creature appeared on screen but there was still a tiredness behind them.

She'd be out like a light soon. Peter returned his focus to the movie.

Some time passed and he suddenly felt a weight increase against his side. He looked down and his eyes immediately softened. Gummy had curled against him. He gave her a side hug and brushed her wispy bangs back. She hugged her little arms around his, nuzzling her face against it, the softest smile gracing her lips.

Peter's heart melted. She's not staying. She's not staying.

He watched her chest rise and fall. The two's combined body heats, tethered with the bump-bump-buh beat of Peter's heart sent the sweet girl off to dreamland. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his top, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her, he wasn't going anywhere. Peter using his other arm brought her onto his lap, protectively holding her against himself.

She's not going anywhere.

........................................................................................................................................................

EXT. Ending

The apartment was dark. The only sources of light came from the one lamp still lit down the hall, and the frequent passing of street cars. Their lights shining through the apartment windows. There was shuffling of feet out in the hall, a muttering of a curse, a jangle of key, and finally a satisfying click. The door swung open. In the door way, the silhouette of a woman shaking the rain off her umbrella.

"Peter?" She whispered quietly entering in. Just barely making out some movement on the couch she shook her head. Her nephew most have fallen asleep on the couch again. "Peter," she called out. At the second call of his name Peter awoke, his hold around the still sleeping baby in his arms tightening.

"Hey Pete sorry I had to work late." May apologized tussling her nephew's hair. "A coworker had leave suddenly, his wife went into labor. And it was my turn to cover." She headed to the kitchen.

Peter pushed a hand through his hair fixing the tussled up areas. "Yeah it's fine May," He assured looking back at her from over his shoulder. "Something huge happened after school." He began.

He didn't get a chance to finish as his aunt held up the dirty pair of clothes Gummy had been wearing earlier. Their apartment didn't have a washing machine so he'd simply discarded them in the sink until they could be washed. "Peter who's clothes are these? Who's Emilia?"

"Emilia?”

May held up the shirt tag. While he was seated too far to see what was written, he had to guess it was the word 'Emilia'.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, mentally kicking himself. Her name was on her shirt tag! As the full realization, sank in, he threw his head back. From the pit of his stomach, came all his emotion, and a loud groan passed through his lips.

"Damn it."

#peter parker #peter parker x child #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fandom #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Spider-Man headcanon #spider man homecoming #spiderman #spider man #original character #oc #writing #reblogs are greatly appreciated!!#comments loved #hashtags admired

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breitzbachbea · 3 years

Note

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like), 6. What character do you have the most fun writing? 10. How would you describe your writing process? 16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?) -> I'm beging nosy and asking FOUR questions 👀😂

Oh Amber, PLEASE be nosy. I love answering questions about my writing or characters, even though I take 5000 years to answer.

Fun meta asks for writers

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Okay, I thought about this for a while and I think I have a few more I could also share (and I'd probably have a sizeable amount of scenes or sentences if I reread ALL I wrote). But this scene was the thing that came to mind first and stuck the most.

From Italian Affairs, Chapter 9 "Drained Chances", Scene 3:

“I know I have to make up for what a jerk I’ve been”, he said. “But I still wish I could just forget.” He looked back into the room and spotted the wine bottle on a sideboard. “Charlie, you’ve got to face this”, Harry said and Michele sighed: “Okay we’ve got to think sober about this situation. Well, you do, Charlie.” “Damn right”, he muttered before walking over to the sideboard, almost falling over when he came to a hold with his hands on its upper side: "I have to correct my mistakes tomorrow!" “That’s the spirit!”, Harry said and Michele smiled. “You most certainly have the right ideas even now, Charlie.” “I have fucked up but I am a grown man and like that I will take responsibility for my actions!” He had grabbed the bottle even before the other two could yell “No!” and they only watched in horror as he emptied it. Charlie held down a burp, put the bottle back on the table and smile confident: "I have to talk to him again and explain myself." “And there it goes down the drain, the last piece of his common sense”, Harry hissed. “Thanks for lending me your ear, guys”, Charlie said and took a wobbly step away from the sideboard. “I am going back to my room now, enjoy your night.” He walked towards the door: “Or maybe I could try to talk to Marco again – no, that’s a stupid idea.” “You just drank half a bottle of wine in one go, mate, you are not going anywhere”, Harry said and Michele sighed but Charlie waved his hand while he staggered towards the door. “Don’t let me cockblock you, Happy fucking.” And with that he tripped and fell to his knees. He frowned at the floor while Michele got up to help him. “You know, Michele”, Charlie said while the Sicilian pulled him on his legs. “On second thought it might have been six beer.”

