#Also I have process videos for all these more recent paintings so uh

[hollowedwing]

Isekai-ed into Hawk's Life

Hawks x gn!winged!Reader

Warnings: ⚠️ Death!(at very beginning, it is an isekai), mentions of death throughout, some angst(??maybe not yet??), slight cursing

THIS WILL NOT FOLLOW A SPECIFIC TIMELINE IN THE MANGA

(so sorry i just, love, love, the idea of having wings)

(this is all my art, it is on IG, im just too embarrassed for people who know me irl to potentially find this xD Even though none of them have tumblr 👀 if you somehow recognize it...props to you?)

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tbh, I can’t decide if I want this to have more than 1 part. 

Word count: ~1,800

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You were on your way home from a long evening at your part time job. Before that you had already taken 2 finals that morning too.

You dragged your feet, exhausted, as you headed towards the crosswalk. Stopping at the edge as the traffic light turned green, you decided to pull out your phone and decided to watch a speed paint from your favorite artist who recently released a new video.

It just so happened it was a Hawks speed paint 👀

The light turned red and you slipped your phone into your pocket as your started to make your way across the street

little did you know this would be the last time you'd cross the street

A wild driver came barreling down the road, no regards for civilians or traffic lights, probably drunk or high or just someone out for blood.

You stood there like a deer caught in headlights as your life flashes before your eyes

You can barely comprehend what's happening as you felt pain engulf your body and suddenly you were unconscious

________________________________________

Keigo tiredly stumbled into his large apartment, kicking off his shoes and shrugging his jacket off by the door

He wants nothing more than to just flop down and pass out. The HPSC has been giving him hell lately about god knows what.

He let out a long sigh and headed towards the bathroom to do his nightly routine

As he finishes up, he drags his feet towards his bed and flops down face first into the comfort of his pillow and sheets

Keigo falls asleep almost instantly after getting into a comfortable position, worn out from a long day of work

What he wasn't expecting was a loud "thud!" coming from the main room. He jolts up from his bed, feathers ready to attack.

*******

Reader's pov(?)

*******

You groaned as you hit the floor. Your head was spinning and it feels like a truck just hit you

oh wait...

You suddenly became more alert, looking around in a panic, expecting to either be on the road and injured or in a hospital of sorts. What you didn't expect was a wooden floor inside of a random apartment.

You felt around your body for any signs of injury, but all you found were a set of wings on your back- wings?? Hold up. Why did you feel wings what kind of sick joke was this?

Your thoughts were racing as your breathing picked up. What was happening? Didn't you just get hit by a vehicle? Why are there wings in your back? Where are you even?

Feeling around in your pockets, you found your phone and whipped it out, trying for anything. You turned it on, the harsh light of it illuminating your face, you tried to send a text to your best friend, but alas, it wouldn't go through. Actually nothing on your phone seemed to work. You checked your location settings, for some reason it said Musutafu, Japan.

Wasn't....Wasn't that the location that most of Boku no Hero Academia took place?? This can't be right, this has to be a dream right? There's no way that you could have actually ended up here unless...

Then it hit you.

You read your fair share of isekai series back when you were alive in your realm. Mostly manhwas of characters getting reborn into another person's body, but, never actually reincarnating as yourself into another world.

That was the only thing you could think of. You must have been reincarnated into the Boku no Hero Academia world. Except as yourself.

In all honesty, this is not how you thought you'd go out. You didn't know what to expect after death, but this definitely wasn't it. After all, this was a fictional setting, wasn't it?

Well, not anymore because now you're living in it! Smh.

That would also probably explain the wings on your back. This was you now. You have a bird quirk.

Now, all you have to do, is figure out where the heck you are.

Just as you are about to stand up, feathers zip towards you, pinning you to the ground

You hear footsteps begin to come towards you. You don't know if you should be scared for your life considering you've already died once or ecstatic because, you knew for a fact, this could be none other than Hawks' apartment.

The winged hero finally emerges and stares down at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

He says in a low, gravely voice from sleep, "Who are you, and how did you get into my home?" You stare back up at him and nervously chuckle.

"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you." You nervously sigh out.

"Try me." He demands, sounding a little more irritated now. You sigh in defeat and start to explain your situation.

"Do...do you know what an isekai is?" You said sheepishly while turning your gaze away from his. He kind of gave you a confused head tilt and just a vibe that said “No”. You sigh again and explain it to the best of your ability. Hawks becomes more and more interested and confused as you talk, but nods a long slowly. 

“So...you were reborn here, but as yourself? Wait- does that mean you died before!?” He asked, disbelief and fear ran through his eyes. You looked at him in bitter amusement.

“Apparently I did. The last thing I remember of my world was getting hit by some truck or car. The dude clearly did not know how to drive. I had the right of way I was pretty sure at least. I mean, the light was red, usually that means pedestrians can cross the street? And plus he was going wayyy over the speed limit,” you begin to ramble on, the reality of actually dying setting into you. Hawks noticed the panic beginning to set into you and released you from his feathers. He crouched down next to you and grabbed your shoulders gently.

"Hey, hey, hey, look at me, you're ok now, right? You're here, and not dying in the middle of the street still. You're here. In Musutafu," he said trying to calm you back to reality. Well, what was your new reality. Your mind was racing. Trying to put together a coherent thought. 

You look up to him, with a panicked look still in your eyes, thoughts started to come out of your mouth as your brain was trying to catch up with the situation. "I'm... I'm in Boku no Hero Academia and, and you’re Keigo... standing... right in front of me..I have wings. I have wings? Jeezus I have fucking wings. And I’m dead in my own world. I don’t know anyone, well, wait, technically, I do know people, just-Oh gods! I’m so sorry, that name slipped out! I- I, I’m really sorry Hawks." Even in your wild state, you noticed Hawks tense up at the sound of being called Keigo by a total stranger, and were able to get out an apology. That was progress? You were slowly coming back to reality.

Hawks froze up a bit at the sound of hearing his real name mentioned. At first he wasn't sure if he believed your tale of the isekai situation, but after this he might have to reconsider it. He opted to shake off that weird feeling for now and focus on different matters. 

" I-I don't know what I'm supposed to do now? I have nowhere to go or to stay. I'm in a whole different freaking universe! My phone doesn't even hardly work here. And I have a pair of wings on my back!" You puffed them out angrily. Hawks glanced behind you and his eyes widened a little. You in fact, did have a set of bird wings. Kind of owl like wings. Not near as big as Hawks', but definitely big enough to fly you around.

Before Hawks could process the words coming out of his mouth, he was already asking you, "Would you maybe like to stay with me? I can help with your quirk too." He glanced away awkwardly. You looked towards him in disbelief.

"Dude, are you sure? We literally just met like 10 minutes ago? I mean, I'm all for it, I have nowhere else to turn to, but if you really really don't want me here, I will politely step out of your life." You so badly wanted to accept his offer on the spot, but being the considerate, mostly sensible human you were, you gave him the option to back out. Hawks shook his head.

