#wait this rant went too personal already. anyway change the schooling system

[hidden-otaku-stuff]

Bokuto, Tsukishima, and Iwaizumi in Bad Day Surprises

OMG LOVE. THIS IS SO BIG-BRAIN, I LOVE THIS. I hope you enjoy this @scrappydaisies​ 😘 

Word count: ~1.7k

BOKUTO 

⭐ It was one of those days where everything that could go wrong, went wrong

⭐ You woke up late, missing breakfast as you ran to work, awkwardly putting on your jacket as you sprinted

⭐ When you got to work, you hadn’t printed your proposal and notes, so you ran late for the meeting because of it

⭐ To top it off, you forgot you had a meeting with your supervisor to discuss a potential raise

⭐ (Yikes)

⭐ Of course, you not only forgot your lunch, you’d forgotten your wallet so you couldn’t even buy food!

⭐ Just a whole-ass series of unfortunate events 😔

⭐ Normally, you’d go bother Akaashi - one of your coworkers’ & the reason you had met Bokuto - but he was out with the flu so you didn’t want to bother him

⭐ You also would have texted Bokuto an SOS, BUT of course, he was out traveling for a match so there was no help there

⭐ So, you found yourself fuming at your desk, asking yourself and all possible deities out there on why you had such bad karma, angrily vent-texting Bokuto

⭐ Though he was preoccupied and not reading/responding to your texts, you felt a bit better getting it out of your system

⭐ One of your other coworkers noticed the predicament that you were in, and ended up buying you food

⭐ As you made your way home, you pull out your phone again to see that Bokuto had left you on read 

⭐ Well okay then

⭐ It’s not like that hurt or anything

⭐ (it 100% did but what else could go wrong, y’know?)

⭐ Bokuto wasn’t supposed to be back for a few days because work

⭐ But that didn’t stop you from opening the door and calling “I’m home!” to an empty house

⭐ Leading to you laughing at yourself...which eventually became hysterical...and soon enough, you were standing in the hallway sobbing

⭐ “Babe?”

⭐ Your brain short-circuits

⭐ “K-kou?!” you sniff

⭐ You were a complete wreck by now. Like, your entire face was hot, the tears would not stop, you were snotty as heck

⭐ Your boyfriend appears in the doorway, his eyes wide at your face before he rushes at you

⭐ “What’s wrong pretty one?” he asks, “is it because of your day?”

⭐ (ngl imagining Bokuto calling you ‘pretty one’ made my heart skip a beat)

⭐ “Kou!” you sob, burying your face into his chest. “Today was honestly the worst day of my life”

⭐ He just rubs your back soothingly, murmuring soft declarations of love and comfort

⭐ You pull back, wiping your nose on your sleeve 

⭐ “Wait, what are you doing here?”

⭐ “Oh right! C’mere”

⭐ Bokuto takes your hand gently, leading you towards the living room

⭐ He had taken the time to construct a massive blanket fort there, golden fairy lights everywhere. The TV was already on with your favorite movie queued, and bags of your favorite takeout were there

⭐ Bokuto scratched at the back of his neck. “I knew you were having a really rough day, and I got back early so I figured you’d like this surprise”

⭐ Of course, you start crying again and Bokuto’s freaking out like OML WHAT DO I EVEN DO

⭐ He thought he broke you, the poor bby

⭐ You’re just shaking your head, crying and you’re just like “I just love you so much, why the heck are you so thoughtful”

⭐ He panics and is like, “why don’t we get you outta this and we can start watching some movies, yeah?’

⭐ And you’re like nodding (you’re still crying lmao) as you drag your feet to the bathroom to freshen up, change, and rejoin your mans in the living room

⭐ “You’re literally the best, you know that?” you sniffle as you re-enter

⭐ Bokuto flashes you a grin, opening his arms as he waits for you to crawl into them

⭐ “I’m so lucky to have you” you mutter, burying your face once more

⭐ “Oh baby, I think I’m lucky to have you” he says as he chuckles, rubbing your back and peppering kisses onto your face

⭐ But in general, Bokuto will randomly surprise you with food, snacks, spontaneous things whenever you’re having a bad day because spontaneity is fun as heck! 

TSUKISHIMA

⭐ You and Tsukki met when you guys were in the same class

⭐ Your teacher had separated him from Yams because they kept talking (SMACK)

⭐ Little did he know that by moving Tsukishima to sit behind you, you’d end up dating!

⭐ It started when you were jamming out to music and straight vibing

⭐ He was kinda intrigued, the boy thought you were cute but he didn’t want to vocalise it because he’s such a kuudere istg

⭐ It was Yams who started talking to you, which encouraged Tsukki to do so as well!