'Don't let me cockblock you, happy fucking', followed immediately by Charlie tripping and nearly falling on his face is deadass THE funniest thing I have ever written. I love how hilarious the entire situation is, solely because Charlie is an impulsive son of a bitch who keeps making bad decisions. Whenever he seems on track, he just cannot shut his mouth, he just cannot control a whim for a moment too long and it bites him in the ass the very next second. I love him so much. Furthermore, the scene itself is a perfect blend of wit and slapstick. I've outdone myself here.

Also, fuck you, ao3 says I have 382 170 words uploaded right now and that is still far from all I've ever written. So you're getting another scene.

From Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up:

“I hate myself,” she said in French. “I hate myself and I hate him, I hate both of them so much,” she sobbed as her breath hitched and tears began to run down her face again. “Don’t cry again, shhht, don’t do that,” Hugo whispered and began to rock from side to side. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to cry about.” “I wouldn’t have to see it if I had just opened my stupid mouth and had told him how I felt, if I had just told him these stupid three words I now wouldn’t have to see this.” Her voice was something between a whisper and a hiss.

There are at least two more little paragraphs I could have shared from that one-shot, so I decided to go with the most emotional part. I reread it last night and I still think it is a pretty damn good piece of writing. It's funny, interesting and it shows all of the characters (Timothea, Hugo, Arielle) and their relationships to one another marvellously. I'd sincerely reccommend it to everyone, although the (not as good for sure) A French Trio Of Bad Decisions may be required reading to understand who Arielle is talking about in the above excerpt. (Amber, since you already read that one though, you can just go and enjoy Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up as your first taste of Thea before you delve into The Amulet for more <3)

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

That's a good question! I was going to go through Irish Problems and Italian Affairs again, tallying up who has how many POV Scenes, but gave up rather quickly; it's just very hard to determine with all the headhopping that happens in the beginning. Last time I checked it was Harry. The following list is by no means exhaustive and talks mainly about the characters as POV characters. I very much enjoy writing all of my children, whether they're the POV character or not in any given scene.

Charlie is definitely one of them, I feel very at home in his head and he's so much fun to write. His catastrophizing, his intense but jumpy emotions, his impulsivity and kindness, his dialogue and thoughts ... He is so much fun. I'd have to lie to say this gay adhd mess doesn't hold a special place in my heart.

Francesco is another good one, solely because I love being in his head. It's a nightmare in there at times, but that's what makes it fun. Let the sadism fight the catholic guilt, the lust for pleasure at all cost the need for kindness. He's a very vibrant character with an undeniable presence in each scene he is in and it's always fun to write interesting characters.

Lovino's also always a blast. His ranting, his annoyance, his fidgeting (oh, god, if someone asks me for a favourite scene again, I am sharing the one where he shuffled around too much during a car ride and ended up folded like a lawn chair in the footwell). The tumultous inside of his head, his doubts, his fears. I have nothing but love for him and I already miss him, despite not technically having finished Italian Affairs. The rewrite is still ahead of me and I am going to savour every single moment I get to write my favourite South Italian.

Last but not least a shoutout to Hugo. I think he is very interesting as well, with the masks he wears and the intensity that lies beneath them. He's both a sweet young man AND a fuckboy AND a little bitch. The only problem with Hugo is that I'm never 100% sure in his characterisation and have to consult Jonah, his creator, in those cases.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Messy as shit for being this organized - or Surprisingly organized for being messy as shit. I've developed this process over the past eight years and I'll probably keep tweaking screws as time goes on.

This is my process for my big, multi-chapter, novellength main series entries. Anything else usually gets done in a similiar fashion, just with some of the steps lacking. (I didn't vomitdraft for rarepairweek, for example, nor did I do the proofreading on paper because deadline.)