"No, no, it's alright. You can crash here. Uh- I mean- stay here! Sorry!" You giggled at his comment.

"Well thank you very much!"

"It's all good. I have a spare bedroom you can occupy for the time being. I'll give you some clothes to sleep in that'll hopefully fit. Accidentally bought a couple things in the wrong size without looking. " (a/n: just...just assume its your size, or oversized, whatever's comfy idk) He jumped up and headed towards his room to grab you the clothes. You still sat on the floor. Still amazed at everything that was occurring.

Hawks walked back into the room and tossed you the clothes. "Hey uh, you know, you can get up now, sorry for holding you down earlier.."

You blushed and scrambled to stand up, "Oh no! It's ok! I understand. This would definitely warrant that kind of action. Some random stranger crashes into your apartment at like 1am. I completely understand. Honest."

He let out a small laugh and wearily brushed his fingers through his hair. The adrenaline of everything finally wearing off. He could feel the tiredness setting into his aching muscles again. “Ah, well, I’m going to head to bed now. The room is down the hall at the very end that you can stay in. I’ll take you out training tomorrow evening if that’s alright?”

You gave a nod of understanding and followed him down the hallway. “Goodnight Hawks,” you sang as he walked into his bedroom. He gave a hum of acknowledgment and closed his door. 

Making it into what was now your room, you changed out of your clothes so fast, eager to rid yourself of the past hours events. 

Not gonna lie, you could not figure out how to properly get your new wings into the shirt, even with the holes and snaps in the back. Your mind was too exhausted to even process this new skill. So you ended up going to bed without the shirt on and just settled for putting the sweatpants on. 

You figured it’d be good to just pass out asap. You were sure if you tried to recount the recent events, you’d spiral into a panicked mess. 

You shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to sleep, trying to only think of positive outcomes for the future. But to be honest, you didn’t know enough about anything in this realm to think rationally about anything good. 

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I prooobably didn’t proofread this as much as I should have

#hawks x reader #hawks x gn!reader #hawks x winged reader #bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #ahHHHh i really hope this ok??? #feedback might be nice? idk Dx #I'm still not in the flow of fanfic writing DX its been 5 years #geeeeZ #also I apologize for the amount of ellipses that i use #thats just how I text/talk kinda #isekaied into hawks life

[idanit]

possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit 

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K  I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well. 

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time. 

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics—really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K  No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian. 

#good omens #good omens fic rec #fanfiction #fic rec #idanit reads #i also have a multifannish F/F rec list in the works #all my bookmarks are private but i feel the need to share the love

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Shower Friends (Miya Atsumu x F!reader)

The dorm you live in has co-ed bathrooms. Why that’s remotely a good idea is beyond you; and recently, your precious shower time is being interrupted by a certain blonde haired setter for the volleyball team. When he lies to his teammates that he has a girlfriend, somehow you get roped into his scheme.

genre(s): college!au, fake dating, angst, fluff, mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda), eventual smut (maybe)  words: 3.5k

a/n: ah the sweet sweet smell of mutual pining. also 3 more chapters are planned, not written yet though bc i just decided i’d be writing them lmao. hopefully can get started on that this weekend and post them next week 🤗

taglist:  @apollochjld @kurosarium @vicassa @carbs-need-more-love @underratedmage @idek-at-thispoint @wtfeverbrandi @food8me @yikes-buddy @ntimacy @nyxiie @oikawasbooty @chocolate3010 @sugawarabby @greenyiplier @kritiiiii @tokyosdawn @youstydiaa @h3llok1ttygirl 

one | two 

Chapter Three

“You want me to help you with what?” You ask, a bit stunned when he showed up at the door, a terribly annoying but also cute pleading expression on his face.

He groans, his shoulders hunching forward in exasperation. “Ya really gunna make me repeat it?”

You peer closer at the top of his head and see that he’s being serious. The roots of his hair growing in are a dark brown and it had never even occurred to you that he dyes his hair the blonde color you’re so used to. “No, but why do you need my help?”

This is so embarrassing. Normally his roommate or a teammate can help him but none of them are available today and he’s already let the roots grow longer than he likes. But when one of them suggested you help him out instead, something inside him rebelled. For some reason, the thought of having you dye his hair for him made him uncomfortable, like he’s showing you an intimate part of him. This hair has been a part of him so long he can’t remember the last time he’d let it grow out.

“I can’t see if I got everything,” he admits. It took a lot of pacing around his room and staring at his roots for him to get up the courage to come over here to ask you. He can’t really explain why he was so against it, especially since you don’t seem to mind after you got over the initial shock of realizing this isn’t his natural hair.

A wave of relief washes over him when you sigh, conceding, “Alright. Just let me change into something I can get bleach on. I’ll meet you at your dorm.”

While he waits for you, he busies himself with mixing the dye together so it’s ready for you, and when you arrive in a t-shirt and shorts with paint splatters all over them, he mentally kicks himself for thinking about how even wearing something so simple you still look better than anyone he’s ever seen. Crossing your arms, you motion for him to take a seat at his desk. Before he does so, he reaches behind his neck to grab at the collar of his shirt and pull it over his head.

You stand there dumbfounded for a moment, it taking you a second to process that he’s now standing before you shirtless and you’re free to ogle his muscular chest and arms to your hearts content. He doesn’t pay any attention to you, knowing if he meets your gaze, he won’t be able to stop the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. Instead, he wraps a towel around his waist to protect his shorts and sits in the chair to wait for you.  

Except now, you have free reign to stare at his back, which is just as defined as the front of him and you need a few more seconds to reel your thoughts back.

“Whaddya waitin’ for darling?” He drawls, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, not expecting you to be standing there frozen, eyes pinned to his now bare chest.

He opens his mouth to tease you further, but your eyes snap to his and you practically shout, “Do you have another towel?” He just cocks a brow and then points to his closet where another towel is hanging on a hook. Snatching it, you return to him and drape it over his shoulders, hiding most of his annoyingly toned body. “Don’t want to get any bleach on your skin,” you explain, no way in hell ever admitting to him that you’re finding it hard to focus with him on display like that.

Absentmindedly, he hands you one of the clips he bought a long time ago, one that’s almost completely bleached itself and you start running your fingers through his hair to section it. He closes his eyes, focusing intently on the soothing sensation of your fingers on his scalp, doing his best not to groan out loud at how good it feels. With anyone else, this isn’t anything special, normally he sits as patiently as he can whilst trying not to annoy whoever is doing his hair (lest they decide to ‘mess up’ as punishment). But with you, it’s a different feeling entirely.

It's jarringly intimate as you clip his hair back and reach over him to grab the plastic gloves that came with the dye. Lathering up the applicator brush, you start slathering it onto his hair, trying your hardest to make sure it’s evenly distributed and surrounding each strand. As you do so, you ask, “How long have you been doing this?”

He resists the urge to shrug, not wanting to jostle you, replying, “Osamu and I started in middle school.”