⭐ SUCCESS

⭐ Anyways, y’all start dating and all that jazz

⭐ One day, you come into school lookin like a wreck. A complete mess

⭐ You had pulled an all-nighter in order to finish a paper you were really struggling with

⭐ Like, you had been working on it all. week. and you STILL needed that extra 8 hours to work on it

⭐ And as you were leaving the house this morning, your parents were yelling at you for grades or something, so in general you were in a bad mood

⭐ To top it all off, your headphones had decided to die while you were walking to class, so you didn’t even have the comfort of music to help you

⭐ You were ranting the entirety of lunch, with Yams interjecting with some words of comfort as Tsukishima just silently listened and provided you soft touches to let you know that he was there

⭐ He really wasn’t the type to talk much, especially in public. BUT he was definitely very expressive behind closed doors

⭐ So, once school ends, you head home and just collapse onto your bed - dead to the world

⭐ You woke up because your phone started ringing

⭐ In your haste to fall asleep, it somehow ended up stuck to your face LOL

⭐ You pick it up, groggy as heck

⭐ “Hullo?”

⭐ “Can you open the door?”

⭐ “Kei?!” 

⭐ You stand up suddenly, falling onto the floor as the sudden blood-rush made you lighte-headed

⭐ “Did you just fall?” he asked, snickering slightly

⭐ “Shut up” you scowl as you slowly get your bearings and make your way to the door, hanging up in the process

⭐ “What are you doing here?” you ask, rubbing your eye with your knuckles as you stare up at your boyfriend

⭐ “Am I not allowed to visit you?” he quipped back, a pink flush on his cheeks. “I have something for you”

⭐ You step back, letting him into the house. “You didn’t have to, I’m sure you’re tired after practice”

⭐ “Shut up, I wanted to”

⭐ You guys make your way to your room

⭐ Tsukishima sits at your desk, unzipping his volleyball bag and pulling out a box. “Here.” he says, passing it to you

⭐ Your eyes widen. “Kei! You really didn’t have to”

⭐ He had gotten you some fancy, noise-cancelling headphones 

⭐ (Personally, they’d be AirPods but y’know, it’s whatever y’all prefer!)

⭐ “I know you were having a rough day, and music always makes it better for you so just take it,” he scowled, hiding the red roses on his cheeks

⭐ You grin, putting it down gently before you throw yourself onto him. “Thank you, thank you so much”

⭐ “You’re welcome.” He coughs awkwardly

⭐ Pulling back, you eye his face as he fiddles with his hands.

⭐ “Do you...maybe wanna cuddle or something?” you smirk

⭐ “Shut up..maybe”

⭐ “C’mon then”

⭐ Anyways, if it wasn’t obvious, Tsukki is the type that will hold you and listen to you rant 

IWAIZUMI

⭐ Ugh, college-life woes

⭐ You and Iwa lived together in an apartment. Y’all have been dating for a cool min now

⭐ But the problem of adult life!!

⭐ Y’all just don’t have time for one another

⭐ Or, not as much as you’d like

⭐ Iwa’s busy with his classes and internship

⭐ (Not to mention working out because c’mon this man never stops the grind)

⭐ Like this man is working HARD for his future!!!

⭐ You’re busy finishing up your own final projects and working too

⭐ Y’all basically only see each other for a few minutes every night when you’re laying in bed, updating each other about your day’s before you KO

⭐ SO, when you come home after a really stressful week of late-nights, little sleep, one-meal a day type of situation, you were pleasantly surprised to find your boo at home

⭐ Not to mention, there were candles out, a bottle of wine on the table, and plates of your favorite meal

⭐ HOME-COOKED BECAUSE THIS MAN IS THE PERFECT PACKAGE OK

⭐ “What is this?”

⭐ He looks up, grinning. “Well, I know that someone hasn’t been able to take care of themselves this week, so I decided to take the night off and spend time with them”

⭐ Iwaizumi comes around you, guiding you to the table by the small of your back

⭐ Pulling out the chair, letting you sit before he pushes it in

⭐ “You’re spoiling me Haji” you muse as he pours you a glass of wine

⭐ “Well if you won’t do it, then I will” he shrugs. “Cheers baby” he lifts his own glass, waiting for you to tap yours against his

⭐ If you thought that was the surprise, YOU WERE MISTAKEN

⭐ BECAUSE THERE WAS MOREEE

⭐ He decided to go ALL-OUT with the romance

⭐ After you guys finish dinner, he leads you up to the bathroom where there were unlit candles, and a BATH BOMB

⭐ TBH, I’m imagining LUSH’s Sex Bomb bath-bomb, but it’s whatever you prefer!

⭐ Just know that he added extra petals into the bath just for you

⭐ (you always complain that there weren’t enough lmao)

⭐ He draws the bath and lights the candles as you strip and get ready to shower

⭐ This man is out here washing your hair, soaping you up

⭐ All that wholesome goodness 💘

⭐ He even carries you into the bath!!