1. I make an outline. I used to call this "Scene Plan", because it is just that - a list of each scene, with a very short description that makes no sense to anyone but me. Seriously, YOU tell me what is going on here:

2. I collect all snippets that come to mind for a series in a document; if I already have an outline, I copy whatever scene they would belong to as a header. Those things happen all the time, it isn't a conscious effort.

3. I take those snippets, paste them into Quollwriter and then vomitdraft for a few days. Each day around 500 words, as fast as possible. Whatever comes to mind goes onto the page, rarely backtracking. It's not about it being presentable, it's about having something written that serves as skeleton for the scene. I research jack shit at this point and directly type (Look this shit up) into the text.

4. Once a scene/chapter is done, I copy it into word and read through it to take notes in a little notebook. I write down what to research, what I like in the draft, what I dislike and what I still ponder. I try to draw the first connections to give the chapter a coherent feeling. (Chapters for the main series consist of three scenes, so I take notes for a scene and edit it before I repeat the process for the next - I don't take comments for three scenes in a row.)

5. I begin to edit the scene with a goal of 200 words a day. I usually exceed it; during a very bad day I fall a little short of it. I try to write every day or every two days, unless something else requires my focus more (like a term paper). Oftentimes I start a writing session with tweaking what I did the day before, before I continue. I usually also do the research as it is called for at this stage - The Amulet was the only time I did research before I even begun to write. My usual timer is 30 Minutes, but I tend to write for a little longer if I am in the flow. Or I sit there for 4 hours to finish a scene because I am THAT much in the flow and I want the GODFORSAKEN THING DONE.

6. Once I finished editing the chapter or one-shot, I print it out and go through it with a red gel pen. I correct typos, formatting errors or formatting choices I don't agree with. I rewrite sentences that I think read clumsily and cross out words that repeat too much. I sometimes add things to moments that are lacking or I cross out sentences that now feel unnecessary. Once finished, I apply the corrections to my document.

7. If I have a beta-reader (like the lovely @swabianmapley for Herz Auf Beat), this is the point at which I send them the document and wait for their feedback & corrections.

8. I post the thing onto the black void that is The Internet, lie to myself that I don't care about feedback & yet still keep checking ao3 for new hits/kudos/bookmarks/comments and begin the same process for my next project a few days later.

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

Hmm. I don't know if it counts, but in the coffee one-shots for rarepairweek I tried to make peace with the 'holes' I left. To not explain everything, but let the reader draw their own conclusion. Aside from that ... Been trying to put more emotion into my writing. I felt so unsatisfied with the big Charco kiss at the end of Italian Affairs that I'm now making an effort into describing emotions and sensations more, especially internally and not simply physically.

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craniumaniac-moved · 7 years

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【 night of the lockdown . 】✘

a discord rp ft. @tender--age--in--plume

This roleplay is set during the night of the Po Town lockdown put into effect by Plumeria after a bomb threat. The threat was a result of the events that took place the previous night when Rico ( @komala-scientist ) purposefully baited Guzma to beat him up. Warning: It’s long, took us over 12 hours to get done, and it’s emotional.

Mercifully, things have begun to quiet down. Shady House is fuller even than usual, with many team members having chosen to stay in the main house due to the lockdown rather than overflowing into the surrounding houses as is typical. The beds are packed and many have piled up on the floor like dogs. Plumeria doesn't mind, She likes knowing exactly where everyone is, especially at a time like this. Unable to sleep, she laps around the mansion and checks in again and again. Eventually her travels lead her to the Throne Room; she hesitates with her hand on the knob for a moment before sighing and letting herself in. "Hey, G."

While it may have been a hectic day for everybody else, it had been a quiet one for the Skull Boss. Holed up in his room and not communicating with anyone, he napped, he snacked, he drank, he smoked, he watched porn, and he played some GTA and even some Pokemon Crossing. Currently, he sat on his bed, a drawing pad open in front of him, many colored pencils scattered around him, and a bottle of gin nestled between his legs. He's surprised when she comes in, looking up with a small gasp. She'd been keeping him updated professionally, but other than that he didn't think she wanted anything to do with him currently. This mess was all kind of his doing ( but mostly Rico’s, as he would strongly argue ), although he wasn't taking it very seriously himself. He considered the entire series of events to be completely stupid, to put it frankly. "Hey, P. Sup."