“Osamu dyes his hair too?”

“Yeah, he goes for gray. But I’d heard blondes have more fun so—here we are.”

He grits his teeth as your fingers skim over his scalp, glad for the towel you wrapped around him to hide the goosebumps skittering along his bare skin.

“Let me guess,” you muse. “You guys did it because people couldn’t tell you apart?”

“That,” he laughs, “And we thought it would look cool. The first time we did it, it looked like shit.”

Your answering laugh warms his heart as you unclip a section of hair and keep working. “I can’t imagine your mom being too happy about it.”

“Livid. We got bleach everywhere.”

You laugh, continuing to move through his hair methodically. It doesn’t take very long as you’re just dying his roots and they weren’t that bad to begin with, contrary to what Atsumu thinks. When you finish, he gives you a sheepish look and has to swallow his pride to ask you to help him wash it out. Every time he’s tried to do it himself, he always ends up leaving a huge chunk of bleach somewhere.

You oblige, following him to the bathroom, not bothering to care about the looks you get along the way. If they want to stare at a shirtless Atsumu and then glare at you for having that all to yourself, that’s their prerogative. It does wonders for your confidence, regardless that all of this is a ruse.

Luckily, the bathroom is empty and Atsumu dutifully bends over the sink to let you start washing the dye out of his hair. He’s immensely grateful his eyes are shut, and his face is shoved into the sink to hide his flushed cheeks as he thoroughly enjoys your fingers running through his hair. The sensation of your fingernails lightly scraping over his scalp makes him ball his fists as he has to bite his lip to keep from making any sounds.

You’re unbothered, until you notice the towel has slipped from his shoulders and with the way he’s bracing himself against the counter every muscle in his back and arms is on display for you to see. It’s an effort to continue your task as if nothing is wrong and force yourself to look off into the distance instead of eyeing him up.

It’s no easy feat. Especially when you finish and he rises, scrubbing at his face with the discarded towel before moving on to his hair. You press your lips into a firm line and let yourself indulge just a little bit looking at the way his muscles flex with the movement, droplets from his damp hair trailing down the planes of his chest towards the waistband of his shorts and—your attention is broken at the sound of him chuckling and you snap your gaze to his.

You find him staring at you with mischief sparkling in his eyes, so you speak before he can tease you. “Is that it?”

“We have to actually dye it now.”

“Oh.” You turn on your heels desperate to escape his gaze. “Let’s go then.” A smirk plays across his lips, but he refrains from teasing you, solely because he very much enjoyed the way you were looking at him and doesn’t want you to stop.

And yeah—sue him if he thinks about your hands in his hair for the rest of the day. In the end, he might be a little grateful no one else was available to help him.

When mid-semester break arrives, it comes as a surprise that you actually miss each other. What surprises you even further, is that he’s the one to bring it up. Within the first night, he video calls you, a sheepish expression on his face, explaining he needed someone to complain to.

“What do you mean?” You teased. “Sounds like you’re getting stuffed with good food from Osamu and you have plenty to brag about.” You winked, smiling devilishly at him and pointing to yourself. You’re only joking. Slightly. You aren’t sure what will come about if he tells his family about you, or if that’s even a good idea. It’d be much easier to break this off cleanly without the involvement of each other’s families.

He sighs, flopping down on his bed and scrubbing his face with one hand. “They’re just dyin’ to meet you now.”

Your brows lift, half-expecting him to have tried to keep this a secret. “You told them?”

“I wasn’t gunna,” he explains. “But apparently some college sports news channel caught um—,” he coughs awkwardly, remembering very vividly this day, yet the two of you haven’t acknowledged it since. “Our—uh—celebration.”

Eyes widening, you stare at him a moment before the both of you burst out laughing. Between your giggles you manage to say, “Oops.”

Laughing alongside you, he grins, despite the pang in his heart at the voice in his head desperately trying to remind him all of this isn’t real. You aren’t his girlfriend and the moment all of this ends, you probably won’t bat an eye at him ever again. He hates how much that hurts.

Forging onward towards his demise he discloses, “I am now a very proud owner of a very jealous brother now, so thank you.”

That only makes you keep grinning, setting a hand on your cheek and dramatically saying, “What? Of little ol’ me?”

He fights the urge to tell you that yes—jealous of little ol’ you. The girl who is slowly becoming the girl of his dreams. The beautiful, funny girl who deals with him and everything that comes with him. He swallows all that, keeping the mood and saying, “He refuses to let me try any of his onigiri. A crime, really.”

“Of the highest caliber,” you agree, stifling your laughter. “Though I’m sure you steal some when he isn’t looking.”

“Yeah, but he caught me and hit me on the head with his spoon.”

“How dare he. Lucky for me, my family is clueless.”

“What do they think yer doin’ right now then?”

Shrugging you say, “I told them I had a project to work on with a classmate. Which isn’t entirely a lie, I do have a project to work on. But someone interrupted.”

He smirks. “Wonder who that could be.”

“Beats me.” His responding grin does something to you that’s been happening a lot more frequently lately. Making you feel like all the air has been punched out of you and like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Though, you’ve gotten quite good at hiding it.

In the distance, you hear someone calling his name. He panics, it’s bad enough his family knows about you now, but he isn’t sure if he’s ready for them to meet you. Especially Osamu, who he has the sinking feeling is already suspicious of this. It’ll be a miracle if he can slip this by him.

“Gotta go!” He says quickly, and before he ends the call, he hears you chuckle and say, “Beware the spoon.”

Every day his situation only gets worse.

The next night he can’t get Osamu off his back. Enough that when he tries to retreat to his bedroom to give you a call, pathetically missing you again, Osamu bursts in when he’s about two minutes into the video call with you. He tries to shove him out, embarrassed and afraid Osamu will see straight through him. But Osamu is stubborn, and he hears you laughing on the other end of the call before saying, “Aww, Atsumu won’t you at least let me try to charm the pants off him?”

He grits his teeth, the thought that he wants you to charm the pants off of him, not his brother flitting through his head before he can stop it. But he relents, letting Osamu sit backwards on his desk chair to join the conversation.

He isn’t sure how, but somehow you get Osamu to believe this is real in a matter of minutes. You have him laughing and talking about culinary school and he almost feels jealous that your attention is now on Osamu instead of him. It’s a ridiculous notion, he knows it, but it doesn’t stop him from keeping the camera on him as much as possible.

When the call ends, Osamu looks at him seriously, and for a moment Atsumu thinks he’s just been pretending to believe you this entire time. However, he breaks into a smile and smacks him on the back saying, “Got yerself a keeper, there.”

Atsumu tries to grin with as much sincerity as he can. Yeah—he knows he does. But that isn’t going to stop this from ending.

That night, both of you go to bed feeling like you’re getting in too deep.