⭐ After you’re situated, he brings you the wine glasses and a tablet so y’all can watch a movie or catch up to whatever anime y’all are watching together as he slips into the bath behind you

⭐ All in all, he goes ALL OUT when it comes to spoiling you (he’s a romantic at heart) and honestly, you just need to cuff this man A.S.A.P. 

general taglist: @scrappydaisies​ @newfriendjen​  @kyomihann

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#haikyuu hcs #bokuto hcs #tsukishima hcs #iwaizumi hcs #hq hcs #bokuto headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #tsukishima headcanons #iwaizumi headcanons #skye's requests

[domesticblisss]

Näher | Pt.04

Walter x Female Reader (Nicknamed ‘Hase’) Mob AU! Rating: Mature (Minors DNI) Word Count: 1765 Warnings: Angst, fluff. Death mention, brief sex mention, jealousy, parental abuse mention. I guess that’s all? Tell me if you see something else. Summary: Walter wants to know what Hase thinks of him. Pt.01 | Pt.02 | Pt.03

After the incident with Axel, Walter has been less aggressive with everyone. He apologised to us and stayed away of our ways for a while. That following week, I only saw him at the office or at the club, when we were home, we had our meals at different times, if I was at the pool, he kept himself at the library or at his home office, he didn’t even seek me out at night, that week was the first time I properly used the bedroom he had designated for me when I first moved in.

Of course I didn’t let go so easily. That same week, on a friday, after we got home from the club, followed him to his bedroom and cornered him there, forcing him to talk to me. “What’s going on?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hase.” “Walter, don’t play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about. You have been weird since the day Axel and I fucked.” I spoke a little too harsh with him. He sighed, rubbing his hands on his face. “I’m an idiot and I should leave you alone. You’re better off without me. You deserve to be with Axel, not an arschloch like me.” the defeated tone on his voice is just sad, I had never seen him like that. “Walter, right after Axel left the room, what did I say to you?” “That you would kill me if anything happened do Junior.” he answered in a monotone voice. “That’s not what I’m talking about, you know what I’m talking about.” I pressed on. He sighed before answering “You said we should talk, because that’s how things get solved. And that you loved me.” I smiled at him after hearing it. “Yes, yes I did. So, stop making decisions for me and talk to me when something is bothering you, okay? Now get in bed.” “Why?” “Get in bed.”

I gave him the blow job of his life.

Right now it’s 06am of a friday and the alarm is going off for another workday. This week was completely stressful, one of our fighting rings got busted and Walter has been on edge trying to restore it. I got up to turn off the alarm and get ready for the day. As soon as I sat to get up, I felt Walter’s long arms snake around me and a light kiss being pressed on the middle of my back. “Where do you think you are going?” he mumbled on the same spot where he kissed me. “It’s friday, liebling. We have to go to work.” “No, we don’t. We are getting the day off, we deserve it and everything is already taken care of. Now please, get back to bed.” So, I did, he held me close his chest, his breathing lulling me to sleep almost immediately.

I woke up to Walter nudging me a few hours later. “Schatz, wake up. C’mon.” “What time is it?” “It’s 09:02. Please sit up.” I sat on the bed and saw he had a tray filled with food. “Wait, am I getting breakfast in bed?” “Yes, breakfast in bed for meine königin.” He kissed my lips and continued “Don’t how good it all will be though. I did it all myself, so fire the chef if it’s horrible.” “I’m sure it’s all delicious.” And they were. Pancakes were fluffy, bacon crispy, the eggs just how I liked, and he even put a little cinnamon on the coffee.

We ate in silence for a while, his right hand running up and down my leg. After we finished, I asked him what he wanted to do for the day, and he said that he would love to spend the day in bed. And we did. I got a random Spotify playlist on playing soft music on the bluetooth system just as ambiance music, we climbed under the covers and just stayed there, enjoying each other’s presence.

 After a few minutes, Walter let out a question.

“What do you think of me?” I didn’t really get what he meant with it, getting up, I sat in front of him to look at him better. “What do you mean with what I think of you? You know I love you.” “Not like that. Me as a person. What you think of me as a person?” I looked at him almost panicking. “Walter... I–I just...” “It’s okay, liebe, be honest. Don’t be afraid. I really want to know.” “Look,” I sighed before continuing, “I’m not going to lie to you, I was so fucking scared when I first met you. That day on watch room at the club, I was terrified of you. My fight or flight response was on the whole time.” I let out a giggle “but somehow I was mesmerised by you. You’ve got this energy around you that sucked me in. For some reason I knew your pipe game was going to be good.” “Pipe game?” “Yeah, you know how to use your dick.” “Oh...” “Yeah, so where was I? Oh, yeah! So, you just don’t let people in. At least me, I know the guys know more about you than I do, well, of course they do, they’ve known you way longer, but anyway. What I’m trying to say is that you don’t let me in, and then something happens and you completely shut down, ignores everyone one or go on completely full rude mode. If something goes wrong or if you want to prove a point, you either make people uncomfortable, make them do something that will not sit right with them. For example, the thing with Axel and I. Yeah we’ve always had a tension going on that someday we would have had it figured out. But you thought your way was going to solve it all.” “You know you could’ve said no, right? I don’t want you do anything you don’t want to, any of you.”

