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rottenprincessshura100 · 3 years

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First chapter of Fanfic.

I’m reposting this in case people haven’t read it. This is the first chapter of the fanfic I’ve been working on for years. It started off as just a conversation in my head. What would Mephisto be like in a job interview? If a person met him for the first time, how strange would it be? He’s cunning, manipulative, and of course obviously a demon. Bits and pieces of me are evident in this chapter, i have a background in contemporary arts as does my OC character. (I started off writing what I know.) I thought back to that time when I finished grad school, was completely broke and couch surfing. What time a job would I have done for basic groceries? Pretty much anything.

Anyway...here it is. Feel free to pick apart the writing style. I’m trying to improve and get better at it. ;)

CHAPTER 1

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Well, I hope today's interview will go well.

My student loan papers sat on my kitchen table with ominous foreboding. It was time to pay up.

I won't allow this new job to define my life, and it would be good enough, just for now. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend more time in my studio making art. I just had to impress the academy director during today's interview, and I'd be able to afford some decent groceries in two weeks. That's right, Evie, think positive!

So, what should I wear to this silly thing?

It's a private religious school; that means I should dress as professionally as possible.

I have two suits to my name, so I guess I'll wear a black jacket and a red blouse. Or is the red shirt too much? Yeah, I look like a cocktail waitress.

Back to the closet I go.

Okay, how about the wine-coloured blouse and black jacket? Sensible pants and a pair of heels. Fine.

My hair is a bit harder to work with; it's pinkish-brown. I'm an artist, so I tend to be riskier in my appearance. Today though, I have to clean up—no wild eye-makeup. I need to look like an ordinary boring temp worker that can file paperwork. I pull my hair back into a severe bun, like a schoolmarm or a librarian. Yep, now I look like a vodka aunt in a cheap suit. Effective.

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I drove along the busy narrow streets through True Cross Acadamy town. The school was a place for the well-to-do, and I'm almost embarrassed to park my junky car on the grounds.

Much to my mortification, the car backfired, drawing numerous stares from the crowds of uniform-clad students, practically bursting from every building.

Poor-ass artist alert! Here I am!

I slunk down into the seat, hoping the sun's reflection on the windshield washed out the crimson stain quickly spreading across my pale, freckled face.

After speaking with a guard at the main gate (located at the far end of an ancient drawbridge), he instructed me to drive up a long winding road to the highest point. This so-called town was, in reality, a walled city, consisting of tightly layered buildings in an array of architectural styles, all flawlessly intermixed. It was the oddest urban planning I'd ever seen, either designed by a crazy man or an absolute genius. From my own experience, I find the line between the two decidedly thin in most circumstances.

People from the mainland would often joke that True Cross City would never be completed but renovated in an endless loop. The rumours stated that the school's wealthy director never allowed the construction cranes to cease because it was merely bad luck to stay idle.

I continued my drive through the school campus to the mountain's apex—my job interview scheduled at the golden manor house of Sir Johann Faust on the 5th. The director himself would see me in his private office.

I swallowed back a slight wave of apprehension. I hope this guy isn't some sort of pervert. He most assuredly was eccentric. That I could handle.

I pulled up in front of Faust Palace, and just like the rest of the town, it's unusual. As I parked and exited my car, I'm in the shadow of tall golden spires shining like twin suns. The rest of the building reminds me of a cross between an ancient Greek temple, an art deco apartment and a mythical Arabian kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my black dress pants, my demeanour full of apprehension.

Yeah, I don't belong here. I've got a bad feeling about this.

At that point, I decided to leave. Yet, I watched with foreboding as a pair of security guards materialized from the shadows and closed the elaborate golden gate, trapping me within the compound. Shit!

I made my way over the interlocking marble slabs to the ornately carved wooden front door with a heavy sigh. Before I'm able to raise my hand to knock, it quickly opens. A short older gentleman greeted me with a nod.

"Miss Evelynn Smith?" He inquired.

"Uh...yes. I'm here for the interview?"

"I am Belial, the keeper of the house. Please follow me; Director Faust will meet with you shortly."

The butler escorted me up a seemingly endless hallway. It was odd that an inconsequential temp worker, like myself, was being given the grand tour.

White marble pillars accented the grand structure, with furniture from various periods arranged throughout the abode in mini tableaus. It seemed more like a museum than someone's house. How very strange!

There were many rooms with identical doors; this place was more like a goddamn labyrinth than a manor house! I hope I can find my way out of here after this interview was over!

I tried to get a feel for my potential boss. Being an artist, I, of course, took in the paintings that hung salon-style from every square inch of walls. There seemed to be an abundance of demons and death themes. How morbid.

Stefan Lochner, The Last Judgment, Vincent Van Gogh, Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette. But wait? Aren't these all part of museum collections? I'm confused. Are they copies?

Just as the creepy dark artworks start to grate on my nerves, I round the corner into the next hallway and find myself engrossed within a pop art nightmare; wall-to-wall pink Takashi Murakami paintings hung in tandem with Jeff Koons, Made in Heaven.

Jesus! Who the hell was this guy? He's adorned his house in pink flowers and porn stars! Surely the students didn't walk into this hall?

As if on cue, the butler regarded me sheepishly. "Pupils are not permitted in Director Faust's residence. He only grants top members of the Vatican access to his private quarters."

I attempted to hold back my laughter. "So, this is a private religious school ran by the Vatican no-less, and we have trashy kink splashed all over the walls. I gotta say, I'm intrigued."

"The master has a dark sense of humour."

"Understatement of the century."

"This is the master's office," The butler ushered me quickly into a large room. "Please, take a seat. He is running a bit late from a previous meeting."

I turned back toward Belial, but he's long gone. I'm all alone in an empty room.

The office is quite different from the hall and decorated in deep mahogany wood, decidedly masculine. The desk is large and ominous; that is, it would have been if it weren't for the strange little collection of toys and knick-knacks carefully arranged next to the computer. I picked up a pink porcelain rabbit in the palm of my hand and raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'd ask that you do not touch the things on my desk."

Crap!

I hastily placed the toy back on the wooden tabletop and jumped to my feet. A tall, impossibly slender man strolled confidently into the room to greet me. He wore a crisp white suit and a long heavy cape. I shook his purple-gloved hand firmly. As I stared up into his face, I furrowed my brows in confusion.

What the actual fuck?

"Please, take a seat, Ms. Evelynn Smith." He bit his lip and snickered. "Or do you prefer...Eve..."

"Uh...Eve's fine." I replied with hesitation as I slowly eased into the yellow and blue jacquard chair.

I should look away, but I can't. Mr. Faust's hair is an impossible shade of violet purple with platinum highlights that shimmer just at the crown, he has pointed ears, and his teeth are small sharp fangs. He's dressed up like he just got back from Comicon.

Also, what's with that curly plume at the top of his head? Is it some sort of fascinator? Is it a feathered hair ornament? I don't get it.

"Okay, Eve, spill it. What's on your mind?" He rested his chin on his gloved hand and smiled knowingly. "Do I have horns growing out of my head or something?"

"It's just....uh...a great costume." I stammered. " Those ears look so real."

He seemed taken aback for a brief second. "Oh, yes! I'm an Otaku. I've had quite a few physical modifications, and it will all make sense in time."

I nodded slowly. What the hell does that even mean?

"Getting back to your resume...Eve." He finally pulled out my paperwork from a nearby folder. "So, you possess a minor in classics, a minor in philosophy and a master's degree in contemporary art. How intriguing."

"Pardon?"

"This job is for an assistant to the Vatican. Your degree is all about a personal quest for knowledge, not exactly chock-full of practical skills." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair. "Your parents must have been completely disappointed, wasting all of that money. An arts degree instead of a doctor? If there was a wizard school, would you have signed up for that?"

"I paid for my education through scholarships."

He smiled smugly and read a few more pages. "So contemporary art, hmmm? Tell me how you make your artwork. What's the methodology behind it?"

"Well...I tend to work under the idea that the world is in a state of flux. Time isn't static, and we live in a non-linear narrative. I open my mind to thoughts of the impossible, the idea that they might indeed be probable under different subjective conditions. I try to allow play, chance, and chaos into the things that I build. Often by allowing more variables into a composition, we can get closer to the truth of our existence and find a deeper meaning."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desktop.

"I will be candid with you, Eve. I saw some of your work in a gallery in Northern Cross a few months ago. I greatly enjoyed it. You have a very open mind, which is the biggest necessity for this particular position."

"I just noticed your art collection." I countered. "It's not every day that one walks into a room of wall to wall vintage Cicconlina."

"You know your porn stars, I see?" He laughed with a merry twinkle.

"I know my art history."

"Oh...." He razzed. "Distinction made!"

"Director Faust, about this job....."

"Please. Call me, Mephisto." He gushed. "Faust is an old legal family name."

"Mephisto? Really?" I stare at him in confusion. "Your last name is Faust, and you call yourself Mephisto? Am I...?" I stammered. "... Am I walking into Dante's Inferno here?"

"You dare mock my name." He challenged. "Yet, your parents named you after Eve. The woman who was the downfall of man."

Who the hell does he think he is; Literally, devil's advocate?

"Eve decided that knowledge was more important than a paradise of ignorance. I firmly believe that a woman needs to know what she's getting herself into, Mephisto."

"I wholeheartedly agree." His large green eyes narrowed. Mephisto's attention now seemed quite dangerous, almost transfixed to my face. "Knowledge is so critical. It's the most important thing to you. Isn't it?"

"I would say so," I answer slowly. "Without knowledge, life is a waste."

"Eve, do you believe in the paranormal?" He changed the subject abruptly.

"I honestly haven't got the answer to that question."

"Oh, I think you do." He pressed. "You can see quite a few unexplainable things. Am I correct?"

How did he know?

It was like he could see right through me. I've seen weird shit my entire life, but you just don't talk about that sort of awkward nonsense. People would think I was crazy. My experiences had been terrifying, and I suffered alone in silence.

"Eve, what if I told you this job would answer all of your deepest questions? Questions that you cannot answer through traditional science and reason."