And as per usual, when school starts back up again, neither of you bring it up. You’re happy to keep ignoring it, hating yourself for liking this arrangement and him more and more every day. It sad really, how much time in your day is spent thinking about him. Wondering if there’s any possibility that the two of you could just transition to a real relationship. Because to you, that’s already what this is. Nothing would change, but at least you’d stop feeling guilty every time you enjoy his hand in yours or the soft press of his lips to the top of your head.

A few days after returning to school, you find yourself alone with him in his dorm room studying. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over a textbook while you lay on his bed, head propped up by an elbow. You can feel your eyes drooping, the words blurring together, it becoming harder and harder to stay awake. His bed is too comfortable and smells overwhelmingly like him, a scent you’ve come to enjoy every time you’re pressed up against him. A mixture of his body wash and the ever-present faint smell of the volleyball court. Eventually you’re powerless against the solace of sleep.

When Atsumu notices you, his heart jumps into his throat. You look so serene and peaceful, your chest rising and falling ever so slightly, part of him wants to crawl in beside you and press his face into your neck and fall asleep right along with you.

But he too has begun to feel like this game has gone too far. The moment he had to tell his family, lie to Osamu, he knew he’d crossed a line. It isn’t fair to you. No longer does he need to pretend for his teammates that he can have a serious relationship, there isn’t a reason to torture himself and keep you tied to him anymore.

Yet, thinking about not being without you, no longer eating lunch together, studying together, or having you in the stands at his games wrenches his heart in such a way he actually feels like it’s crumpling inside his chest. He hasn’t been able to admit it, but at some point along the way, he thinks he fell in love with you. And it just hurts too much to keep pretending. Especially when you’re only doing this for peace and quiet during your showers.

For you, he shouldn’t drag this on any longer.

So, a couple days later, you texted him telling him you were in the library and can join him anytime if he wants. A harmless text, one you’ve sent him many times since this whole thing started, but this one makes his heart sink. Knowing this is the opportunity he’s been waiting for to talk to you. He tries to not think about it, trying to let volleyball take over his thoughts, but it’s futile. All he can think about is saying those words to you, and how it’s quite possibly going to utterly destroy him.

But you take it well, as he expects, squashing the hope that you might feel something for him too.

That night in the library feels particularly lonely. There’s no quick-witted remark from the boy who carved himself a place in your life, no one there to make you laugh when you’re struggling with a problem. Instead, you’re met with nothing but the darkness and silence of the library. It’s almost too much to bear, and once the silence starts closing in on you—you force yourself to leave, refusing to let yourself wallow.

The next weeks are hard. He never imagined that he’d think that after all of this was over. He keeps showering in the mornings to avoid you and uphold the deal you two struck months ago. He ignores the empty hole in his chest when he eats lunch without you, or studies late alone. The most jarring thing is your absence at his games. He constantly finds himself searching the crowd for your face, before remembering you won’t be there. He misses that intense gaze he could always feel on his back, the one that kept him awake at night when he let his thoughts run wild.

He feels as though something has been ripped from his life, leaving nothing but a gaping hole behind that seems intent on devouring him whole.

The same can be said for you.

Who knew you’d ever miss his teasing remarks while you shower? Or miss how you could complain to him endlessly about classes and then have him comfort you in the warm solace of his arms? Even the little things like walking to class together, now that you do it alone, it feels like there’s something missing.

The two you go on like that, thinking of the other every night before sleeping, tossing and turning with the thought of what could have been.

And eventually, you reach the point where you’re over it. Over pining after him day after day, peering out your door to make sure he isn’t around, or taking detours just to avoid him in the hallways. You’re over it. Enough that you’re willing to swallow your pride and confess to him, even if he doesn’t feel the same way—maybe you can fucking move on then.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you stomp to his dorm room, his roommate opening the door; his eyes widening upon seeing you. Immediately, he grabs his keys saying into the room, “I forgot I need to go to the store Atsumu, see you later.”

He leaves no time for Atsumu to protest, out the door in a matter of moments, leaving you standing in the doorway. Atsumu is just sitting in his desk chair, looking dumfounded at you, having fully expected to never see you again.

The gears in his head grind to a halt as you say, “This is stupid.”

He gives you a bewildered look, unsure what exactly you mean by that.

You steel your courage and press on. “I like you. And you like me. I think. And all this pretending that we don’t is stupid.”

After a few moments, his lips curve into a smile, the mischievous one you used to hate but now feel relief seeing. He can’t help the joy building in his chest at your confession. How many sleepless nights thinking about this very moment did he endure?

“You said it,” he teases.

Despite giving him a look, you do nothing to stop the grin rising to your lips. “Well, it didn’t seem like you were going to.”

His smile only widens, and he motions you into the room. “Get yer butt over here already.”

You move on instinct, striding into the room and climbing into his lap, settling your legs on either side of his you wrap your arms around his neck. The overwhelming sense that yes—this is exactly where you want to be, washes over you. He smirks up at you, his large hands resting at your waist, waiting for your next move.

“I can’t believe I actually missed that stupid smirk,” you say, lowering your lips to his, fingers slipping into the short hair at the base of his neck.

His smile hasn’t faltered, muttering against your lips teasing, “Does this mean I can shower at night again?”

A laugh bubbles out of you, but he smothers it in another kiss and refuses to let go.

#miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #miya atsumu #miya atsumu imagine #miya atsumu scenario #miya atsumu reader insert #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu

[kitauji-king]

‘Liz and the Blue Bird’ Recap Part 1

I recently watched KyoAni’s ‘Liz & the Blue Bird’ for the first time, and I have to say: wow, what a film. This is one of the few times where I finished a film and was left utterly speechless by the end of it. I’m not exaggerating when I say that this is my new favorite film. If you’ve ever felt like a movie had to have been made specifically with you in mind because it seemed to hit all the right notes with you emotionally, that’s exactly how I feel about ‘Liz.’ Part of me is wishing I had watched this movie around when it first came out so that I could’ve witnessed all the hype around it. However, I actually do think it was for the best that I waited until now to watch it. I honestly don’t think I would’ve understood it as well as I do now.

I really love this movie, and I really wanna talk about it. So, instead of harassing my friends about it, I’m going to be doing a scene by scene review of ‘Liz’ and share my thoughts. I promise you this is only going to be, like, half-serious. 

This is going to be split into 3 parts uploaded sporadically.

Obviously this post will contain spoilers for the whole film as well as seasons 1 and 2 of Hibike.

Liz and the Blue Bird or Liz to Aoi Tori is an animated film directed by Naoko Yamada, produced by the prolific animation studio known as Kyoto Animation, and was released on April 21, 2018 in Japan, then November 9, 2018 in the US. To talk about Naoko Yamada for a minute, she started off at KyoAni as an assistant animator, doing inbetweens as so many animators do starting out in the industry. Eventually she was allowed to direct, where she has quite the impressive track record. She’s directed K-On!, Tamako Market, Hibike! Euphonium, and probably most notably, A Silent Voice just to name a few things. With that in mind, I’m not surprised why I enjoyed this movie so much. Yamada is known to show a real sensitivity toward depicting the different relationships between young girls in a naturalistic way.