“Oh, I know. I fucked Junior because I wanted and he wanted it too, he was just shocked that you came to it out of nowhere. But again, you can’t just make people do shit because you think it would be better for them, or because they did something wrong and you must prove a point to them. Talk to people. I know it’s hard for you, but sometimes just a few words go a long way.” He kept staring at me with those piercing steel eyes for a while after I finished my rant. His hand lifted up to my head, tangling his fingers on my hair, caressing my features. He sighed.

“You know, this business was my dad’s. I got it from him after he died. We had a rocky relationship and at first, I didn’t want to take over it. I hated him for most of my life. When my brother and I were kids, teenagers, if we did something wrong, he would beat the shit out us. I’ve lost count of how many scars I have because of him. I just carried this with me in all aspects of my life. I didn’t really have friends in school, people only got close to me because I would make favours for them, because I would buy them things and my life moved like this. They liked when I was angry, aggressive. They thrived on my bossing around, commanding and humiliating the people they didn’t like. To me that felt nice, felt right because I got the positive attention I never got at home. I was alone again when I refused to do something they asked me to or college got around and everyone went their separate ways. Not one call or text from them. Then I met the guys, they didn’t care about my money, didn’t care about who my family was and what we are capable of, they just accepted me for my own person. So, when my father died, after a lot of self-debate on whether or not I should accept my destiny, I asked them to join me, and here we are.” he stopped for a bit to breathe in some air and I had to look away from him to stop the tears I had been holding back from falling.

“Then you came in.” He started again. “At first I thought you were some invention from Axel’s mind because of how he talked about you. He never showed us a picture of you. That the day I saw you reading and drinking tea on your balcony, I finally understood him. I know the way I pursued wasn’t the best one, but I really don’t know better. You don’t take shit from anyone, you’re not afraid of getting on my face, that just draws me closer to you. I stand by what I’ve said to you before, if you want to get with any of the guys, you can. If I tell to do something you don’t want to, you’re more than free to deny it. If you get tired of all of this, if you don’t want to even see my face anymore, you can leave, and I’ll never go after you. I know I’m a prick, I know I’m a bastard and that I don’t deserve good things. I hate being this way.” Tears were rolling down my face by now, all I could do was hug him, hold him close to me as he did the same. We stayed like that for a little bit, me only getting up again so I could tell him what I was thinking.

“Look, you’re none of these horrible things you just said. All I see in you is a great guy that is worried about his friends, you just don’t have a conventional way of showing it. But if you are willing to change, I can help you with that, okay?”

“Okay. I love you.” “I love you too. Now, enough about this sad fest. Do you want to watch a movie or something” “Sure, you choose.”

I picked some dumb comedy on Netflix and got back to my place on his chest. His hand never left my body, caressing my skin all the time. We kept quiet, only laughing when something funny happened. It was around the second half of the third movie that I spoke up again.

“I’m gonna fuck Tim for real.” “What is it with you and this obsession for Timothy?” “Oooh, Timothy. What, you were the one that said I could fuck whomever I wanted.”

---

Translations: Arschloch: asshole Schatz: sweetheart Meine Königin: my queen

→

#walter x reader #walter imagine #wrestling imagines #DB Writes

[bryanastar]

How I (Accidentally) Write About Dark Subject Matter: Rough & Tumble Ramblings (Bonus Post)

I don’t like writing content warnings, not because I’m one of those losers that think they aren’t needed (because, believe me, they definitely are) but because it means I have to step back from my work and think about what the hell I just wrote. Now, in my teen writer eyes, there is nothing more embarrassing than thinking back to what you wrote and realizing that you need five different content warnings to fully prepare the reader for your work, and also remembering that you’re barely a rising Junior in high school. I end up having an out of body experience where I see myself and my work as a long and beleaguered r/I’m14andthisisdeep post, and it can make it hard to read back over my work to edit and submit.

Not that there’s anything wrong with darker subject matter. In fact, some of my favorite work to read contains some particular dark and disturbing content. But when you’re a young writer trying to submit your stuff, it can feel… a bit embarrassing. You feel like the stereotypical edgelord teen writing about edgy stuff for the sake of making the adults cry with your edgy edge.