"I'd say you were full of shit."

"So says the artist!"

"Touche."

"Getting back to the idea of wizard school, I wasn't ribbing you entirely for fun. This academy is a training facility for exorcists. We use very non-traditional methods for ridding the world of darkness. If you choose to take this job, you will need to suspend your current notions of reality for a modified one."

"You mean I will believe in ghosts, goblins and demonic possession?"

"That's a fundamental understanding, yes. This job will explain the workings of the universe to you. Give you access to the vast knowledge that no other humans are privy to. There is one caveat; however, once you sign a very aggressive contract. You cannot tell anyone about the true nature of our work. Not family or friends, the Vatican takes security extremely seriously."

I started to get cold feet; this is a lot to consider. Am I cut out for the responsibility? This entire meeting was getting stranger by the minute. The job sounded downright ludicrous; the premise piqued my interest, but how could I believe in such nonsense? Plus, the more time I spent with Mephisto, the less human he appeared. Did his pupils just dilate like a cat!?

"You know what's funny?" He stated coyly, his fingers toying with an ornament on his desk. "You voyage into my office and instantly take note of my strange appearance. Most people don't possess the ability to see me for what I truly am. I tell you my legal name is Faust, and my current name is Mephisto. I have artwork depicting demons throughout my lavish abode. Eve, you're intelligent enough to connect all of these dots, and your mind has already solved the puzzle. Yet, your human conditioning tells you to disbelieve the apparent truth sitting directly in front of you."

"The truth?" I stammered.

"I'm a demon, my dear."

I take in his admission with a shocked and irritated face. This guy is a bonafide nutjob.

"I think I've heard just about enough of this Mephisto; this degree of wackiness is far beyond me. I think I'm the wrong person for this position." I stood and prepared to take my leave; only I can't. I'm unable to move a muscle. What the hell is happening? My eyes grow wide with panic.

Mephisto slowly removes his gloves and rests his chin on a black-clawed hand.

"I see. I'll have to prove it to you then. Fair enough, let's give you a little taste, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a hoard of disgusting gremlins, clawing at my ankles with oozing toothy gullets. I saw the same terrifying creatures as a child, invading my daydreams, hiding in the dark shadows when I was alone. I'm so frightened; I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was my worst nightmare brought back to life, these creatures as real and substantial as the floor under my feet. As the horror of the reality became almost too much to bear, suddenly, he was there. Mephisto expelled the creatures one by one into poofs of purple smoke with a simple flick of a finger. I fall back, no longer able to stand, and he catches me quickly. I'm still shaking from the shock as he carefully sits me back into my chair.

"Those creatures have followed you your entire life. As you have gotten older, you've noticed them less, but they were still slowly feeding off your energy. They are quite volatile." He sat demurely on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs playfully. "They won't bother you now though, I've exorcized them from your presence. You see, this is what we do here. We help humans battle the unsavoury monsters from Gehenna."

I sit dumbfounded, rendered speechless with bewilderment. Mephisto continues with our one-sided conversation, unconcerned like this was completely normal. "...The pay for this position is quite handsome for an artist. It's also part-time, which will allow you to continue to work in your studio. You will report here five days a week, from 9 am-2 pm. You will receive correspondence from the Vatican, and you will keep me informed of all inbound information. You will also book and coordinate exorcists for special ops and daily assignments. My butler Belial will train you appropriately."

"Mephisto...I'm..."

"Terrified and disconcerted?" He grinned. "Happens every time I make a new hire."

"I don't think I can't handle all of this."

"Do you think I pick my employees out of thin air? You wouldn't be here if I didn't find you entirely capable. I've researched you extensively. You long for knowledge, and I will provide all of the deepest desires in your quest. All you simply need to do now is agree." He presented me with a contract.

"I don't know," I whispered nervously. "Can I think it over?"

"I haven't the time." He responded with a hint of a smile. "I am a very busy person, you see. It's now or never, my dear."

My rational mind screams for me to jump out of that chair and run from the building. Yet, my desires kept me staring in a trance at the contract. Mephisto presented me with an old-fashioned quill pen. I grasped it with my shaking hand and stared at the bottom line.

"Oh...we need some ink to seal the deal. How silly of me to forget something so important." He took out a silver hatpin from a glass decanter and poked the end of his finger. A river of blood ran along his impossibly pale skin and dripped from the end of his glistening black claw. As it flowed freely into a bronze dish on his desk, I stared in dismay. I can't believe what I'm seeing! Mephisto then gently took my hand and poked the end of my finger. A tiny drop of my blood intermixes with his.

"What the fuck," I whispered hoarsely. "No...I'm not signing this. No way!"

"You will sign." His eyes bore into mine, and I'm once again drawn physically to the contract. I dipped the quill as if hypnotized and slowly write my name.

"Excellent!" He seemed pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I'm totally in a daze and fall back into my chair, suffering from strange exhaustion. Did I just sign a contract in blood?

I stood shakily, preparing to leave.

"Eve, I will see you back here tomorrow morning, bright and early." Mephisto rambled on with a sing-song voice. "Here is some research about me. It will teach you the basics of demons and how to work with them."

Belial is now instantly at the office door, he handed me a stack of books, and I find myself escorted from the building.

I jumped into my car and locked the doors. As I put the car into drive, the transmission lurches forward. The books flutter open on the car seat; the top hardcover was a book about Ancient Demon Classification, followed by a copy of Faust and Dr. Seus, Green Eggs and Ham.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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Here’s the link to the rest. ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/711456559-the-interview-a-blue-exorcist-fanfic-the-interview

#fanfic #mephisto pheles #blue exorcist #posting my own content because there is none and I'm sad.

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hideandseaking · 4 years

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something that i never really anticipated happening in my time as an artist happened recently

to understand the entire story - you need the backstory. basically, im of a very unpopular opinion about my art where if someone steals my art and uses it somewhere else then i don’t really care. i don’t advocate for this position for anyone else. stealing is bad and you shouldn’t repost another person’s art without permission and especially without credit. but it’s different when it’s my own stance on my own art. i don’t sell my artwork and i dont anticipate ever making money off of it. because of this, i don’t really have strong feelings when they’re put somewhere else

last year, i learned that a youtube video with millions of views has my artwork on it. you can view it here if you wanna see it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dKeSgB1QGs honestly? i thought it was hilarious and i’ve let it be. it has millions of views and that just makes me happy in general that millions of people have seen my artwork - even if they don’t know that it’s me or mine. again, there’s no strong feelings here. the original art is on deviantart and i even linked the video through the description there to sort of talk about how it happened

well, the other day, someone comments on my deviantart piece for this art. they apparently have been looking for me for some time because they saw the art through the video, and they wanted to thank me because my artwork inspired them

i do comics and art so i’ve received this before from other people, but mostly people who are older teenagers and adults who like my comic series. but upon looking at this person’s profile, i realized that they’re this young kid, probably 12 or 13, who saw my art and wanted to reach out and tell me about how it inspired them. it’s to the point that they want to make animations and they even got my discord to ask me for tips on how to make smoother lines and just do better with their art. that’s literally the only conversation we’ve had about this but i told them that i would give them a watch and support their endeavors and watch their videos. and i did and they’re full of heart and effort and i couldn’t help but follow them on every platform so they knew that i supported their artwork

honestly, i never thought this would happen where my artwork was on a video so popular that i was sought out and thanked for drawing a piece of artwork. it’s a silly drawing that i made because i thought it was funny and it resonated with someone so much that they’ve been nothing but inspired since

my point in this post is that you might never be the artist who has a million followers on twitter and has met the creator who you make fanart for. but like... someone out there is seeing your artwork and is being inspired. it might never be known to you. but you are impacting someone with your artwork and inspiring them so. just keep drawing dude

#im just so flattered over this #it happened a few days ago and i've been just thinking about it #will this stop my dumb ways of not hunting down thieves of my art? no #but i was eventually found so it's not like im impossible to find i guess #im just really flattered idk how else to say this

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let-it-raines · 5 years

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Not Your (soul)Mate {3/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Are you guys ready for some meddling friends and conversations about stealing bread? Cool. I am too 💜 As always, thank you to @captainsjedi for her beautiful artwork and supportive reading and to the organizers of @cssns for putting this event together! 😘

Sorry for reposting. Something weird happened, and I had to delete it and try again!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 |

Tag list: @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @galaxyzxstark @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis@dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke@tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld@jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81@xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @cssns

-/-

“I’m going to kill you for dragging me out here.”

“No you’re not.”

“Asshole.”

“Wanker.”

“Bastard.”

“You’re my brother, so if I’m a bastard, so are you!”

Killian stops running, his feet halting in their tracks, as his breath fully escapes him. They’ve been out here for over an hour, and his legs are burning. Hell, his entire body is burning, every inch of him slick with sweat that is doing nothing to put out the flames. He can practically feel his heart beating between his ears, and he knows that he shouldn’t hastily stop his running, that he should walk it out, but he can’t physically run anymore.

As much as he likes having their workouts done before work, sometimes six in the morning is too early when they don’t even have to be in the office until ten.

Scratch that. All of the time. Six is too early all of the time, and he’s an early riser most days. Unlike Liam, he’s never quite gotten out of a lot of the routines he became accustomed to in the Navy, but he likes to spend that time drinking his coffee or tea and eating breakfast, possibly catching up on some television or on what’s going on the world that he might need to know about. That’s not always the most pleasant thing, but it’s a necessary thing.

“I can’t believe,” he huffs, stretching his arms over his head to try to catch his breath and relieve some of the tension that’s pulling at all of his muscles while a pleasant breeze blows up from the beach, “that you basically just gave me a version of ‘I know you are but what am I.’”

“I probably got it from Luis and Luca. They’ve really been into fighting with each other lately.”

He looks over to his brother, eyes flickering down to his feet which are still moving despite the fact that they’ve stopped their run. The man is still getting exercise in when he knows that they’ve far surpassed their ten thousand steps...not that he tracks them. He had a fitbit at one point in time, but he may have accidentally dropped it into the ocean one day when he was inspecting one of their boats. He’d been messing with his wrist because his scars were agitated and burning like the dickens, and the damn thing came unclasped.