There's a little pause as she notes his relaxed posture, a hint of resentment welling in her. The door closes behind her and she folds her arms, regarding him with a cool gaze. "Have a nice night?"

He shrugs, looking back down to his drawing pad to continue coloring something in. "I guess... Just tryin'a keep chill."

A small sigh ... she approaches the bed and comes to sit next to him.

He's quiet for a little bit as he puts the finishing touches on a Scolipede doodle. When he's done, he decides a big swig of his drink is overdue, still finding it hard to look at her. "How're you doin'...?"

"Shitty," she replies honestly, leaning over to slump against him. "Long night. Think shit's coolin' down now though."

"Ya prolly deserve some good sleep, y'know..." Another swig.

"Maybe ... was worried about you, though." She glancing at the sketchbook. "Guess maybe I shouldn't'a been ... looks like you ain't been much bothered."

"Oh, 'm bothered, that's fo'sure." He reaches to flip to the next blank page in the sketchbook, starting to think of what to draw next. "But I ain't scared."

There comes a small huff through her nose. "You ain't scared'a nothin'."

"Well... guess 'm lyin' a lil bit. I'm scared'a you bein' upset wit' me..."

Silence, for a few moments. "...I ain't very happy right now, that's for sure. But ... I dunno. I ain't really pissed at you."

In those few moments, he grabs a black colored pencil and nearly puts it to the paper multiple times before he realizes he can't draw with someone watching, not even Plumeria. A sigh. He closes the sketchbook and starts to bundle up the pencils. "I'unno what ya want me to do. I didn' fuckin' do nothin' wrong..."

Sighing deeply, she leans back against the headboard. "I know. I was pissed at you for not tryin' and then you tried and Rico went and fucked shit up. I just ... I dunno why you couldn't both try make it work for me. When one'a you was tryin' the other one was makin' shit hard and then you switched places. I was real excited when I thought shit might actually be okay ... I wanted it so bad. More then I ever wanted anything. And now it's all shit."

"Yo I fuckin' learned from my mistake before, s'why I was tryin' to try last night. Rico's a fuckin' idiot t'not go 'long wit' it." He flops his art supplies to the floor next to the bed, stretching out his legs and leaning back with her, gulping down some drink as he does so. "I knew you'd be real excited. I was, too. Not really to be his friend or nothin' but I knew it'd make ya happy... n' proud'a me. I was real proud'a myself, steppin' back 'fore I dove in givin' him a hard time, instead decidin' on tryin'a relate to him somehow. Even if it was just our fuckin' birthdays bein' around Halloween." A pause. "Yeah. It is all shit. I'm real, real sorry, Plumes. He's not gettin' another chance wit' me after pullin' that shit on me..."

She anticipated that, but it's still painful to hear. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her forehead against the backs of her knees. "I know."

But wait, there's more. The kingpin's about to go on a tipsy ramble. "He fuckin' used me, Plumeria. Asshole was thinkin', 'Hurr durr I wanna get hurt 'cause boohoo I hate me! I know what I can do! I can go make the big dumb thug get mad! I'll take advantage 'a how easy it is to piss him off 'cause he's so stupid! Insert some random ass gibberish ain't nobody got time for! And fuck Plumeria's feelin's to hell 'cause obviously I don't give a shit about her!' Arceus damn!" A deep breath. He's clutching the neck of the gin bottle so tightly his hand is trembling and his knuckles are white. "Ya tol' me to shut up earlier when I was tryin'a say this, but you keepin' close to him got me real worried."

As he speaks, she closes her eyes. Okay, Melia. Keep it together. Slowly, gradually, she unwinds, stretching her legs back out and sitting up to square her shoulders. How stupid of her to think that coming to him would give her a soft place to land. "Yeah, well. I wouldn't be who I am if I gave up on every person who hurt me," she replies stiffly.

Finally, he turns his head to look at her. "You tryin'a hold on like he's family, but he ain't yo' family, Plumeria. That's me, that's all'a Skull, that's Tutu n' anybody else you close wit' who don't fuck wit' us like T n' even Hyde. I been fucked wit' by Rico, so's T."

"You tellin' me you want me cut him out?"