The thing is, I don’t even intend to write about dark subject material ninety-nine percent of the time. It’s just a natural consequence of my intuitive (and rather impulsive) writing process.

I feel that—when it comes to writing about heavier content as a teen writer—there are two types of people: the ones who write about dark content on purpose, and the ones who write it by accident.

I think @shaelinwrites said it best when she wrote in a blog post that teens are often attracted to darker subject matter due to being at the age where we realize that the world is a far darker and scarier place than what we saw as children. Writing, therefore, is the safest way to explore this newfound knowledge and come to terms with it. This is why young writers who write dark subject matter on purpose do it.

But some, like me, do it on accident.

Let me explain. So I’m rather sheltered, as I suspect a lot of teen writers are. I’m not exactly the most world-weary person, despite knowing that the world is, objectively, pretty screwed up. Due to this, I can often add, on accident, some pretty screwed up material just for not thinking it through deeply enough.

For example, here was was my general thought process for my short story “Judith was Never Adopted”, a story that is, objectively, a about a young teenage girl getting left behind in the foster care system due to going through puberty and not being “adorable” any more, getting sexualized while in puberty, getting forcibly married to an older guy who sees her as an object, all the while desperately trying to reclaim the childhood she’s lost and feeling lied to by all the media that claimed that she’d have a lovely and charmed life after being adopted by rich and happy parents (also, spoilers):

“Gee, isn’t it funny that orphan girls in children’s books are often adopted by nice, rich families and get whole musicals dedicated to them, while orphans in YA and Wattpad books are often paired up with the older, assholic, ‘bad boy’ and probably have their lives ruined?”

“Wait… that’s a cool idea for a story!”

“How do I make the villain as awful as possible…? I know! He’s a twenty year-old gangster who has no scruples when it comes to hitting on teenagers, and he also has no problem with busting the kneecaps of literal orphans! That’ll really emphasize how crappy he is!”

“Why did the main character never come back for Judith? Uh… he was in the Iraq War? But why would he willingly join that conflict? Oh right! To pay for college! And he loses an arm, because the war has to have some consequence.”

“But why doesn’t he go to find her when he gets back? Well, uh, his foster mother is dead and his foster siblings are gone, so he has bigger crap to worry about first cause now he’s homeless. Also, the gangster left the city anyway and took Judith with him, and nobody really knows where they went.”

“There! Now to look over the draft! Wait… what the fuck have I written?!”

If this all sounds thoughtless… it’s because it is. To be fair to me, I usually realize pretty quickly that what I’m writing is dark and messed up (by, like, the second paragraph of this story, I really thought long and hard about it’s concept and went “oh shit”).

From there, I usually try my best to do right by the themes and concepts I accidentally introduced, mostly because it’s content that usually gets glossed over in other books that include it, or that is otherwise even romanticized! In fact, it’s anger at these storylines and characters not being treated well that usually inspires me to write the story in the first place!

I’d actually say I did a pretty decent job with this story considering that the first magazine I submitted it to accepted it a day later and praised the piece for its “insights into the psyches and circumstances of foster children.” And this was an adult-run magazine too—with adult contributors with MFAs in creative writing that should be able to write circles around me and my story ideas! They had no reason to be more forgiving of my piece just because I was a young writer! They had plenty of adult ones to pick from!

So yeah, I can be pretty blind to my own story’s content until it’s time to write, at which point I usually stubbornly try to stick with it. Part this is, again, just because I’m sheltered, but I think another reason I do this is because, like I mentioned earlier, I write about stuff that is usually conveniently ignored or downplayed in other works—especially children’s stories.

To give an example, let’s look at one of my favorite childhood movies: Matilda. Objectively, the plot of Matilda is about a severely neglected and abused kindergartener overcoming her abusive family with her equally abused and traumatized teacher, all the while forming a tiny found family with said teacher and moving on from their dark pasts together. Remove the magic and this isn’t a children’s movie; it’s a litfic novel that I know at least one person on this goddamn hell site it writing (not that that’s a bad thing).

Part of the, I guess, novelty of the work that I write is that I enjoy writing about tropes commonly found in children’s stories and contrasting them with I see as toxic or harmful tropes found in works for older teens. As a person who basically went straight from reading children’s literature to adult litfic, I’m fascinated (and somewhat horrified) by the difference in themes and ideas presented to children versus older teens—especially since those same themes and tropes seen in children’s fiction seem to bizarrely reappear in work aimed toward adults (A Man Called Ove is basically UP but without the magic—change my mind). The main difference between how adult fiction treats these subjects and how children’s fiction treats them is that adult fiction fully shines a light on how messed up these subjects are, while you can get away with writing about literal Nazis and genocide in children’s fiction (*cough* Avatar the Last Airbender *cough*) and have no one think it’s too dark or try to tone it down.