EDIT: I began writing this on Saturday, April 18, just a day or two after I watched the movie for the first time, and I swear I didn’t even process that the two-year anniversary was coming up! What a wacky coincidence.

ACT 1

The first imagery in the film we see are gorgeous, picturesque watercolor-style background paintings.

As the titular track plays, we are introduced to Liz; not the main character of the film, but certainly the main character of the book, also entitled ‘Liz & the Bluebird,’ featured in this film.

The first shot we see of her is a voyeuristic one; we are a good distance away and we are peeking from behind a tree at the intimate moment between Liz and her animal companions.I have to say, I had no idea what to expect when I first sat down to watch this movie, as I wanted to go in as blindly as possible. I certainly hadn’t been expecting to see this German picture book-esque art style with lush forest backgrounds in a Hibike movie, and I honestly thought for a moment that I had accidentally stumbled upon the wrong movie.

Liz spots a bluebird settled on a tree stump and she is immediately attracted to the creature. The bird flies over to Liz and lands in her hands as the music climaxes, but as quickly as it arrives, it flies away across the lake. A bittersweet moment.

As the camera pans downward toward the flowers, the scene fades, and we are finally brought into the real world. This is punctuated by the titular track concluding, and being replaced by music that is more abstract and minimalistic. This world is notably duller with cooler, more subdued colors, directly contrasting with the bright, warm colors in the picture book world.

Shots with the camera focused on feet or legs are a common motif seen throughout this film.

We are finally introduced to one of our main characters, Mizore Yoroizuka, now a third year at Kitauji.

I was also slightly caught off guard seeing this new art style being used. Initially, I missed the art style originally used in the show, but after watching this movie I now understand KyoAni’s decision in changing it up, and I also completely agree with it. Looking back, I believe that the show’s original art style simply would not have worked at all, or at least not as well as it could’ve. This new art style with thinner linework, slightly elongated figures, slightly smaller eyes, and subdued colors makes the characters feel more mature to match the tone of the film. Also, while the old style is ideal for showcasing exaggerated and wacky facial expressions, this style is suited better for more subtle emotion, which, again, better matches the tone.

She waits.

Something I enjoy about KyoAni films is how the camera is oftentimes used to show the audience what a character is seeing through their eyes, instead of the camera just acting as a third person bystander all the time.

We hear more footsteps approaching, but they do not belong to the girl Mizore is waiting for.

This is turning into an episode of the ‘Gushing Over KyoAni Power Hour’ but I have to commend their sound design and the way they utilize silence and quiet moments in this movie. So far in this scene, aside from the very minimal track played over this, all we can hear is the foley of the atmosphere, footsteps, clothes rustling, etc. This quietness shows us the solitude of Mizore’s world. It’s also important to note that all the music, not sure if this includes the music in the picture book world, was recorded in the school that Kitauji is based off of. Regular school items were even being used as instruments!

When the music suddenly picks up as another girl rounds the corner, we know she’s the one.

I like to believe that Mizore is so attuned to Nozomi that she’s memorized the sound of her footsteps and is immediately able to recognize that it's her as soon as she is within ear range.

:’)

Nozomi is in focus while everything else in the shot is out of focus. To Mizore, everything outside of Nozomi is irrelevant.

The two girls continue walking together, Nozomi leading and Mizore following behind. This statement alone accurately summarizes the dynamic between these two characters during the beginning half of the movie. Clearly there’s something of an imbalance. Mizore watches and waits for Nozomi to act before she does anything.

I read somewhere that Mizore’s seiyuu speculated that when Mizore is an adult and she looks back to her time at high school, she’ll find that her only memory of Nozomi will be the back of her head… and that got me… feeling some emotions….

Coincidentally, Nozomi finds the feather of a bluebird on the ground, and offers it to Mizore.

I have my own little theory that Mizore could be on the spectrum. Her habit of running a hand down her hair whenever she appears to be nervous or anxious, amongst her other mannerisms in this film lead me to believe that. I think I’ll elaborate further on that and explain my reasoning in a future post.

Mizore accepts it, but is still unsure of herself. Hence the questioning tone. Clearly Nozomi found the feather to be extremely pretty, but Mizore doesn’t know why she would give it to her of all people. She’s still under the impression that she doesn’t mean as much to Nozomi, as Nozomi means to her.

More shots of Nozomi and Mizore playing follow-the-leader as they walk through the school. Nozomi puts her hand on a locker as she rounds a corner, Mizore also puts her hand on a locker. Nozomi stops for a sip of water, Mizore also stops for a sip of water.

These walk cycles give us good indications as to who these characters are. Mizore is timid and hesitant, Nozomi is carefree and outgoing.

Kitauji has way too many different flights of stairs.

We are flashed back to a memory that mirrors this moment in time. Again, Nozomi walks with a skip in her step, her hips swaying, and her ponytail bouncing playfully.

Mizore puts the key in the door to the band room, but hesitates for a moment before unlocking it. When she does open it, Nozomi enters the room first with a twirl.

I’ve been watching a lot of video essays and reading a lot of discussions about this movie, and one of the points someone brought up really stuck out to me. This whole scene, from when they are walking through the hallways until now, when Mizore opens the door, offers the earliest hint in the movie that Mizore is actually the bluebird in the relationship. While Nozomi is the one ahead of Mizore on their journey, Mizore is the one who holds the keys to their destination. Mizore is the one in charge, but she holds herself back. While Nozomi makes it to the door first, she cannot enter until Mizore opens it.

That’s one of the many things I love about this movie, there are so many nuances that you pick up new things and make new interpretations with every single viewing.

Uh oh.

After putting their instruments together and warming up, in a rare moment, Mizore tells Nozomi how she’s feeling. Mizore is merely happy to have Nozomi at her side, but Nozomi misinterprets this as her being happy about the free-choice piece their band has chosen to play: Liz & the Bluebird. Mizore probably couldn’t care less about the piece, but doesn’t bother correcting her. She is only interested in the piece and the story behind it when she hears that Nozomi is interested in it.

Remember how I said this art style was ideal for showing subtlety in emotions? This is what I was talking about.

In this visually experimental scene, Nozomi explains the story of Liz and the Blue Bird while we also see the story of Nozomi and Mizore’s friendship unfold.

:’)

Sound familiar?

One of the first indications that Nozomi isn’t the best at listening.

Mizore: Same.

Me: Same.

Scenes that physically hurt me #1

A lot of people love to bring up KyoAni whenever the topic of queerbaiting arises; that’s neither here nor there. However, I cannot deny the inherent queerness of this scene, and really of the whole film. It’s made obvious that Mizore loves Nozomi in a way that’s more than just a regular friend. Other people make Mizore anxious, but not Nozomi. Mizore enjoys Nozomi’s presence so much that she wants to lean into her side. For a second, the two of them are frozen in time and in a world of their own. Mizore is forced back into reality when Nozomi abruptly pulls away.