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, becoming distressed. "I can't control what ya do. Jus' don't be fuckin' disappointed in me for not acceptin' him like he's part'a the fam."

Time passes. At last, a slow nod. "I understand." She's still not looking at him.

And he looks away. Hugging the bottle close to his stomach with one hand, his other hand covers his eyes as he hunches over. "I'm sorry..."

Her eyes snap closed again. "I'm sorry, too."

"You still gonna be disappointed in me, aren't ya?" Shuddering sigh. "Dammit, I was so proud 'a me, Plume, I really was... Couldn't wait for you bein' proud 'a me, too..."

"I ain't disappointed in you, G. I'm just ... disappointed. I really wanted this, and I--thought I could trust him." Her voice breaks.

He sits up, places his bottle on the floor and scoots himself over to her, arms slipping around her for a Komala hug. "It's gonna be aight, y'know..."

The moment he touches her ... she breaks. It starts with a sharp, haggard gasp and a flinch, her eyes shutting tight as her body tenses up, and then continues with ugly, shuddering sobs that wrack her body.

Although it's not something he has never experienced with her before, the reaction admittedly startles him. He doesn't know whether to stop or to hold on tighter, so he simply loosens his grip for the time being. "Plumes...! Shhh... I got ya, Plumes...," he attempts to soothe.

She grips his arms around her tightly as though to keep him from slipping away, squeezing, gulping down deep, wet breaths until she calms down enough to speak. "...Sorry."

Since she seems to want him to continue holding, he squeezes and he doesn't stop, rocking her back and forth slightly. "That's okay, P. Just let out what ya need to. G's here for ya."

"I'm––s–so–––fuckin'–––tired..." She chokes, gritting her teeth hard as she tries to swallow down the fresh wave.

"C'mon, let's put ya to bed then? You been workin' real hard today..." He doesn't quite get it.

"No...not tired like that. Tired of this." She sniffs wetly, lifting a hand to swipe at the tears that have fallen.

"Oh..." He lovingly kisses her cheek and the edge of her jaw, hoping to further comfort her. "I still don't quite get what ya mean... What's 'this' exactly...?"

She stammers, then takes a big, shaky breath. "I just...spent all day...talkin' to the fam, textin' with Aether, dealin' with people wanna kill you, makin' sure everybody safe, dealin' with Nanu...and you been in here drawin'. 'Cause you think it's all stupid. Well, maybe it's stupid for you...maybe this all real fuckin' easy for you...but it ain't easy for me. It's hard. I never signed up for do this all alone. You s'posed'a have my back." A ragged breath. "Maybe...maybe you don't even care. Maybe this all sounds like more bullshit 'cause you don't think you did nothin' wrong...like that makes it better...like that means less fallout for me. Well--at least you got somethin' you wanted outta it all." She sighs. "I stayed home."

His mouth falls open and slowly and unsurely... he lets go of her. Maybe he deserved it, but that really, really wounded him. "Nobody came t' me 'bout anything...," he says weakly. "An' I didn't come to nobody 'bout anything neither 'cause I felt like I'd fuck it up. I'd get mad we was even havin' to deal with this stupid shit Rico's dumb friends brought on us 'cause they ain't know shit, 'cause he can't fuckin' make it clear he asked for it, makin' me out to be all fuckin' wrong when I—" Deep breath. He doesn't want to get off track. "Plumes... I'm real thankful ya stayed home... real thankful for all the shit you done today... been wantin' to talk to ya but I thought you was still too mad at me..." Suddenly standing from the bed, he begins pacing the room to help expend some of his newfound anxious energy before he possibly cracks, pulling at his hair.

Her eyes follow him. When he stands she wraps her arms around herself and draws a deep breath. "I know...I know." Her eyes slip shut. "I don't..." Fuck it, Melia. He doesn't understand. He gonna think me stupid. Trust him. "I don't wanna lose my dad. Again." She winces, bracing herself as though for impact.

He stops his pacing and just stares at her, hands still gripping his hair, but the tenseness in his posture goes limp with a heavy exhale. "Plumes... He ain't your dad. Even if he was he ain't been a good one, 'specially not that I ever seen."

"No...you ain't ever seen it. And you never asked, either." Her face is expressionless.