Due to this, I think I’ve already been conditioned to not see these subjects to be as bad as they really are, until I sit down to write about them and start to think about them more deeply! Looking back, I’m sure I could’ve written about the subjects outlined in my short story in a way that’s conducive to children’s fiction. Heck, you already have some of the base tropes: over-the-top villain, sad wittle orphans, and deep childhood friendships. Written in another way, I could’ve been the next Roald Dahl!

I’d also like to point out that I have nothing against these themes being explored in literature for younger audiences—in fact I think it’s necessary to teach children about these issues early. But I do think how we perceive certain media to be “kid-friendly” can cause us to forget how deep and nuanced the content in this “kid-friendly” media usually is, mostly due to much of the content having to be toned down as to not scar younger audiences (which is also important). The problem isn’t that this media is included; the problem is that we can sometimes forget how important these issues really are because they’re such common tropes in children’s fiction, which is a great disservice both to these issues and to the stories that include them!

This is also an issue present in YA media, but in a different way as some of toned down issues present in YA are executed in such a way that is actively harmful to teenagers (from the abusive and controlling “bad boy”, to the toxic “not like other girls” character that disparages femininity and promotes competition rather than support among girls). These are my favorite tropes to explore and tear apart in my own work because, when not viewed through a glorified or romanticized lens, they can actually form extremely compelling fiction due to the fallout caused to surrounding characters who have to deal with the bull these tropes and characters cause.

Of course, playing these tropes for what they are tends to lead to darker fiction by consequence, but, due to so many of these tropes being ironically extremely present in children’s and YA literature, many teens that aren’t myself also end writing about them because, really, they’re just writing what they know. This is how an entire generation of teen writers, including myself, ends up writing about content far darker than they realize by accident. We’ve been reading about these subjects for a long time, and now we’re just copying from the masters.

Wow, that was a long rant. Was any of it sensical? I don’t really know, but I still enjoyed writing it!

That’s all for now! See you next Tuesday for your regularly scheduled writing update!

#rant #essay #teen writer #young writer #creative writing #writeblr #writblr #bonus post

[in-mutual-weirdness]

Elsewhere University: Wayward

AN: First attempt at writing a thing in a long while. I have a weakness for fae stories and urban magic-y kind of scenarios, and @charminglyantiquated‘s universe here caught me hook, line, and sinker. Still, didn’t think I’d write anything for it, until the library scene popped into my head while I was procrastinating. Hope you enjoy what it’s turned into.

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When you were younger, your parents had impressed upon you the importance of going into the sciences.

“Be practical,” they said. “We have three sets of tuition to pay for. You can't waste time on art or philosophy. Love is all fine and noble, sure, but debt is not.”

Your original reaction had been a slowly growing resentment. Now, you're glad for it. You wouldn't touch humanities with a 10 foot pole now.

Oh sure, you're no automaton. You can appreciate people with an eye for theory, ink-stained fingers, or the aptitude for composition. A good portion of your friend group chose to study and create beautiful things. You love hearing about what they do, seeing the way their eyes light up and their words run away from them in sheer enthusiasm. But interspersed between their conversations about theater or lit class readings, you heard...other things. “Weird and inexplicable” didn't even begin to cover it. You finally put the pieces together in the spring of freshman year, after Sydney disappeared and everybody gathered to drink in memory and mourning.

It spooked the hell out of you. No two ways about it. Elsewhere University had a reputation for weirdness, for sure. You'd be lying if you said that hadn't swayed you in favor of attending in the first place. But this went past weird. “Weird” wasn't going to get you killed or kidnapped. The only thing keeping you from just transferring straight away was the impossibility of trying to explain it to your parents. And your grades weren't exactly gonna convince any other admissions office to let you in. Nowhere comparable, anyway.

So you coped in the ways you knew how. Reading all the guides you could get your hands on. Finding source folklore. Your choice of major had already stacked the cards in your favor. And while you still hung out with your arty friends, by sophomore year you'd found another group. A group more shielded from the weirdness. Where things could be normal and nobody thought to ask doppelganger questions or carry old screws in all their pockets. Except that one engineer lady, but far as you could tell, that was just a personal quirk.

And then school brought the hammer down on you.

You knew that college was gonna get tougher. But knowing didn't mean you were prepared. Those grades that had kept you from transferring came back to bite you. That creeping unease from Sydney hadn't gone away, and it was showing up in your work habits and shattered focus. You'd talked to the student health services people about it, and gotten nowhere. Scholarship money was on the line. The second round of exams was coming. And linear algebra was the first one.

You’d done your best to stay away from Elsewhere’s weirdness. But that didn’t mean you weren’t aware. You remembered what your humanities friends had told you. There were things you could do, loopholes you could exploit. Options, options, always options. If you were brave enough to take them.