The movement title, “A Decision Borne of Love,” sticks out to Mizore.

Just like their intonation, there is that imbalance in their friendship and this is the film’s way of hinting at that if you haven’t already picked up on it.

Throughout the film, Nozomi is always wearing this pink watch,  showing how eager she is for the future.

To Mizore, the watch on Nozomi’s wrist is just a constant reminder that their time left together is fleeting.

Listen. I absolutely love whenever these two are on screen together. Love-hate relationships can be hit or miss, but this pairing is one of the better ones of that kind. They’re both great characters individually, but they also have amazing chemistry together.

Don’t get it twisted, Mizore is good friends with Yuuko and Natsuki, but them entering the room means that her moment alone with Nozomi has come to an end. Mizore and Nozomi don’t seem to share any classes together, so this is likely the only time of the day where they get to have a moment to just themselves. Mizore cares for Natsuki and Yuuko, in fact Yuuko was the one who stayed by her side after Nozomi originally quit band, but her relationship with Nozomi is a treasure more precious than anything.

I was wondering if we’d be seeing these two in this film, and I’m so glad that they are. I’m more glad, however, that they are pretty much relegated to the background here. They’ve already had their seasons 1 and 2 character arcs wrapped up, now it’s time to give the secondary characters a chance to shine.

I’m also very glad to see these two attached at the hip in almost every scene they’re in.

Nozomi leaves to go rehearse with her kouhais, and Mizore watches yearningly as she is being left alone again.

I’ll probably say this again multiple times throughout this recap, but I seriously identify with Mizore so much. I mean, we’ve all been that girl. We’ve all been paranoid that if given the choice, our friends would pick someone else to hang out with over you.

I admire KyoAni for including these casual moments of characters just chilling and talking about nothing. Of course they don’t add much to the overall plot, but they do contribute to the overall atmosphere of a high school. High school isn’t always about drama, it’s also about random conversations you have with your friends.

Mizore is still thinking about what Nozomi said earlier. In Hibike season 2, we know that for a time Mizore hated competitions until Kitauji won gold in the Kansai competition. I think that now in this movie, Mizore still hates competitions, but for a different reason. The national competition marks the last time the third years will get to play together.  She fears that because they won’t be in the band anymore, Nozomi won’t have any other reason left to stay with Mizore.

As Mizore begins to read, we are brought back into the picture book world that strongly resembles a 1970s anime.

We see Liz again as she emerges from a train. This takes place in an early 20th century European town filled with friendly people, though Liz doesn’t seem to interact with them. 

This world is also giving me Howl’s Moving Castle vibes?

She works at a humble bread bakery owned by a man named Arlt. 

Liz doesn’t look exactly eager to clock out for the day. It’s safe to assume that her shifts at work are the only times where she gets to have any real human interaction. I’m getting the impression that even though she’s introverted, she still gets lonely. Much the same as Mizore. As Liz waves ‘goodbye’ to customers, her face sinks ever so slightly.

After work, Liz returns home to her cottage to prepare a meal for herself, eat it alone, and then retire to her bedroom to sleep. 

In the morning, the same bluebird from earlier appears at Liz’s window and peeks inside the room.

Later in the day, Liz is caught in a storm as she is returning home from another shift at the bakery. After overdosing on berries, Liz wakes up the next morning still at the dining table, after the storm has already passed. She walks out the front door and notices a mysterious blue-haired girl passed out in the grass.

Liz realizes, “oh sh*t, I should do something.”

She’s dead.

After being woken up, the girl immediately recognizes Liz. The girl, who is actually the bluebird personified, reminds me a lot of Ponyo in how she pretty much claims Liz as her person, and quickly forms a bond with her, much like how Ponyo does to Sosuke.

Act 2 of the movie begins and we’re brought back into Mizore’s world. She continues reading the book and smiles to herself.

In rehearsal, the band president Yuuko delivers a message about auditions for participating in the national competition. Mizore is anxious at the mention of the competition again.

The flute girls have already given their senpai a cute nickname, and Mizore is understandably a little jealous. Maybe all of their problems would be resolved if Mizore and Nozomi would just give each other cute nicknames.

She’s literally so adorable??? I think she’d be considered a gyaru in Japanese culture based on the color of her hair and how she has it styled.

After some encouragement from her friends, a first year oboist named Ririka musters up the courage to approach Mizore.

Uh Ririka, birds are a bit of a touchy subject for Mizore right now.

When I watched this for the first time, admittedly I was a bit anxious about what these girls’ intentions were with wanting to invite Mizore to hang out with them. However, my anxieties in regards to that were quickly relieved when I remembered that bullying is just not a concept that exists within the world of Hibike. I’m really glad that this is an anime where most people are at the very least cordial with each other.

F in the chat.

Mizore isn’t ready yet to branch out and meet other people. She’s still tunnel visioned on Nozomi.

After rejecting Ririka, Mizore walks over to Nozomi. Nozomi tells her that she and the flute girls are going out to eat later today. I think that Mizore is unsure about whether this was an invitation for her to join them. Regardless, Mizore doesn’t want to impose seeing that she’d probably feel awkward around a group of people she doesn’t know very well.

Nozomi likes spending time with Mizore, but she’s just too high in demand with her peers.

Mizore puts away her instrument, and then pulls out the bluebird feather Nozomi gave to her this morning. She clutches it close and treasures it as a gift from the person she loves.

Forever screaming at how gorgeous the environment art in this movie is.

On the way out, Mizore runs into Ririka and her double reed friends again. The first years make another attempt at starting a friendship with Mizore, though the third year only spares them a couple words before she departs.

KyoAni is so good at creating such cute, appealing characters.

Ririka is really determined to get to know Mizore, so who better to ask for help from than the Mizore expert herself?

Was she about to call Mizore an ice queen? I thought that was Reina’s title.

Uh, same.

Ririka is worried that she may have gotten off on the wrong foot with Mizore considering she doesn’t seem to be reciprocating. I understand this situation extremely well; I’ve been through it multiple times, although more so from the perspective of Mizore. Mizore and I are quite similar in many areas, including being aloof and taking a good while before feeling comfortable enough to open up with someone. So yeah, I do get the frustration on Ririka’s part.

Nozomi, you literally didn’t actually offer her any advice at all, you clown.

I--

A nice egg in these trying times?

Back in the picture book, Liz has invited the blue girl into her home and is nursing her back to health. Apparently, she makes pretty good soup.

She’s offering the blue girl her home, so she might as well get some free labor out of it.

It’s a particularly windy day, and as the two of them are doing the laundry, a hankerchief gets caught in the breeze. The blue girl attempts to retrieve it but she remembers she’s lost her flight capabilities. She’s a human now, but at the cost of her wings.

Liz takes her to the local Panera Bread she works at. Arlt says... something?

The blue girl discovers she has a taste for human blood.

I’m declaring that these two are very much in love and I will not be taking any feedback at this time. The lighting in this shot is *chef’s kiss*.