"What's'at s'posed to mean...?"

"Just ... there's more to it than you ever saw. There's more to it than I ever told you. You actin' like you got all the information ... and you don't."

He lowers himself to the floor, sitting and curling into a ball in the middle of the room. "I try stay outta yo' business like'at...," he mutters. "And... look... I been there, done that havin' a father in my life n' it's jus' not somethin' I think's worth it. Hard for me t' get, hard to want to. But if there was stuff ya wanna tell me I'd'a listened..."

Slowly, she sinks to the ground and crawls over to settle down beside him, hesitantly lifting a hand to gently stroke his back. "I... never really thought you wanted for hear it. Maybe I could'a prevented all this if I been more honest with you." She sighs. "I know it ain't a topic you got good feelin's about, but ... I dunno. It's important for me. Was important for me ... still is important for me. Just ... I guess maybe I gotta make a choice now." She bites her lip. "Nothin' I want for myself can be more important than my fam ... no matter how bad I want it."

"What options you think you got...?" His head is lifted and he turns toward her. Selfishly, he'd want her to cut Rico out. The things the man has done around him and said to him about his family—their family—are unforgivable, really. But if he is truly a father figure to her who makes her happy, Guzma doesn't want her heart broken... He'll try his best to accept whatever she chooses.

"That's the thing, G. I dunno if I got an option."

"Well then I mean what're you thinkin'...?" He uncurls himself from the position he was in and once again puts his arms around her.

"I'm thinkin'..." Deep sigh. She shuts her eyes and stiffens, refusing to lean into his embrace—not out of anger, but because she needs herself to be strong at the moment. "I'm thinkin' I been puttin' my own needs ahead'a my fam too long. If it gotta come down between him and their safety... it's gotta be them."

Guzma gives a nod. "My opinion's prolly obvious, but I do think that's smart thinkin'..."

So ... that's it. She goes stone silent and still.

"I'm... sorry. I don't want you hurtin'..."

"It don't matter." She stands. "You okay?"

"Yes it fuckin' does matter." He stands as well, letting her slip out of his arms and ignoring her question.

"G... don't."

"Don't what?!"

"Don't make this harder for me."

A big sigh. "Aight. Fine. I'll shut up."

"'M doin' what you want and what's best for the fam. You ought'a be happy." She pauses and drops her gaze, glancing towards the door. "So should I."

"I mean, I guess, yeah... but still hurts seein' you hurtin'. Always will."

"Yeah, well ... I had my chance. I fucked it up." Her words are cold--not cold like ice, but cold like a corpse.

"You didn't fuck up nothin'."

"Yeah. I did."

He crosses his arms and looks away, not wanting to argue anymore.

Silence.

"I love you. Missed ya lately, too..." His gaze is still averted.

"...I love you, too."

He looks at her with a tiny smile.

He does not receive one in kind. "You need me tonight, G?"

Swallow. Noticing she doesn't smile back, he loses his. "Uhm..." He shakes his head. A lie.

"I'm gonna need a couple hours off-base. I wanna tell him in person." She doesn't meet his eye.

"...'Kay."

Anguish.

"What is it, P? If you done here, if ya don't need me, ya can go on..."

She shakes her head. "Ain't about not needin' you. You know that, yeah?"

Nod. "Uh-huh. So what you still here for?"

"Nothin', I guess." She doesn't move.

He just stands there, looking at her with a subtle glare.

...Sigh. "A'ight. Later, G." Finally, she turns to go.

He almost stops her, wishing he could give her a quick kiss, but is afraid she'll reject it after how the past few days have gone. "Lemme know how shit goes. I'll be awake, I'll be here for ya."

There's a brief pause in the doorway. "...I know. Thanks, Guzma." She doesn't look back. The door closes behind her.

He sighs, finding his unfinished bottle of liquor to continue nursing the thing, and places himself on his throne so his bed doesn't tempt him to pass out.

#tender age in plume #komala scientist

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ddpej · 7 years

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Dai, cousin! I'm so sorry I missed messaging you last night~ I got distracted by a book >.