But really, there is no need for Liam to be still jogging in place. He knows that the man is five years older and that his metabolism might not be as great as Killian’s is right now, but damn. All he wants is to take a nice cold shower, eat some more food, and then maybe watch some television before he goes into work. He’s behind on The Rookie, and he really wants to catch up so that Ariel doesn’t ruin it for him. Whenever they watch the same shows, she always ruins them if he gets behind. And if she doesn’t, it’ll be Will. The only person he can count on to not spoil things is Robin, and that’s only because he doesn’t have time to watch anything that’s rated over G with a six year old at home. Technically Liam could also fall into that category, but Liam so rarely watches television unless Elsa makes him.

Elsa watches a hell of a lot of shows that are entirely in Norwegian so that Luca and Luis are bilingual. Liam is still working on his Norwegian, though. It’s funny, when Liam and Elsa could hear each other’s thoughts, things were always spoken in their native tongues.

It was like Google translate, free of charge and of bad mistranslations.

Imagine their surprise when they met and Liam didn’t speak Norwegian. Elsa speaks fluent English, though. Obviously she’s far superior to Liam.

He’d get his ass kicked if he ever spoke those words out loud.

It might be worth it. It’s most definitely true.

“Traffic is going to get bad if we stay out here too much longer,” he points out, his skin cooling down while his heart starts beating steadily again, normalcy returning to his body.

“We live in Storybrooke. There is no backed up traffic. Let’s do one more mile, and then I promise we’ll be finished. And good news for you, we’re not running tomorrow.”

He takes a deep breath, puffing his chest up, before he takes off, yelling to Liam that whoever gets to the library last has to buy lunch.

(He ends up buying lunch.)

(He’s going to have to start training alone so that he can beat Liam’s ass.)

(Who cares about fitness when being better than your brother is at stake?)

His next few weeks at work are a bit insane. It always is in the spring. On their website they recommend ordering customizations, especially full customizations or total redesigns, in the winter, preferably in the fall, but without fail, everyone seems to put in their orders in the late spring. It’s something about the sunshine being more prevalent, temperatures warming up, and everyone simply gets that itch to be outside, specifically to be on the water. He can’t blame his clients. He feels exactly the same way.

There’s likely no one who enjoys spending time outside, spending time out on the water, more than him, so he gets where everyone is coming from.

It honestly makes his life a little bit of a living hell.

It’s funny because hell is only supposed to be for the dead, and he’s only dead inside.

(Not really.)

Maybe his sense of humor is a little twisted.

Being busy is a good thing. It keeps his hands and mind occupied, and that’s something that he desperately needs right now. He needs something to think about other than his personal life. His friends and his family are great like they’ve always been, but they all have lives of their own that are separate from him. He spends his days at work, evenings as a mixture of personal times and spending time with all of his loved ones, but ever since Ariel’s pregnancy announcement dinner, his mind has been absolutely muddled with thoughts of...everything. He’d say his mind is muddled with thoughts of Emma Swan, but that would only be half the truth. After all, he’s only met her once, and he barely knows anything about her.

Scratch that.

There’s a pretty high probability (and he knows this even if his mathematics may be a little off and out of practice) that she’s his soulmate.

That is absolutely the most insane thing in the world. He doesn’t want a soulmate, not really. A part of him does, but for years now all he’s felt is despair. He doesn’t want to be forced to love someone. And yet only days after the anniversary of Milah leaving him, he might have met the woman who is supposedly the love of his life.

But what if he’d already met his?

What if he can’t love again after Milah? What if the universe is telling him to move on in a very big way and he’s not ready? What is he supposed to do with that?

It doesn’t even matter. Emma had been kind and witty, bloody well one of the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, but she’d very clearly not been interested in him. Obviously she was sexually, if only because they apparently literally cannot help themselves (She’s obviously stronger with her restraint than he is.), but she made it clear as day that nothing was going to become of them. He doesn’t know her, doesn’t know her background outside of what he’s picked up from friends, but she seemed just as averse to soulmates as he was.

Maybe they are kindred spirits.

Obviously they are.

But maybe in a different way.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, really.

He’s freaking Jon Snow.

(Is it still funny to make that joke now that the show is over?)

(It doesn’t matter. He’s still going to make that joke.)

It’s all a confusing mess. He’s met the woman he’s supposed to be with. He’s met his soulmate like all of his friends and family have, but he imagines that not a single one of them had an aversion to their loves to the point of them meeting and then never speaking again despite having access to each other. It’d be a bit of a roundabout way, but he could still talk to her if he really wanted to. All he’d have to do is go to the police station, frequent Granny’s Diner since that’s where Ariel and Emma eat lunch together, or literally ask any one of his friends for her number.

But Emma’s not interested.

Besides, when they met, he spilled water down her dress, making it see through, and then they’d made each other aroused to the point that she caught him wanking one off. It was not one of his finer moments, so it might be for the best that they don’t see each other for awhile. Or forever. It’s not like they can talk to each other in public anyhow. Emma may be able to hide how it affects her, but he cannot no matter how many unpleasant thoughts he thinks.

Seriously. He’s come up with a lot of boner killers over the years, and none of them work.

The universe is fucking with them because it wants them to fuck.

Will: Belle wants to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Can you make it?

He looks down at his phone, at the message that just popped up. Belle is always inviting him over for dinner. She’s an absolute sweetheart, but he honestly thinks she must assume he doesn’t eat or that he’s lonely. He does eat, and he isn’t lonely. But Belle and Will are both brilliant cooks, most likely because Belle spends her days in a library that has a section full of cook books and Will is always experimenting with food at the Rabbit Hole. So he’s definitely not going to complain.

Killian: Sure! What time?

Will: Six. We’ve got to do it before I go to work.

Killian: Okay, I’ll make sure to leave the office early.

He’s just put his phone back on his desk when it buzzes again, Will’s message popping up on the screen.

Will: At Belle’s apartment, not mine.

Cue the Tag Team because Whoomp (there it is).

He’s being set up on a double date with Emma, and he’s already agreed to go. He already knows that’s what happened because never once have they gone to Belle’s apartment instead of Will’s. Not once.

Sneaky bastards.

Starting tomorrow he’s designing himself a boat...no, he’s designing himself a ship that he can live in for the rest of his days, because he needs to leave Storybrooke in order to avoid Emma Swan.

He’s not even sure if he wants to. All he knows is that he can’t possibly be in public with her.

This entire dinner is going to be spent with him sitting at the table dying a little inside with every word, isn’t it?

No one told him life was going to be this way.

(He’s got to stop quoting songs.)

Maybe she won’t be there. Maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Will’s apartment has a gas leak or something and that’s why the dinner is at Belle’s.

-/-

He hears Emma talking from outside the apartment door before he gets to the end of the hallway where their apartment is. His thing with sounds, his unfortunate ability to be able to hear absolutely everything unless he’s actively focusing on not hearing it or distracted by something else, is somehow heightened when Emma talks or laughs or even, he assumes, when she sneezes. He has a visceral reaction to it, his entire body heating and tensing, and he hasn’t figured out how to control it, how to make it stop.

There’s about thirty seconds from now until he’s inside that apartment to figure it out.

He doesn’t figure it out.

“Hi,” Belle smiles the moment she opens the door, not even letting him gather his bearings or knock. Belle might very well be the most considerate person he knows, Mary Margaret aside, and she has no idea that she is helping in his demise.

He’s not dramatic in the slightest.

(He definitely is.)

“Hello, love,” he greets, leaning down to kiss her cheek and handing her the bottle of wine he’s brought with him. He prefers to bring homemade food, but he came straight from work and only had time to grab something from the grocery store down the street. “You look absolutely beautiful today.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you come in? I hope you don’t mind that Emma is here. You two have met, right?”

He’s about to answer Belle, to say that they have, even if he sees the cheeky smile on Belle’s face, when Emma turns around from her seat at the table and sees him. She’s in leggings and a sweatshirt, her feet only covered in comically mismatched socks, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail under a baseball cap. And if the way her lips keep parting before coming together again is any indication, she had no idea that he was coming.

Surprise.

She’s going to hate him.

This was definitely some kind of set up. Never in doubt.

“Hello, Swan,” he waves, awkwardly putting his hand in the air and moving his fingers. Her mouth snaps closed, lips pressing into a firm line, and he sees her eyes roll even under the shadow of her cap. She’s not happy that he’s here, and he doesn’t blame her. They’re in a bit of a complicated situation.

Instead of speaking (thank goodness), Emma simply waves back with a flick of her wrist and the slightest nod of her head. He’s grateful for that, truly. This entire night is going to be torture, but she’s doing him a kindness there. It’s the little things in life.

“Oi, why do you look like the cat has your tongue, mate?”

“Shut up, Scarlett.”

“You know I’m incapable of that. Besides, milady likes the sound of my voice.”

“I don’t know what you see in him,” he sighs to Belle as he walks into the apartment and settles against the kitchen counter next to the table where Emma is alternating between shooting him daggers and completely avoiding his gaze. He should probably stop talking, but he’s not entirely sure how to do that when he’s having dinner. Conversation is kind of expected.

They could all become mimes.

The apartment is a small place, especially for two people, but Emma and Belle have it decorated in soft whites and creams with green and blue pillows and accents everywhere. As well as books. He shouldn’t be surprised at that, especially with Belle living here, but he wasn’t expecting them to have an entire wall of the things. It’s nice though, cozy even. He loves his apartment, but there’s a certain staleness to it sometimes. He doesn’t have much there, just his leather couch with one or two pillows and a painting of the horizon at the bay hanging over his television. He’s got bookshelves too, but it’s nothing like the packed space before him. He wonders if Emma is a bookworm as well.

He hopes that she likes flowers for all of the ones that Belle’s father sends them from his shop.

“He’s surprisingly kind when he’s not being an asshole.”

“So once or twice a year then?”