The two girls have spent the whole day together, from going to the bakery, picking berries, and having dinner. The blue girl brings a light to Liz’s life that had been previously missing.

Now the duo are having a picnic on the side of a hill. It suddenly dawns on Liz that she actually doesn’t know anything about the girl she has living in her house. The blue girl doesn’t seem to know anything either. She lived a pretty nomadic lifestyle as a bird. However, one thing the blue girl knows for sure is that she came into Liz’s life so that she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

Liz is a pretty reserved individual and the blue girl is more of a free spirit. She fears that someday the blue girl will decide to leave her. So, Liz makes the very simple request that the blue girl should stay by her side forever.

Mizore wants the same thing from her favorite person.

Mizore is interrupted from her reading by an unenthusiastic library assistant telling her that she needs to get out so that she can lock up. I imagine she isn’t quite too fond of Mizore after this movie.

First years really do be getting younger and younger...

Those two are Satsuki and Mirei, two first years who join the bass section in the next Hibike movie, Chikai no Finale. We get a better look at their relationship there.

Mizore: !!!

Oh.

Nozomi explains the famous Minami Middle School ritual known as the “I Love You Hug,” or the “Daisuki no Hagu.” Basically you find a friend, give them a hug, and tell them all the things you love about them. Sounds very, very, gay.

Nozomi’s had her fair share of I Love You Hugs back in the day, but Mizore’s never had a chance to participate in one.

Scenes that physically hurt me #2.

Seeing that Mizore’s never experienced an I Love You Hug, Nozomi offers her one. She opens her arms waiting for her friend to reciprocate. Mizore is completely caught off guard, but she is more than willing to try it. Unfortunately, Mizore is too slow to respond and loses her chance.

Nozomi said “haha, just kidding… unless…”

Nozomi has to leave Mizore behind so she can go to class with Yuuko. Mizore is frozen in place and Natsuki’s creepin’.

Best moment in the entire film.

I literally love Natsuki so much, she’s quickly becoming one of my favorite Hibike characters. My face lights up pretty much every time I see her on screen. She’s definitely the type of girl I’d wanna be friends with in high school.

Mizore would much rather not think about the future at all, and enjoy the time she has left with Nozomi.

And that’s how Natsuki beat Shaq.

It’s time for Mizore to switch into their gym class’s basketball game, but she’s not really feelin’ it. I don’t blame her.

Okay I’m in love.

Being the excellent friend that she is, Natsuki takes one for the team and goes back in to play another round in Mizore’s place.

Nozomi listens in on her flute girls having a gossip sess’. Of course they’re talking about boys because what else do teenage girls have to talk about?

Hanayo Koizumi? When did you transfer to Kitauji?

*side eye emoji*

Mizore is in her usual hideout: the science lab by the blowfish tank. As of late, she’s taken a bit of an interest in feeding the blowfish.

She still hasn’t filled out the career survey; she can’t figure what to do for her future, and I don’t really think she wants to figure it out either.

Mizore still can’t help but see Nozomi as the bluebird. Nozomi is her whole world, she’s her miracle. Ideally, she’d keep Nozomi all to herself, but she already knows that that wouldn’t be fair to her at all.

Through the window, she spots Nozomi on the other side of the school.

Nozomi notices that her flute is casting a dancing light reflection on her friend, and the two make a game of it.

I want nothing but good things for Mizore.

Scenes that physically hurt me #3.

It’s very easy to doubt Nozomi’s love of Mizore and to even call their friendship one-sided, but I don’t agree with that. In fact, we already know that she cares a lot about Mizore based on their arc in season 2 of Hibike. Not only can you see it in the way Nozomi looks at her, it's also clear from small gestures she does in this movie: giving Mizore the bluebird feather she finds, inviting Mizore out (which we’ll see coming up a couple times), offering her an I Love You Hug, and standing up for her when the library assistant nags Mizore about returning the book (again, a bit later on in the film) amongst other things.

The issue is simply that Nozomi is very high in demand. She’s very pretty and talented; it’s only natural for her kouhais to look up to her. So of course Nozomi wants to look after them and form a bond with them. It’s kind of her duty as a third year. Yuuko had Kaori to look up to, and Kumiko had Asuka. As a matter of fact, Ririka is trying to get Mizore to do the same for her. And yeah, Nozomi is also a bit dense. But hey, no one’s perfect.

The kids are back in rehearsal and are admittedly a little stressed about the upcoming auditions. One thing they know for certain, though, is that Nozomi is most definitely going to be given the flute solo in Liz.

“Ganbarou!”

Nozomi catches a glance at Mizore doing her warm up. She tells her friend to do her best in the audition. She also has no doubt that Mizore will do well and get the oboe solo.

The title track is playing again, meaning we’re back in the fairy tale. The blue girl is enchanted by the moon and the night sky.

:’)

The blue girl is happy to be living with Liz, but she also loves her freedom. In the middle of the night while Liz is still asleep, the blue girl sneaks off and flies out the window.

Liz wakes up and finds her companion is missing.

Not much later, the blue girl returns from her night out at god-knows-where with god-knows-who, and climbs back in bed, relieved that Liz still seems to be asleep.

But she wasn’t.

Don’t make a Game of Thrones reference, don’t make a Game of Thrones reference, don’t make a Game of Thrones reference, don’t make a Game of Thrones ref--

You mean humans don’t go south for the winter?

Where the blue girl realizes that she can go anywhere she chooses, while Liz chooses to stay grounded. I’m wondering, why does Liz choose to stay isolated at her cottage? She works in the city, and surely she could move there to save herself the commute? I’m guessing it’s that although she does appreciate interpersonal companionship, she’s still largely an introvert, preferring to spend time in nature.

Jesus Christ, you guys need a marriage counselor.

The blue girl sneaks back in again in the morning. 

While the two of them are feeding the animals, they both see a couple of birds flying in the sky above them, as if taunting them. The blue girl wants to be with them, though she stays grounded for Liz’s sake. She made a promise to stay with her forever, after all and she intended to keep that promise. During the daytime, at least.

At this point in the story, Liz realizes that a sacrifice is going to have to be made.

Part 2

Part 3

#analysis #review #recap #animation appreciation #liz and the blue bird #hibike euphonium #anime #kyoto animation #kyoani #mizore yoroizuka #nozomi kasaki

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here! 

Inspiration tag for the story! 

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out! 

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

                                       Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth. 

February 1st. 

It’s Harry’s birthday today. 

He’s 29. Shit. 

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly. 

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive? 

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right. 

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly. 

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send. 

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is. 

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene. 

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone. 

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

+

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me. 

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads. 

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite. 

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap. 

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply. 

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part. 

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast. 

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner. 

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up. 

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to. 

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork. 

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit. 

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back. 

+

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?” 

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here. 

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving. 

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up. 

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation. 

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways. 

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say. 

A name. 

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time. 

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody. 

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for. 

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching. 

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes. 

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips. 

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots. 

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long. 

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams. 