…about the series, especially the NME versions. I’m glad that is something the fandom has embraced wholeheartedly. So, other than reading excellent books, have you any other hobbies? Any sports or crafts or anything like that? I’m quite enjoying getting to know you! You really express yourself so beautifully in writing~ I hope I can learn to express myself so well~

No worries! I had just assumed circumstances conspired against us one way or another. (I do not consider myself to have been wrong. I have a long history of inadvertently losing time to books!)

I have no idea why that’s the default! I mean, I can kind of understand the volume, excitement usually involves excess energy or adrenaline or whatever, and if it slips out unexpectedly as sound it’s probably going to have some force behind it. I’ve been known to let loose a “HA!” before myself (mostly as in “take THAT!”, because I do love to prove people wrong when they doubt me). But I don’t know why most people seem to go high-pitched? Or, for that matter, why they drag the whole thing out for so long? My excitement is not at all a long, loud, shrill thing – but that doesn’t seem to be normal in the slightest. (Flailing is fine. Flailing is often adorable and pretty much always quiet in and of itself, and I absolutely understand excitement expressed as motion.)

Anywho. Hobbies! I am somewhat infamous in local meatspace as a puzzler, for starters. I love the paperboard texture of puzzle pieces in your hand, and the rustle as you paw through the box looking for prime suspects (or the smoothness and the satisfying *click* of the plastic pieces snapping together, if you have that kind of puzzle, or the hushed whisper of foam-backed ones as they tumble and bounce off each other). I don’t care so much about having a finished display piece as I do about just. Putting the puzzle together, because I can, so I’ll go back to the same puzzle more than once if I like the feel or the trick of it. ^_^ (I will put together anything but I casually collect puzzles that are unusual or different or catch my eye, such as tiny or 3D in some fashion or double-sided or interestingly shaped or intended to be challenging.) Sometimes I’ll put a puzzle together upside-down, picture to the table, just to have done it (but you have to have the right kind of puzzle for that, tightly cut and variation in the pieces, or it doesn’t work very well).

I am also reasonably well-versed in cross-stitch! I learned it in the single digits, dabbled every few years or so, and picked it up again in college. (When I graduated, I actually gave all of the professors in my major and some of the staff I’d worked with cross-stitched thank-you cards. It was a frankly absurd undertaking for a condensed-course graduating college kid, and I am somewhat amazed that I finished them all, but I’m still really proud of some of those cards.) I have gotten out of the habit in recent years due to time constraints, mostly, but I dug out my old stitching-to-do pile last year and have been slowly easing my way back into the rhythm of things.

I don’t participate in sports much any more, but I was pretty active back in my school days? I played soccer for nearly a decade, I think (AYSO, never actually on a school team for Reasons). In middle school I tried at least a season each of basketball, volleyball, cross country, track, and parade band (only running and band stuck). I played tennis and swam in lakes in the summer and also just generally ran around wild. In high school I did marching band, swimming, and track. (Track was 9th and 10th grade only; junior year I got knee surgery, which wouldn’t actually have been a problem except that the coach insisted every practice that I be alone in a tiny little windowless room that smelled like old sweat, with the door closed “to avoid disturbance”, and ride a rough old exercise bike thing for two+ hours because actually running out on the track would hamper my recovery. Theoretically. Never mind that the surgeon had given me a clean bill of health and free reign. So. I quit after a few weeks, and never went back.)

As for sports in general, which in retrospect is probably what you were referring to, I have never followed sports as a thing, even with the ones I loved being in. I just. Don’t have any emotional investment in people I don’t know, maybe? I dunno. Basically I don’t mind that sports fans are fans of sports but I don’t really understand it, because there’s absolutely no draw there for me. =P (Given the basic laws of the universe, I shall now assume that you are a sports fan of some flavor and I have dealt you a grave insult. lol)

Thank you for the compliment, by the way! I suspect I blushed. I would like to state for the record that I’m enjoying this as well. ^_^ If it helps any, looking back on my own writing over the years, the trick seems mostly just to be to keep doing it? My style as it is now crept up on me over the course of years of forum roleplay, and I had no idea how dramatically it had changed until I went back after the fact to reread some of the first posts I’d made. (I think that boils down to “Keep calm and write on”. You don’t have to be consciously aiming for an ideal in order to get better.)

#ywwa #yw winter anon #memory greycat #dd rambles

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