There’s a loud snicker, more of a snort really, and he whips his head to the right to see Emma covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Well, look at that. He made her laugh. It may be a good night already.

“You find that funny, love?” he teases, not able to stop himself from talking when he knows that she must be losing her mind. Maybe he’s a bit sadistic, but it’s kind of fun watching her squirm and knowing that there’s nothing she can do to stop him.

“You? Funny? I don’t believe it’s your allotted one time a year for that.”

The beginnings of arousal spark at the base of his spine, but it’s not enough to do anything. Thank fuck.

“It’s not a funny joke when you have to steal it from me, love.”

“That’s cute that you thought it was a funny joke to begin with.”

“Aww, sweetheart,” Will sighs, leaning back in his chair so that it props up on two legs while he looks at Belle who is grabbing glasses out of the cabinet, “would you look at the two of them flirting?”

“We are not flirting,” he and Emma say at the same time while the real hum of arousal starts to spread across his skin. Sighing, he speaks again on his own. “Belle, would you like some help with dinner since your boyfriend is a wanker who isn’t helping you out?”

“You guys are such weird friends, but sure. That’d be great.”

He helps Belle butter slices of toast while she gets the lasagna out of the oven, the two of them easily moving in and out of the kitchen. His left hand being near heat can sting sometimes, so he tries to avoid it on days where he has pains. It’s been nearly a decade since the accident, and sometimes it’s like nothing has changed. He and Belle fill in casual conversation, catching up on how they’ve been while Belle recommends him some new books to come pick up from the library, and Will occasionally adds something in to make Belle laugh, her entire face lighting up. He sees Emma get up from the table and stalk off to what must be her room, and not a part of him blames her. It’s likely what’s best for the both of them, and he appreciates it.

Until she comes back into the room right as they start to eat, silently fixing herself a plate and settling down across from him. He can’t help but watch her, be fascinated by her. For someone who he knows is intelligent and graceful, incredibly athletic if her legs and arms are anything to go by, she’s not very graceful as she eats. He can’t count the amount of times she’s gotten sauce on her chin and he’s had to motion to his own to get her to wipe it off. It’s funny, if he’s honest with himself, but he’s also pretty sure that each move he makes causes Emma to hate him that little bit more.

Hate may be too strong of a word. She simply wants absolutely nothing to do with him. That’s all.

And that’s totally not hate.

Belle and Will are most definitely trying to set the two of them up, as every other sentence is some kind of not-so-gentle nudge for he and Emma to talk to each other. Emma is much better at avoiding everything, deftly nodding her head in answer or giving as curt of a response as possible. He’s not so adept at it, getting roped into saying a bit more than Emma does. He can’t help himself, even though he’s pretty sure that she’s going to murder him and then hide the evidence. She is a detective, after all.

He’s taking a sip of his wine while Belle and Will are having some kind of argument over their upcoming vacation. It’s refreshing to see that even with the whole soulmate thing that people still have normal arguments and petty squabbles. It makes life seem more…real and not like he’s living in some kind of manufactured box.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Emma slide her phone across the table, the screen lit up with the messaging app open. He takes it, pulling it into his side so Belle and Will don’t see. It’s not like they’re paying attention anyways. They’re currently debating if they should go to England or to the beach in Florida. He’s not really sure how that’s a competition, but then again, sometimes people like sunshine.

Sometimes people also like not burning up in the fiery pits of hell of Florida.

If we leave right now, I bet they won’t even notice.

He chuckles at her words, looking up and curving his lips into a smile only to see her looking down intently focusing on what he assumes is a split end on her ponytail. Obviously he knows that she wanted him to see this message. She typed it and sent her phone over to him, but she’s acting like he doesn’t exist. It’s an odd disconnect, but he guesses this is how this is going to go.

Do you think we can take the bread with us?

God no. Belle would snap our heads off. The bread isn’t even worth it.

The bread is always worth it.

That gets a laugh out of Emma, even if he almost missed her small snicker. But he can see the slightest tick of her lips, the smallest of smiles peeking out.

Damn. It feels good to make her smile.

He’s not supposed to be feeling that way.

At least he’s not feeling aroused. That’s a damn good feeling and all, but it’s not something he really wants to deal with right now. It still may be the most idiotic soulmate (or maybe not soulmate and just some sick, twisted game the universe is playing with the two of them to screw them up even more) sign in the world, and while he’s still wondering just how long he’s going to have to suffer with it, it may not be the worst thing in the world.

As long as he doesn’t speak to Emma.

That seems pretty easy since they probably won’t be stuck eating another meal together.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Killian,” Belle huffs, slapping her hands against the table just as he’s texting himself on Emma’s phone so that he has her number, something that contradicts every logical thought that he’s had all night (and something that will probably piss her off), “will you please tell Will that we don’t need to go to England when we can go somewhere nice and relaxing like the beach in Miami, which is definitely different than the beach here?”

“I – ”

“Florida sucks,” Emma starts, inching her glass into the middle of the table so that he can covertly slide her phone back to her. “It’s not only hot but also humid, and the people there are assholes.”

“Oh Emma,” Belle sighs, her eyes widening with what he thinks is compassion, “just because Neal is – ”

“It’s not about Neal,” Emma barks, cutting Belle off. If he wasn’t so interested in who Neal is and why he causes such a reaction from Emma, he’d probably notice the slight tingling sensation that’s working its way over himself. “Go to Spain or something. You get Europe and the beach. I’m going to bed.”

With that Emma gets up from the table and stalks over to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. He thought that things were going well tonight, especially with their little back and forth over the phone, but whatever just happened obviously made her change her mind.

“Damn, Jones. What’d you do to make her so mad? I told you she could kick all of our asses.”

He holds his hands up and shakes his head from side to side. “I didn’t do a thing. She was fine.”

“Until I mentioned Neal,” Belle laments, her lips parting slightly before snapping shut. He so wants to ask who Neal is, the words on the tip of his tongue, but it’s none of his business. Emma might not be interested in him, despite her being kind of friendly to him tonight, but if she’s really his soulmate, he’d like to get to know her on his own. Betraying her trust doesn’t seem like the best way to start that. And if she isn’t his soulmate, he’d still like to get to know her. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why? You think Emma doesn’t enjoy talking about her bastard of an ex?”

An ex.

He figured that, but it’s still…nice, he guesses, to have confirmation even if he doesn’t want to know more.

“I just hate that she’s been hurt so badly,” Belle sighs, rising from the table and collecting plates. He stands with her, not about to let her take care of everything when she cooked. “I wish she could find her soulmate so that she could have that partnership, you know? Like us, Will.”

“You and I both bloody well know that Emma will shove her soulmate away whenever she finds him. She’s not about to fall for everything just because someone tells her to.”

Boy do they have no idea.

He doesn’t stay there much longer, only helping to clean up and chat with Will and Belle a bit more, before he’s leaving Belle and Emma’s apartment and walking home thinking about all of the little bits that he learned about Emma tonight. She’s definitely got protective layers around her heart, something he can understand, but he can also see some of the cracks that let in her friendliness and her humor. Sure, the humor might be a defense mechanism, but it’s still humor.

He rather likes her, he thinks.

He’s not sure if it’s just as friends or some kind of crush, but he knows that he doesn’t seem to hate her. Really, he’d love to talk to her some more. If only the universe didn’t suck and they didn’t have this teeny tiny (in his case big if he does say so himself) problem that keeps them from doing that.

Never in his life has he hated getting turned on this easily.

(Except maybe in secondary school in the middle of a mathematics exam, but that’s an unfortunate story for another day.)

Walking into his apartment, he turns on the lights and kicks off his shoes, leaning down to put them in the right order on his little rack, before he sheds his jacket and hangs it on its hook. It’s eerily quiet in here compared to his dinner, so when he sits down on his couch and props his feet up on the ottoman, he immediately turns the television on, letting it stay on the History Channel for some background noise on the American Revolution.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he responds to Ariel’s text about her time off for a doctor’s appointment next week. He’s about to put it back in his pocket when he remembers Emma’s number in his phone. He could text her, but should he? She probably doesn’t want to hear from him, especially if she’s in a bad mood because Belle mentioned her ex, but it’s almost like he can’t help himself.

Dammit.

He’s thirty-five. He should not be having this much of an issue on deciding whether or not to text a woman he fancies.

Killian: You know, I quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.

One, two, three minutes pass. He watches his screen for all of them.

Emma: I could just block you, you know.

He snickers at that. Of course that’s where she goes first.

Killian: I know. I also know where you live.

Emma: That’s stalkerish, dude.

Killian: Block my number and throw me in a jail cell, love. I’m ready for it.

Emma: Kinky.

Killian: The name’s Killian.

Emma: Asshole.

Killian: I also answer to that.

She takes a few minutes to respond, the little dots popping up on his screen and disappearing over and over again.

Emma: Good.

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #cssns

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dorky-arsene · 5 years

Text

Day 6 - Demon

@shuakeweek

Much like my Day 3 entry, this one’s going to be a fic as well, using the “Demon” half of the prompt. This one’s also gonna have an art attached to it, since I kinda went all out. -shrugs-

Like the last fic, this one’s probably best suited for a teen-rating. It also has slightly more cursing and like the last fic has some mild spoils for Persona 5.

(as for the art, do NOT repost it)

Goro frowned at his notes as he set up the cheap candles he’d picked up half an hour ago, trying his damnedest to make sure none of the candles ended up dumping wax on his cheap carpet. After all, it’d be a bitch to clean off the wax, and the company I’m renting this apartment from will probably want to take my damn soul if I so much as spilled a single drop of wax..

The stressed high-schooler sighed, brushed hair out of his face for the 20th time, and looked over his notes again. So.. here it says I need a sprig of mistletoe.. How inconvenient, I’ve got none, he thought to himself, mentally slapping himself. Goddamn it. Why did I forget to get that.. ugh... It’s literally key to his mythological lore, and yet my tired ass forgot it!