And so here you are, venturing into the lower floors of the library.

You didn’t know many specifics going in, but you did know where to look. The bio majors Facebook page didn’t explicitly mention their library base camps, but the “Spelunkers Club” did, and had drafted a map to boot. The printout is sitting in your backpack, right now, sandwiched between notebooks. You’d wondered about their ability to diagram a non-Real, inconsistent space, but the solution made you laugh in shocked delight once you saw. While the shape of the shelves would change every six days or so, even a fae-touched library was militant about the Dewey decimal system. You spot the Fashion books (746.92) and make a right, nodding at a dude you recognize from your Psych class. He gives a weak thumbs up in response. Not somebody you'd expect to come here, but the psych lecture is the morning after the exam. If any of you vanish, it'll get reported quickly.

You move off a ways, finding a row of empty carrels against the wall. All identical, save one, whose lone desk light throws shadows around the walls. The rest of the row has their lights off, but you can hear the ambient shuffle of papers anyway. Best avoid those chairs, then. You pull out your ramen packs, selecting the saltiest variety (verified with a taste test, once. And never again.) The remaining 2/3 of the packets you scatter about the table, and stash back into your pockets. Should work.

You crack open your textbook and a bag of chips, and get started.

Time passes. The sound of your pages joins the general rustling. The clatter of laptop keys cuts through intermittently. You pull out your phone to google a definition and glance at the clock--apparently it thinks you’re in Dubai. Well, at least there’s proof that the time dilation here is actually a thing. Or just that it screws with your electronics. You make decent progress through some of the practice problems, but stall whenever you hit the theorems. That's algebra for you. A lot of numbers and graphs and definitions that use letters like they're words you should understand. You don't. Which is why you're even in this part of the library right now.

It takes you a while before you realize that no letters make sense anymore. You're still thinking in English- at least, you're pretty sure it's still English. But now even the chapter headings in your textbook look merely like shapes. It might just be delirium. That's the reasonable conclusion. You’d downed your second can of Red Bull just trying to keep your eyes functioning. But...

On impulse, you try to write your uni name. (Not your real name, you're not stupid. Just panicky.) Descartes. Cogito ergo sum, and all that. It comes out successfully, but it's entirely due to memory. Making the individual letters takes as much effort as if you were writing them backward, every curve meticulously plotted and traced.

Your circle is undisturbed, thankfully. But the shuffle of pages has stopped. Wind howls from beyond the walls, and the shelves creak like old floorboards. For a moment you wonder about the psych kid. It's a moment too long. You see something move out of the corner of your eye, when you look back toward where he was.

Don't move. Nothing’s there.

Except the Red Bulls are doing a number on your system, and even though you were never the wordy sort you'd still like your language back, thanks, and even if you wanted to leave your suddenly too-small circle and brave your way back to the campus proper, that exam would still be there.

The memory of your GPA curdles your fear into anger. “I thought we were the kind of people you'd leave alone,” you snap, turning to yell over your shoulder. Your voice climbs an octave as you start to rant in earnest. “What's the deal? I'm a STEM major. Doing math. Algebra. You don't even like algebra.”

“Mayhaps,” comes a voice from behind the shelves. “Numbers and Logic are mortal things, it’s true. But you are not a number. You just work with them.”

“And other things,” you reply. You strain your eyes into the dark, frozen in your half turn, but the shelves reveal nothing. Whatever’s out there doesn’t sound like it wants to approach. Probably. Your brain is racing, just barely outpacing your heart. “What do you--is there something you desire from me?”

“Presumptuous.” There’s a cicada-like buzz behind the voice. It makes you picture some kind of massive chitin-plated thing waiting just out of view.

“I meant no presuming. Uh.” Your tongue ties itself in knots to avoid the word “sorry.” It’s surprisingly hard to come up with less dangerous words. “Tell me where I went wrong and I shall try to avoid repeat offense?”

The hum continues. It's starting to sound like laughter. Your spine shivers like a loosened spring. “I want nothing of yours, pupa. What use could I have for it?”

You're pretty sure that question is rhetorical, and if it wasn't, any answer you could give would only endanger yourself. “Then if that’s so, we may move on with our lives. I’m sure you have your own stuff to- to attend to.” You try to muster up enough courage to turn back to your desk.

“I don’t understand. My current business is talking to you.” The thing- the Visitor’s legs skitter about around the shelves, its voice circling around. It better not be getting closer. “You’re proving a rather difficult conversation partner. Most im-po-lite.”

“I did not come here expecting conversation,” you say, uneasily. God, you want out. You shouldn’t have said anything to begin with. You never know who’s listening. “I came here to study, nothing more. That’s where my lack of grace comes from, uh, good fellow.”