Guess I’ll have to use something else as a replacement, Goro thought to himself, having to brush yet more of his too-long hair out of his face again as he shook his head in self-disapproval. The best thing Goro could think of on a whim was, oddly, coffee beans, which were sitting innocently in his kitchen on the counter.

“...Can’t believe I’m using fucking coffee to commune with a supposed trickster god,” Goro groaned aloud, narrowing his eyes at the cheap bag of coffee beans before shaking his head again and getting off his knees to go get it. “This had better work properly or I swear I’m going to chew Mifune-san out for even suggesting this.. Uuuugh... I spent real money for this..”

He swiped the coffee beans off the counter, then a culinary torch he normally only used for attempting crepes, turning off the lights in his tiny kitchen after that. It left only the light coming out of the glass doors leading to the tiny, crappy balcony of his apartment, which wasn’t a lot of light to go off of considering it was April and sundown had already passed. Somehow, though, by a miracle Goro could see just well enough to tell where the candles were.

He had a mat to deposit the chalk dust and coffee beans safely without fucking up the carpet, and now all he had to do was light the 6 crappy candles and deposit everything. The candles went first, bathing the little cleared-out living room area in orange-golden light as more and more of them got lit up. Then he deposited the chalk dust, in a little plastic bag with a corner cut off, forming a circle with vaguely wing-like marks.

In it, he wrote down the characters he thought was supposed to spell out Loki’s name, also in the chalk dust. It seemed a little longer than it was supposed to, but.. Goro was admittedly too tired to try and look up the damn proper words at the moment. He wanted it over with.

The last part was, of course, putting down the coffee beans and injuring himself just enough to deposit blood. That, and according to his notes, he had to make some stupid vow-thing..

“Here we fucking go,” Goro said to himself, scooping up some of the smelly beans and dropping them in the middle, carefully so he didn’t undo the circle and mess up the spell. After brushing more light brown hair out of his face, Goro grabbed a sewing needle off the ground he’d placed earlier, jamming it into his palm with an angry hiss and holding it above the coffee bean offering. He didn’t want to watch this part, so he squeezed his eyes shut, reciting the lines he’d practiced at least what had to be a hundred times over the past week and a half.

God, did Goro’s stomach feel pretty stormy right now..

“I.. I am thou, thou a-art I..” Goro stuttered, feeling his blood dripping off his hand uncomfortably. “F-from the sea of my soul.. I summon you.. I.. I bear the strength of my soul..”

...Crap, what was the rest..?! Damn it, Goro, you’re flubbing it..! he thought briefly, before the rest clicked into place. The needle in his palm got loose, and he hesitantly let go of it, practically hearing it drop against the likely soaked coffee beans.

“U-uh..” he tried again, eventually getting the courage again to speak. “I bear the strength of my soul.. to ascertain all on my own. N-now come to me, Loki!”

Still with his eyes closed, Goro felt the atmosphere of the room change somehow, and what little light he saw seemed to change to a blue-ish color. Goro sensed a foreign warmth a bit where he’d set up his mat, and so he backed away, feeling himself shake as he fumbled for the black towel he’d gotten specifically for the communication attempt. Besides that, he’d used his main hand, his left hand, to do this, so it stung like a bitch the whole time as he awaited whatever result.

...Still, curiosity and a hint of fear struck the tired highschooler’s heart, so he opened one eye to take a peek. The coffee beans and blood had entirely disappeared, and the circle’s color was no longer boring cheap stone white, rather becoming a strangely attractive shade of red and glowing. The candles’ flames actually turned a stark blue, burning in both light and dark shades of it, and most noise had disappeared from the environment, save for Goro’s frightened breathing and the flare of the candles.

...Then, a rush of wind knocked Goro to his bottom, and just like that, a quasi-humanoid being appeared above him. Black feathers fluttered around Goro and on him and his floor, their source being half-feathered wings attached to the humanoid. He found himself gazing into the face of the being, with his eyes seeming to have golden-colored outsides and red irises, and the demon had a sharp, cunning smirk to go with the already distracting eyes.

Besides that, the demon appeared to have black, red-tipped hair that half-hid nubby horns, a dual set of two, one set gold and the other silver, and as for clothes, he seemed to have an armored vest of sorts with a bright red ribbon hung loosely over. He also wore semi-armored gloves, and thin pants with leg armor, with no shoes to speak of. It was a contrast, certainly, to Goro’s simple thrift store nightgown and pants, both of which were more of a mild stormy but light grey and nothing else, save for whatever chalk, wax and blood he’d gotten on himself in the past 10 minutes.

The dark-haired demon chuckled softly, his voice apparently no older than someone Goro’s age.. which felt really weird. Perhaps weirdly attractive, if Goro were being honest to his closeted heart.

“Oh my.. I seem to be a little off-course,” the teenaged demon spoke, floating in midair as if he’d done so his whole life. “It’s not a whole loss, I suppose.. What a cute summoner~.”

Goro felt his cheeks flush at the compliment (or flirt), and he tried to glare at the demon. “Uh, off-course? I’m pretty sure this was intentional on my end. Does the name “Loki” sound a bell?”

Quizzically, the demon’s thick eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head, his smirk fading into a thin line.

“Loki..? What’re you on about? I’m called Satanael, and I’m as far from a Norse god as can be. A trickster, when I feel like it, but I’m more of a rebel than anything,” the demon introduced, stretching out his arms and smiling. “I can see you wrote my name instead of the intended one.. That’s probably contributing to me being off-course and all.”

Goro looked where Satanael had pointed out, and upon re-reading the kanji the summoning circle currently produced.. It struck Goro that it was, indeed, the wrong goddamn name.

“Fuck my life,” the brunette responded, facepalming. “Now I’m stuck with you, I guess.. First I forget the damned mistletoe and now it turns out I wrote the most incorrect thing of INCORRECT THINGS--”

Satanael seemed to be sweating nervously upon hearing Goro berate himself, and he gently placed a hand on the tired teen’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey, don’t get all worked up. I can already feel your soul wearing itself out faster. Panic only nets you passing out, human. I mean, I’m sure you’d be as cute as a sleeping cat when passed out, but--”

“Off!” Goro yelped, swatting at the demon with his towel. “Get off me, will you?! Can’t I panic in peace around here..?”

“..The circle’s still in effect, so not for a while,” Satanael pointed out, in the most awkward way in the world by using two of his six massive wings that kept poking the curtains of Goro’s sliding glass door. “You wanted assistance, right? You got the rest of the incantation down properly, so you must want help in something, right..?”

“...” Goro sat up properly for once, and he wrapped his hand around his towel, trying to ignore the pound of feathers Satanael shed all over his stupid living room like some cat with too much fur. He needed a second, and it seemed the demon got the memo, magically scooping up his shed feathers and dumping them as the brown-haired novice of a summoner tried to cobble his internal brain back together from the panic disaster mess it was.

Ugh.. Dammit, this is what I get for trying to summon demons by myself, Goro complained internally, nursing his aching hand and watching Satanael trying to clean up his feathers successfully. He’d gotten most of them by the time the stressed teen got back to breathing as if he wasn’t biking at 60 miles an hour, and another self-deprecating thought passed his mind before he’d next opened his mouth. Maybe I should have asked Kitagawa-san to help me out.. He studies stuff like this on his off time for his artwork, so I probably could have gotten the right fucking god instead of a random-ass demon..

“..Hey, Satanael-san? Where were you supposed to be going, anyway?”

With a bundle of feathers in his arms, Satanael turned his head. “Oh, you mean being off-course. Uh, kick the circle, will you? I don’t mind being in the human realm for a bit while we reorganize, yeah? And thanks for the coffee beans. I appreciate the gift, human.”

Goro kicked the circle with his bare foot despite his lingering confusion, and the candles promptly turned back to their usual color, the chalk having gone back to normal. Well, now the coffee beans, blood and needle were gone, but everything else was still right where it was, save for the streak of chalk from Goro’s bare foot.

“Anyways,” the demon continued, “I was off to confront some asshole human who just so happens to be a reincarnation of one of the main “Sin” groups your sort likes to put my kind into. Ah, he doesn’t go by Samael anymore, but that’s the name I knew him by before he decided to up and betray me.”

“..Betray?” Goro questioned. “So why come all the way up here for one measly human anyway?”

“Hrm. Correct yourself to say “falsely powerful” human, friend. That nasty son of a bitch decided to try and give himself a foothold in Japanese politics with so many violations of the point of my movement that I want to punch him back home,” Satanael hissed, the cores of his eyes flashing gold as he dumped the feathers onto Goro’s kitchen counter. “..Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think you summoning me was a mere accident. You feel a bit like he does.. Only a little.”

“...Huh??” It didn’t quite click to Goro, what Satanael meant, despite something telling Goro a certain bald-headed bastard might’ve been involved.

Satanael gestured to the circle, which still had his name’s characters in it. “I’m not so sure it was coincidence you wrote the name of a particularly rebellious demon, now, is it? I am the very representation of rebelling against authority, at least for some.

I’ve got a few names under my belt, because of it. Some call me “Satan”, since I’ve already rebelled once and gotten kicked out. Others like to call me “Lucifer” or “Helel”, too. But Satanael’s the preferred one. Get my drift?”

“..Wait, go back,” Goro said, standing up off the ground, while still holding onto his towel in his left hand. “A.. A rebel demon? ..W-well, I.. I wanted to rebel against my biological father.. He keeps trying to make me do his dirty work and I have a hell of a time trying to get him off my damn back.”

The teen huffed, and Satanael folded his wings, blowing out Goro’s candles and essentially helping pick up the mess all over the living room floor as the mortal of the pair turned on the kitchen lights again.

Goro opened his fridge to check for food, but was only met with a supply of apples and water bottles, and old leftovers he didn’t feel like trusting to the half-broken microwave he had to get off some sketchy online shop.

“..Uh, just out of curiosity, Satanael, do you eat?”

Kneeling in the middle of the floor with the mat, the demon lord just shrugged. “If coffee comes with it, I have no problem with what you have. I’d prefer you eat something, though. It’d be unbecoming of you to faint in the midst of teenage rebellion-ing your father.”

“Touche,” Goro responded blandly, pulling out the leftovers and a few apples. He also took out a water bottle and his coffee machine, the one other machine besides his alarm clock and his P.A.D. that worked without being too shitty, and he filled up the coffee machine’s water tank. “Oh, also.. I feel like I was rude earlier to you, so I apologize for that. My name is Goro Akechi, by the way. I’d forgotten, almost, to tell you that.”

“..Goro.. I like it,” Satanael chuckled, closing his eyes and smiling cheerfully as he placed Goro’s sewing needle back on the kitchen counter, bloodless. “I.. I suppose a more personable name I normally use while hiding among your kind is Akira. Akira Kurusu.”

“If I may.. have you been in Japan for a long time, before?” Goro asked, quietly, while he looked in the demon lord’s direction. The newly-dubbed Akira simply nodded, but in a wistful way, as his smile shrunk slightly to match.

“I’ve been here once before. Not, well, in your current capital.. but in the country. A little place called Inaba. I once happened to meet Izanami there, right when this other nasty human decided to invoke her power and try to cover the damn place in poisonous Yomi fog, all while I’d been in my human disguise. Let’s just say some humans close to your age a few years back had to put her in her place by summoning her very, very angry former husband.. I didn’t get involved much beyond observation for obvious reasons, really.”

“...” The much too tired teenager didn’t grace the little story with a response, finding it too tiring to follow beyond a basic repeat of legends he’d known since middle school. Well, besides the “Yomi fog” and the familiarity of what Akira may have been talking about.

...Oh, right.. Maybe Akira-san’s speaking about the Inaba fog murders. God, that was a disaster for their police force.. I ended up studying that for my current crappy job..

Reluctantly, Goro tossed the leftover food from the previous night onto a pair of plates, just a split-up beef bowl with noodles, and one plate went into the sketchy microwave, leaving the prep of the coffee. Another quick check of the kitchen yielded sugar and little creamer cups he’d snuck out of the office at work, and Goro turned around again to the demon lord, who had surprisingly ditched the demon form in favor of a mild, unassuming human look, complete with removed shoes already put near the apartment entrance and glasses.

“..A-ah.. Is that what it looks like?” the highschooler asked, instead of what he’d intended to ask. “It’s.. it’s a bit different, to say the least..”

Not to mention, Goro thought privately to himself, the unassuming-ness of this look feels.. cute, almost? The glasses are so nerdy, though.. The hair, though.. it helps balance that nerdiness out.. And he’s pretty tall, even as a normal human..

Akira just smiled slightly at Goro from his spot on the couch, twirling a bit of his now horn-free hair. “Well.. Sometimes, my kind has to regenerate a little at times. Sort of like those “Time Masters” from “Doctor Whom”, or whatever that human show is.

Except I just have roughly the same face, hair and voice every time. I’m halfway through at the moment, so in human terms, I am currently, in both mind and body, 16 years old... again. Does it make you feel more comfortable for me to look like this? You don’t seem too unhappy about it-”

Goro felt his cheeks heat up, and he just tried to not think about how alluring Akira’s new grey eyes looked, instead interrupting Akira in his tracks and turning his tomato-red face away again. “J-just tell me your coffee preference, please.”

“Just a touch of sugar and no creamer,” Akira reported, and the other teen could practically feel the disguised demon lord’s wink being sent in his direction as he grounded up the coffee beans in a bowl with the butt of a nearby hammer.

Dammit.. This’ll be a long however-long-he’ll-be-here, won’t it.. he thought with a frown, silently regretting ever going through with his little demon-summoning plan to ruin Shido’s day. Jeez, and on top of me getting the wrong otherworldly being, I end up with one that’s attractive!! I wish so badly to scream, Goro further thought, feeling his cheeks go on fire as he dumped the ground coffee into its filter, practically slamming the door on the filter hole shut just to snap himself out of it.

Evidently, he now had the craving to just go sit and talk with Akira for awhile instead. Goro was grateful for the stinging pain of his left hand when he grabbed the sugar bowl, grateful for a distraction from his mind’s silly, likely insomnia-caused thoughts.

Goro shook his head at himself again, sighing as the microwave beeped to indicate the leftovers somehow didn’t get burnt.

I guess I really am wanting to date a demon lord.. Practically inevitable since he’s taken up flirting with me.. I guess this’ll just. Happen. Why not.

---

END

#ShuAkeWeek2K19 #akeshu #let us start the game #second advent of the detective prince #frizzy hair #save point #this gives me inspiration #that's right folks! this one's a double whammy #the fic bit i actually thought up WHILE i was doing the art bit so it took a lil longer ahaaaah #also uhh idk if i'll rlly elaborate on this particular idea but i'll post more if i do

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web1995 · 7 years

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when is it better not to source?

sourcing imagery and text is for the better in nearly all circumstances. this blog does not engage with images as if they are sourceless, or as if forced contextlessness is something meaningful. however, whether to credit a particular source is a question rather than an all-case policy.

is the creator of an image probably a child? do they post personal information along with whatever interesting presentation slide, block of text, or video game screenshot you would like to repost? could posting their work lead others to mock or harass them? even if you do not intend to post it as “cringe” will it be taken that way? these are all questions to keep in mind, not to mention when deciding whether it is potentially harmful to repost the image at all.

probably non-harmful to post and source: class group projects that don’t name students or go into detail about the school, photography taken from an older site that was run by a child who would be an adult now, screenshots from a site dedicated to various topics unrelated to real life

better to post without source: brief excerpts of materials from sites that have real-life personal information elsewhere in them, funny comments that seem like theyve been posted by childrens accounts

best to simply not post: artwork in any context that could lead to it being mocked as cringy (artwork generally should be reposted only thoughtfully) anything with real-life information, selfies or pictures of other children

( these issues generally apply to work created by any person who is in some way vulnerable to online harassment, just especially to children )

is the image from an advertisement? sourcing an advertisement is not always necessary, and its unlikely that the creator of that image will have an issue with you sharing it. sourcing when possible still is a good idea but less of a priority

are you the creator of an image? whether to make that clear is entirely your own business.

similarly, if you know the creator and they prefer anonymity when their images are shared, that is between you and them.

is the image from a bigoted source? if the source of an image is harmful or from a site that elsewhere contains unpleasant context, leaving that out when cropping a line of interesting text or screencapping a strange part of the websites layout is not unreasonable. we do this here sometimes. however it is good to keep in mind whether you want followers to unknowingly engage with material created by a bigot, as in some cases people deserve to know where an image is from

when silently sourcing a bigot, consider whether the credit and resharing of their work comes across as condonement

of course bigoted materials and the work of bigots are sometimes interesting to examine. consider whether in this examination you are spreading the images and their source to people who will engage with them straightforwardly, without “irony,” and whether this is worth it.

is the image a very brief excerpt from something otherwise not relevant? in that case, a source is probably not necessary, but can still be useful.

allowing an audience to be aware of how you have decontextualized and recontextualized an image grants them more ground on which to engage with it as an artwork and with you as a curator

is the image truly, genuinely impossible to source? is it an image that only turns up in “funniest photoshop fails threads” from the early 00s? is it from an automatic photo archive for a chat service? is it from a website that since has fallen off the web? is the original poster someone who uploaded it anonymously anyway? of course sometimes sourcing an artist is not possible. spending at least some time trying to figure out whether it is (reverse google image searching, looking for any usernames you know are associated with the image, other reverse-image search tools, and so on as a starting point) and looking at how an image has spread across the internet is a great, fascinating process. considering how it became “an image impossible to source” is worth the time

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justwritingscibbles · 7 years

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Release the Puppos!

Ok, first of all, fuck this illness! Secondly, I felt bad for not posting the past few days because this Tumblr is sorta part of a schedule I put up for myself and I want to keep too it!!!

Anyway, while I was wasting away in bed I thought up a few fics I wanted to write. Please forgive me if my writing is a little wonky; I have literally gulped half a bottle of cough medicine. So I’m a little sleepy and drowsy. Probably not a good idea but I couldn’t find a measuring cup or anything.

This one is just a little Markiplier fic where you’re a subscriber of Mark’s channel and you go to the meet-up with some hairy companions. Enjoy!

(Y/D/N)- Young dogs name. (O/D/N)- Older dog’s name. (Y/T/N)- Your Twitter nickname/ or social media nickname

You have always wanted to go to a meet-up. Not only to see Mark but also to meet some of the other subs. You were always commenting on Mark’s tweets and sometimes even posting some fan-art. People started following you and you started chatting. You wouldn’t say you were popular or well-known in Mark’s community, but you had a fair number of people following you on most social medias because of him. Every so often he’d retweet one of your artworks and you contributed to his charity live-streams too. Once, he had called out your name excitedly and yelled, ”That’s the person that draws awesome me pictures!”

Mark had tweeted another location for a meet-up. A park not far from your home. But as always, you were stuck and unable to go. Usually it was work, school, even family had become an obstacle. But today, it was two large dogs who were currently snoozing on the lounge-room floor. You sighed and wrote your reply on Mark’s twitter;

“I’m dog-sitting and can’t leave them alone! Can I bring the puppos?”

You knew you wouldn’t get a reply from the Youtuber himself, but you added a photo of the dogs anyway. The largest dog, (Y/D/N), a big brown shaggy hound with golden eyes, lifted his head just as you took the photo. The result was adorable. His floppy ears were propped up and his head tilted slightly. The slightly smaller dog, (O/D/N), an elderly Labrador, continued to snooze, completely ignoring your calls to lift his head. You posted the tweet and continued to scroll through your phone. It wasn’t long before your notifications started beeping. You checked your Twitter, finding people were reposting your tweet and replying to the photo.

“Awww! So cute! You have to bring them!”

“This is unacceptable! You can’t miss out on another meet-up!”

“I want those dogs!”

You smiled at each Tweet and tried replying. More and more re-tweets and replies came and you got fed up with notifications, so you turned them off. You ignored Twitter for some time, already jealous with the fans who were going. You’ll probably see what was happening in a video on Mark’s channel in the next few days. You checked your Twitter one last time; amazed at the number of retweets you had received in the short space of time.