“Odd, that you should stroll right into somebody’s front parlor and not be prepared for conversation.”

That can’t be right. That can’t be. The map- You turn the chair fully around and reach over to your backpack, before pulling back at the last minute. Can you even show that to a fae? Is that allowed? You wrack your brain for details, and keep coming up blank. Meanwhile, your Visitor- or Host, perhaps, as the case may be now- waits patiently beyond. “I was told that this was neutral ground where I could complete my work undisturbed,” you say, finally. Your hands rest on your lap now, fingers aching from where you gripped the swivel chair armrests. “I was told that this was public ground.”

“Misinformed trespass is still trespass, hatchling.” Their tone of voice doesn't change, but something in the cadence of it makes your hand stray toward your ramen packs. “You've wandered across my threshold and barred the door. Surely even you know what that means.”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You raise your hands in a placating gesture. “I understand. I will-” Die? Get Taken? Tell the Spelunkers that their map is a piece of shit and they need better cartographers? “I will leave and remove the salt circle. I will find where the actual neutral zones are and leave your domain alone and not trespass on it again. And...”

And? Your brain insists that something is missing, but by now all you want to do is flee and never come back. “And yeah. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

There's a different sort of clicking now. It sounds like pincers. You swallow back the lump of shuddering fear and wait for their answer. The entire section of the library is quiet except for that awful sound. “Usually there are reparations for an offense such as this. But...” Oh God oh god what does it want now. “I see that you've already lost something. That would normally go to the offended party. But I have no use for your words. Go then, pupa.”

It’s already started to skitter away when you’ve finished processing what it said. “Wait!” You even reach out toward the shelves, almost tripping out your chair onto the salt circle. Your legs are practically wobbly enough to wriggle out of your own jeans. “My- the words! English. Do you have my words?”

“They say external ears are better for hearing. I think they're mistaken.” You don't have time for its coy amusement, but it has even less time for overt demands and careless students. You grit your teeth and wait. “I have no need of your words. But I know how to get them back. I could retrieve them for you, even. But, that would be a favor.” You catch a glimpse of something between a gap in the shelves and you look hurriedly away. There's only leather spines and library labels. There's nothing else worth looking at over there. “And I don't give those out readily, even to those who haven't offended me. That is my offer. You know what to do, pupa.”

Trade nothing you cannot afford to lose. But you've already lost- You screw your eyes shut and count to ten, in half-remembered high school Italian. Uno, due, tre... You get to “cinque” before you switch into Spanish by accident. Right. A peace offering. You look at your desk, at your backpack, glance down at your pockets.

Only one option stands out to you.

You pick up the map and throw it out at the room with a flick of the wrist. “Here,” you say, as it drifts down just outside of the yellow-y line of flavor powder. “A map. Designed by the best cartographers of my age.” In a manner of speaking. “Knowledge for knowledge. Use it to secure the borders of your domain.” You reach for your notebook, and while you can't read what it says, you recognize the formatting of the list. “Here is a copy, in my own writing. It is as a contract. Take it as confidence that I will learn and know the borders here, and not cross them, ever.”

There's a rush of movement and suddenly something with more legs than you can really perceive lunges out from behind the shelves. You can't help the scream of terror. (Nor the stream of pee either. Caffeine, what a diuretic.) The sheer speed of it blows your hair back, as if you were standing on a subway platform by an oncoming train. When it’s passed back into the shadows, you look down at your feet. The circle hasn’t moved at all.

“Do not let anybody say I am not fair,” it says. “I always give back equal to what is given in turn. You can have your letters back. I grant you 24 hours of grace period inside this building. That should be more than enough to settle whatever affairs you need to in here. Good morrow, pupa.” It slinks back into the library, the click of its legs blurring together like the sound of pouring sand. Once more, the only sound is from the phantom students on either side of you.

You collapse back into your chair, barely able to move. Thankfully, whatever that fae did seems to have worked. You can read your notes, and even the textbook again. The adrenaline rush of it all has thrown everything into sharp relief. You write with abandon, blasting through proofs and problems alike with new vigor. When you finally leave and walk back out into the late evening sun, you stumble back to bed and nearly sleep through your alarm. But the exam, after that ordeal, feels like a doctor’s visit. Longer than you wanted and a bit uncomfortable, sure. But nothing worse than that.

Psych dude doesn’t show up the next lecture, but you do see him during the break. Probably just came in late. You do that too, you know the feeling.

It isn’t until that weekend, when the exam comes back with a grade better than you could reasonably expect, that you get antsy.

When a about a row’s worth of people don’t show up to your systems biology midterm the week after, you upgrade to worry.

You really wish you could say that you contacted the Spelunkers Club before their page got shut down.  (Part 2?)

#elsewhere university #fae #fairies #IMW #charminglyantiquated #elsewhereuniveristy