“Keep retweeting so Mark can see this!”

“I’ll show him when I get there!”

“Everyone show Mark and make him see the puppies!”

You laughed at each one and went through the list liking them. Then, your phone vibrated with a DM from Twitter and you almost let out a squeal when you read the message.

“YOU BETTER BRING THOSE PUPPOS OR I’M GOING TO KIDNAP THEM!” Tweeted from Markiplier.

You spent almost no time leaping from your couch, grinning like a lunatic as you ran about the house finding your shoes and actually getting out of your PJs for once. Upon grabbing the dog-leashes (Y/D/N) bounded over to you, barking excitedly. You looped the clip around his collar and did the same to (O/D/N). You were practically dragged out of the house by (Y/D/N) with (O/D/N) trotting behind you. The park was a few blocks away and the closer you got, the more nervous you were becoming. What if someone there was allergic to dogs? Or someone was scared of dogs? Maybe this was a bad idea, I mean (Y/D/N) could accidentally knock someone over or (O/D/N) could get agitated with someone and growl at them. But it was already too late. By the time you had the thought to turn around and retreat home, you were on the outskirts of the park and the mass of people had spotted you. “Oh my God, it’s the puppies!” You heard someone cry. Your nerves escalated as the crowd turned to you and started shouting excitedly. But you couldn’t help but smile as you started towards them. (Y/D/N) started tugging against his leash, his tail wagging madly. “Release the puppos!” You heard a familiar voice bellow. You shrugged and trapped (Y/D/N) between your legs as you unclipped him from his collar. “Brace yourselves!” You called as (Y/D/N) galloped towards the hoards of screaming people. He crashed into the many legs, almost drowning under reaching fingers and gentle pets. A few people approached you, politely greeting you and asking if they could pat (O/D/N). You nodded and they crouched beside the older dog, who lazily wagged their tail and panted happily. “So, your (Y/T/N)!” Mark said with a wide smile. “Hi! I couldn’t bear losing my dogs to a kidnapper, so I had to bring them.” The man laughed and crouched down beside (O/D/N) to give them a gentle scratch behind the ear. “A lot of people here didn’t want you missing out.” He continued to speak to you from the ground. “I’ve always wanted to meet you as well. Your art is amazing.” You blushed and chuckled, “Well, my muse is pretty inspirational.” Mark flashed you a brilliant smile and stood, gesturing to the crowd. “Well, come meet everyone. We were about to start the video.”

You followed Mark into the middle of the park, where (Y/D/N) was running around, almost overwhelmed with excitement. A few people were chasing after him, seeming to play tag with the dog. Then (Y/D/N) found, what you guessed was Mark’s bag, and removed a football from it. “Hey!” Mark yelled, starting towards the pup. “That’s mine!” (Y/D/N) started running. His ears flapped like wings as he bounded away from the man. Everyone started laughing as Mark gave chase. He tried leaping onto the dog, even tried herding him towards the crowd, but (Y/D/N) seemed to dodge every hand as they made a grab for the ball. You laughed along with everyone else. Enjoying the comical show that was unfolding in front of you. Finally, you thought it had gone on for long enough and you whistled loudly. The hound skidded to a stop, his golden eyes fixed on you with a quizzical stare. “Give it here,” You ordered, keeping your voice friendly. (Y/D/N) trotted over to you, his ears slanted backwards and his eyes mischievous. He slowed as he neared you, lifting his head up slightly to place the ball in your hand. “Don’t you dare,” You warned, but before your fingers could find purchase, (Y/D/N) had jumped back and started running. But he ran straight into Mark’s legs and the man caught hold of the dog’s collar and plucked the toy from his jaws. Cheers flooded the park as Mark lifted the ball up like a trophy. Grinning wildly. “Markimoo- 1, doggo- 0″ Mark smirked and booped (Y/D/N) on his wet nose. He looked rather disappointed, but wagged his tail none-the-less.

As Mark set up the cameras and arranged the crowd as he needed, you had found a nice spot under a tree to watch. Others had joined you, too nervous or anxious to join in the activities. But the small group around you were happy stroking your dogs fur and laughing at what Mark was making the others do. You weren’t sure what was happening. It had started off as a game of tag, then evolved into stick-in-the-mud, then the ball came in as the crowd formed a circle. Mark was in the centre kicking the ball as high into the air as he could for someone to catch. Those who caught it, had to make up a ridiculous dance routine and make animal noises to go with it. At one point, Mark had kicked the ball but it struck the toes of his shoes and the object flew in a unexpected arc. It had almost hit you as it came tumbling through the canopy of the tree. You saved yourself by slapping it away, but managed to accidentally hit (O/D/N). “Oh no! I’m so sorry!” You cooed, cradling the dog’s head as if you had seriously injured it. Mark over-exaggerated the situation by running over and dramatically throwing himself in front of the dog, begging their forgiveness and apologizing profusely. (O/D/N) looked very confused, and responded by gently tapping Mark’s bowed head, as if to say “You are forgiven, loud-one” Mark laughed and returned to the circle.

The whole situation was cringey and amazing all at the same time. Finally, when the time of the meet-up was nearing its end, Mark ushered your group up and into the middle of the park. “Right, now it’s your turn!” He told you and you quickly panicked as he kicked the ball into the air. You instinctively watched it soar skywards and you angled yourself so when it plummeted back to earth, you caught it in your hands, cradling it on your chest. People cheered and Mark grinned broadly, “You have to make up a dance sequence now!” Groaning, you dropped the ball and started krumping. It was sloppy, and your cheeks glowed red from embarrassment, but people were laughing and cheering you on. When was the last time you even danced? A loooong time, a voice at the back of your head replied. “You have to make an animal noise!” Someone in the back reminded you. You rolled your eyes and turned to (Y/D/N), “Howl!” Weeks of training paid off as (Y/D/N) lifted back his head and started to howl. A long deep sound that you started dancing too. A few others followed your lead, and soon you had a large group of people boogie around (Y/D/N). Like some weird ritual, everyone started making strange howling noises and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was all so ridiculous! Finally, Mark hushed everyone and told them that it was time to back up. You said your goodbyes and clipped your dogs back on their leashes. Before you started walking home, someone gently touched your shoulder and you turned to face Mark. “It was really nice to meet you, (Y/T/N)” He said with a small smile. “I hope you come to the next meet-up.” “Of course!” You beamed, “And my name is (Y/N) by the way.” “It was a pleasure meeting you, (Y/N). We’ll have to meet up another time.” He winked at you and shouldered his bag, heading towards his car. You couldn’t help but smile and you quickly turned away so no one could see you blushing.

I’m gonna go to bed now! Hope you enjoyed!

#Markiplier #puppos!#one-shots #a little fluff

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arniadiankusuma-blog · 7 years

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In case you're 23 or still going to

(Repost dari CAMPUSPEDIA) I woke up on the morning of my twenty-third birthday to a dead-end job, a failing relationship, an empty wallet and a complete lack of direction. And I’m sure I’m not alone in that fate. The years following college aren’t kind to us. We are thrust into the real world with a large amount of student debt, jobs that barely pay enough to make rent, relationships that are rapidly changing and a profound feeling of being lost on how to handle it all. Nobody likes you when you’re twenty-three, including your own life. And yet, we pull through. Most of us make it to our twenty-fourth year. Most of us make it out of the woods. Most of us are lucky enough to say that by the end of our twenty-third year we’re no longer feeling completely and utterly lost. But in case you’re not there yet, here are a few things you may need to be reminded of right now. 1. You’re not going to be lonely for the rest of your life. Twenty-three is a lonely and uncomfortable age. College is probably) over. Your professional life is hopefully) just beginning. And your social life is doing an awkward, uncomfortable shuffle in response to all the changes. You’re far away from the people who know you well and not yet emotionally close with the people who physically surround you. Give it time. Give your relationships the chance to evolve. Give yourself the chance to adjust to no longer living with a group of your closest friends (yes, you will adjust). Loneliness doesn’t last forever, even when it feels like it will. 2. You don’t need to be working your dream job right now. It’s okay to take a shitty office job because you need to pay the bills. It’s okay to spend your spare time volunteering to get the experience you need. There are a thousand different routes you can take to get to where you want to go. Don’t beat yourself up in the process – just keep moving, steadily and slowly, toward wherever you would rather be. 3. Everyone feels lost at some point. No, seriously. Every single person you meet, interact with or think about in the course of a day has almost definitely had a period of their lives where they had NO clue what they were doing. So this is yours. You’re just getting it out of the way early. 4. You still have so much time to fail. You have time to fail at love. At your career. At your creative aspirations. At your personal goals. You are still young enough to fall and pick yourself back up, so many more times. So don’t be afraid to take those big, scary risks now – while you still have the time and the strength and the determination to start over. 5. Someone is going to love you again. You’re going to feel that insane over-the-moon feeling again. You’re going to want to tell someone ‘I love you’ again. You’re going to have something real with another human being again, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. The ability to love other people doesn’t leave you, even if it’s a muscle you haven’t flexed in a long while. 6. You are going to love you again. Your self-perception is going to adjust to encompass the new, adult you: the one that you are still growing into. Don’t beat yourself up about who you are or are not yet at twenty-three – you have so much time left to grow into the person you’ll become, and to be damn proud of whoever that will be. 7. You are allowed to set and keep boundaries. Being a young adult means saying ‘Yes’ to a lot of things – long work hours, demands from our partners – because you aren’t yet sure what you’re allowed to say no to. But here’s the deal – you are allowed to set whatever personal or professional boundaries you need to set in order to stay healthy and stable. You don’t have to earn the right to take care of yourself. You deserve it, as a basic product of your existence. 8. You are never entirely without support. You may not be lucky enough to have parents who are able to give you financial support or even friends who are immediately available to give you emotional support, but rest assured, if things ever went really wrong, you’d have people there to help you out in ways you may not expect. If at least a few names come to mind, you’re doing better than a lot of people. 9. Being disappointed in yourself just means that you know you can do better. If you were never falling short of your own goals, you’d be living your life all wrong. Disappointment – in moderation – means that you believe in bigger things for yourself. And holding that belief in life will take you further than you could possibly imagine. 10. It’s not your job to live someone else’s dream. You don’t have to move to Asia to teach English if it’s not going to make you happy. You don’t have to move to a big city and get a mind-numbing office job because it’s going to impress your parents. The choices you make now set the tone for the choices you’re going to make the rest of your life. So you’re allowed to make the choices you want to make – and only worry about impressing your future self. 11. ‘No’ is a very important word. You’re allowed to use it. Say no to jobs that don’t entice you. Say no to people who bring out the worst in you. Say no to all the opportunities that prevent you from pursuing the bigger, braver, bolder life course that you’d rather be on. Say no confidently, strategically and as regularly as you need to. It is your right and in some cases, your greatest asset. 12. Nobody can read your mind – you’re going to have to ask for what you want. Nobody is going to come hand you your dream job or your perfect relationship or your ideal lifestyle because you’ve been obeying the rules so diligently. You have to ask – directly and sometimes incessantly – for those things. It’s unfortunate that the adult world works this way, but it does. The sooner you get comfortable asking for things, the sooner you start getting big results. Results other people don’t get because they’re too afraid to ask for them. 13. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not by the job you’re working or the person you’re dating or where you are in life, in relation to the people you graduated college with. Embarrassment is a choice. And the prouder you choose to be of yourself – no matter where you are in life – the further you’re going to go. Confidence is a major predictor of success. 14. Your body is not seventeen anymore. You can’t exist on a steady diet of beer, burritos and power-naps forever. Your body is starting to change and you have to change to accommodate it if you don’t want to feel just a little bit worn-out for the rest of eternity. Treating your body properly is going to have more of a positive impact on your life in the coming years than you could possibly imagine right now. 15. You’re probably hotter than you think you are. Something I hear over and over again from middle-aged people is that they can’t believe they ever thought they were unattractive in their early twenties. We are our own harshest critics at this point in our lives and it’s more likely than not that your most unattractive quality is the lack of confidence you have in your own appearance. Start believing in yourself a little more right now, so you have to kick yourself a little less aggressively later. 16. You aren’t done changing yet, and you probably won’t be for a while. There are those rare, beautiful moments in our early twenties where it feels like we’ve got it all figured out and we’re entirely out of the woods. But those moments never last for too long. Life is constantly changing – but that’s far from being a bad thing. Your brain is still developing. You are still developing. And the worst thing you can be right now is stagnant. 17. You have to give yourself a break. At 23, it’s easy to get so caught up in the working and progressing and forming relationships and finding ourselves that we forget to ever take a moment to just breath. To relax. And to take a brief break from frantically dashing toward the future. You still deserve to live and enjoy your life. Your future will come soon enough. 18. Losing friends is a natural consequence of this stage of your life. Losing touch with your old college roommates or your hometown friends or the loved ones who settled down earlier or later than you did is a natural consequence of growing older. It isn’t solely up to you to keep every friendship you’ve ever had alive – some things fade out naturally, because they should. Because some of the friendships you shared were meant to last a season, not a lifetime, and that’s okay. 19. There will be people you have to leave behind as you grow, and that doesn’t make you a bad person. Everyone grows up and grows into themselves at different paces. And the older you get, the more you will notice that some people almost deliberately choose to stay stuck or hold themselves back. And it is not your job to rescue these people from themselves. You can love them, you can support them and you can encourage them but at the end of the day you just can’t hold yourself back on their behalf. They have responsibility over their lives and you have responsibility over yours. You are not selfish or horrible to keep moving forward without them. 20. Comparisons are completely senseless, unless you use them as a motivator. Comparisons are a great thing if you’re using them to motivate yourself to rise up to someone else’s level of greatness. If, however, you’re only using them to beat yourself down, they are the single greatest waste of your time and energy. You are not your friend or your college classmate or your co-worker who just got a raise. You are you. And if you want to rise above the rest, you have to use the skills that are unique to you, rather than pining after what comes naturally to everyone else. By Heidi Priebe Artwork by Helke Rah @Campuspedia - Indonesia Student Platform

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milhaaus · 7 years

Note

cam could u do all even numbers for the ask meme? ;3

(THERE’S LIKE 50 QUESTIONS but YES I CAN)

2.) is your room messy or clean?

It’s pretty messy lmao

4.) do you like your name? why?

I used to not be a fan of it especially when I was in school (because for some reason people can’t pronounce Camerin on their first go??? Even though it’s literally Cameron with an i???) but since then I’ve really grown to love it and I think it’s one of a kind :D

6.) describe your personality in 3 words or less

that gal’s weird

8.) what kind of car do you drive? color?

It’s a nissan xterra! it’s older (it should be a sophomore in high school) and it’s silver and I love it

10.) how would you describe your style?

It’s mostly flannel shirts and black t-shirts. for extra style points, wear them both at the same time

12.) what size bed do you have?

It’s at least a queen? it’s big but barely big enough enough for me, my dogs, and my cat lol

14.) if you can live anywhere in the world where would it be? why?

kauai, hawai’i or california! I want to be near the ocean. or somewhere else in the sonoran desert, I like it where i am just fine

16.) favorite makeup brand(s)

I don’t wear makeup, but i do love candy cane chapstick and those eos chapstick spheres

18.) favorite tv show?

voltron, a series of unfortunate events, and crazyhead on netflix and adult swim, ghost hunting/bigfoot type shows on animal planet and the discovery channel, misfits, z nation and anything on the syfy channel on regular tv

20.) how tall are you?

I’m 5′2″ on a good day

22.) do you go to the gym?

I mean I should.......... buuuuuuut............................

24.) how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

not much, my guys

26.) how many pillows do you sleep with?

Just one for my head!

28.) how many friends do you have?

uhhhhhh I’ve got at least 10 friends irl and half a dozen internet friends? most of them are on tumblr so if u see this guys I LOVE YOU

30.) whats your favorite candle scent?

sandalwood!

32.) 3 favorite girl names

ramona, willow, sasha

34.) favorite actress?

ashley johnson!

36.) favorite movie?

I can’t pick one so I’ll give u 5: flash gordon, nausicaa, moonrise kingdom, the secret life of walter mitty, and paprika

38.) money or brains?

brain money. pay ur utility bill in whole brains.

40.) how many times have you been to the hospital?

I’ve been in the ER twice, the first time when I ran through a sliding glass door age 6 and the second time when I was rear-ended by a garbage truck driving home when I was 18 - I also did outpatient stuff for 3 months but idk if that counts

42.) do you take any medications daily?

I do, I take an antidepressant, anti-anxiety meds and fish oil (ECH)

44.) what is your biggest fear?

i am a ball of anxiety and almost everything is scary. but what scares me the most are heights, car accidents, and the fear of losing loved ones

46.) whats your go to hair style?

it’s kind of a curly bob type of hairstyle. i used to have long-ass hair but i got sick of it and cut most of it off last year

48.) who is your role model?

idk? i have ppl i look up to but it’s late and i’m blanking on everything :|

50.) what was the last text you sent?

“cool beans” - sent to my dad

52.) what is your dream car?

i love the one I have rn, so probably a newer nissan xterra in either red, yellow, or black

54.) do you go to college?

I did up until last fall when I had to withdraw due to mental health shit :/ I’ll be transferring to community college after I finish my job training tho!

56.) would you rather live in rural areas or the suburbs?

the burbs, it’s less room but i’d be closer to places where I can make late-night snack runs

58.) do you have freckles?

Not a lot of them, just some little ones on my face (i’ve got 3 in a triangle on my cheek)

60.) how many pictures do you have on your phone?

410 atm! 1/4 of those are screenshots

62.) do you still watch cartoons?

oh hell yeah, I watch cartoons more than anything else of TV tbh. I’ve also been rewatching some ones from my child days like code lyoko and generator max!

64.) Favorite dipping sauce?

honey mustard/ketchup for chicken and burgers/etc, ketchup OR ranch for fries (NEVER BOTH EVER), and soy sauce and eel sauce for sushi (that counts right)

66.) have you ever won a spelling bee?

nope, I saw akeelah and the bee tho does that count

68.) can you draw?

yea I can draw good I guess

70.) what was the last concert you saw?

I saw they might be giants last march! it was AWESOME

72.) Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

starbucks for drinks, dunkin donuts for the donuts and frozen hot chocolate

74.) what is your crush’s first and last initial?

O.C. (for orange crush)

76.) what color looks best on you?

black. black t-shirts. and flannels. lots of flannel shirts.

78.) do you sleep with your door open or closed?

open because my pets will come in and out of my room during the night and they get sad when I close the door. plus my oldest dog benny has to come wake me up every morning and he never learned how to open doors

80.) what is your biggest pet peeve?

when people delete captions off artwork, or just plain repost it. or when my family does things that trigger my anxiety when i’ve told them over and over to not do it. also people who don’t throw away their trash after eating.

82.) favorite ice cream flavor?

coffee, mint chocolate chip, neopolitan, and green tea!

84.) chocolate or rainbow sprinkles?

RAINBOW

86.) what is your phone background?

(i’ll post em here when i’m on mobile)

88.) do you like it when people play with your hair?

nope nope nope nooope

90.) do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

first thing in the morning!

92.) have you ever been drunk?

yup, just once tho doing tequila shots with my granddad out of pure spite. i dissociated really bad for the rest of the evening 0/10 do not recommend

94.) favorite lyrics right now

on a serious note, the chorus to “your heart is a muscle the size of your chest” ramshackle glory. on a much less serious note, the entirety of mouth moods by neil cicierega

96.) day or night?

night! i’m a big ol night owl

98.) favorite month?

june!

100.) who was the last person you cried in front of?

my cat. i cried because she was sitting in my lap and purring and i just really love her ok

#asks #previouslyonstuff #long post #FINISHED HOO BOY

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