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest. 

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile. 

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does. 

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second. 

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin. 

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer. 

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?” 

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room. 

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander. 

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails? 

Wait, you’re an uncle? 

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things. 

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me. 

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice. 

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue. 

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut. 

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile. 

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you. 

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him. 

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away. 

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-. 

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that. 

For the rest of day. 

Week. 

Maybe even, month. 

+

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread. 

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes. 

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head. 

My break is over at 1:30. 

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back. 

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall. 

So she won’t mind. 

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now. 

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public. 

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery. 

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks. 

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that. 

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here. 

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made. 

I just fell a little bit harder. Again. 

+

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me. 

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter. 

Options, options, options. 

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door. 

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door. 

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing. 

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again. 

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.  

It rings and it rings. 

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg. 

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears. 

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting. 

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

 The worries.

The uncertainty. 

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it. 

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem. 

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words. 

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now. 

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins. 

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away. 

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid. 

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans. 

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen. 

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you. 

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words. 

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in. 

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?” 

No answer. 

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body. 

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face. 

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet. 

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands. 

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us. 

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with. 

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together. 

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room. 

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles. 

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him. 

+

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one. 

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.  

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him. 

Me

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat. 

Me

Goodnight 

+

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath. 

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier. 

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes. 

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words. 

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice. 

#the assistant #the assistant harry styles #the assistant fic #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles au #lawyer au #harry styles law #personal assistant #chaptered fic #wattpad #fanfiction #fa #pining love #writing #my writing #keep #pa harry #tw cancer #tw vomiting #tw blood

[comicteaparty]

June 13th-June 19th, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from June 13th, 2020 to June 19th, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What is your physical and digital workspace like when you’re working on your story?

🌈ERROR404 🌈

LOL it really depends on what stage I'm in of the process - My storyboarding space is at home, as comfortable as I can be, a beer and some food at the ready and pure silence. The cats have to be freshly fed, otherwise I'll be harassed and lose my headspace entirely LOL. I usually work on my story boards digitally, just at a very small scale, with my script/outline on my computer and working on my ipad! The double screen helps a LOT, although i would just print out the script if I had access to a printer, haha. When I'm working on the actual page itself, it's a very different story. I usually just try and work on it in tiny little batches during the day when I'm stuck at home, and usually work around the animals as best i can, lmao. Truthfully, I really prefer to be in a coffee shop when I'm working on finishing pages, it makes me so much more productive than i am in this house with so many things to take care of right in front of me, but, obviously, that's a bit difficult to do these days. ;; I usually reserve food and drink until after I pass a milestone in inking/sketching to help motivate me to keep going for as much as I can before taking a break, and I need some kind of music or video playing in the background to keep myself from being absolutely bored out of my mind. My shading process, since it's in black and white, is very easy and i can finish it in one setting, easy, no matter what I'm working with. I also work digitally for my pages, of course, although I don't need more than my ipad and clip studio for it!

DaeofthePast

freshly fed cats

🌈ERROR404 🌈

They are BEASTS when hungry, the little bastards (love them)

I may only work in peace when they're post-food napping lmao

DaeofthePast

we only have one, but same

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I work almost entirely in the corner of my IKEA couch at home I used to work at a proper desk with a Cintiq, but when I switched to Procreate on an iPad, I migrated to the couch and surrounded myself with a nest of clothes and blankets and books and... here I am, bein' cozy. With terrible posture But when I was between jobs last year, I did rent a little coworking space down the street so I could get out of my pajamas and go get comic stuff done there. It was a godsend. I like drawing at my favorite coffee shop every so often too, but I tend to hide my work while I draw, and there, everyone can look over my shoulder The coworking space had a tall artist desk that was rarely used, so I often grabbed that one. Not cheap, but to stave off cabin fever, heck yes, worth it.

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ahhh I've been really thinking about getting a studio space one of these days I really shouldn't rn, with my finances as they are, but I could REALLY make use of one recently

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I loved the space I used last year. They recently had to close for... current-event reasons... and are going to reopen with all sorts of plexiglass barriers between the desks I feel so bad for them. Good studio spaces are wonderful, I would support them again if I ever was out of a job!

🌈ERROR404 🌈

it's good they've found ways to make it safer, though!

carcarchu

My old workspace was in the basement of my home in canada and it was always perpetually freezing even in the summer and i was frequently visited by spiders so my current workspace is a huge improvement in that regard. I do miss my old ergonomic desk chair though. I'm definitely not the kind of person who can draw in bed or on the couch. I need to be in workmode and having a designated space just for that is necessary for me to get in the right headspace for that.

DaeofthePast

my workspace rn is just my desk with my laptop and my drawing tablet. my laptop is stacked on top of a pile of books so i can see the screen (otherwise my tablet blocks my line of sight). it's kinda simple

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

Depends. I have a Cintiq Mobile Studio, so I can draw pretty much every where and sometimes in the oddest position, but most of the time I am on my desk with the cintiq hooked up to a second monitor so I don't have to look down so much.(edited)

Holmeaa - working on WAYFINDERS

For Wayfinders: Thumbnails are somewhere cozy and the only physical work. Me and Q sit and plan them out together. The rest of wayfinders are made on Photoshop, and flat colors in clip paint studio. In the world I would love a nice studio place in an office with others. During corentine I have been working from home, and I am not that good at it, being quite the extrovert. Before corentine I was in a artist residency where I worked on Wayfinders which had a workstation and all the programs we could need. It is so nice and me and Q are going to return there when it opens up again!

Miranda

I have an iPad so usually on the couch, cozied up with coffee and pillows and blankets. But sometimes at the table. But usually on the couch like the gremlin I am

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I have a large drafting table, a mini drafting table, and a lapdesk in my papasan when we ink/draw! Toning and letters are all done on the desktop in its own space

Miranda

I need to get a good lap desk. But that sounds like a grand setup!

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

My first time hearing about a lapdesk

Omg I need one

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

They are the best things ever Mine has just the pencil holder !(some come with cup holders and its a waste of space imo)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Wow I like your setup of the drafting tables

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

I wanna show pics of them....if im allowed in this chat?

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I hope so, I'm not sure which channel we can post studio photos at? I did see some did before?

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

Ill post in shop talk since creator babble gets archived

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

my current space is uh.... a bit better than my last one. I used to work on an old writers desk for a decade and I did most of my comic work sitting there cramped up with my desktop taking most of the space. Now I have an L shaped desk where I have my desktop on the shorter end. The longer end it's my pen, pencils, and watercolor stuff. my display tablet occupy the space at times so switching from digital and traditional without worrying about setup hassle is a lot better than what I dealt with before lol.

I'm glad the days I had to curl up and draw with no privacy are long gone now

kayotics

I’ve got a little drafting table where I draw all my comic pages. I’m messy with my pens so they’re kind of strewn about until I start to lose them. Then I put them back. I’m not particularly neat. I spend most of the comic process off the computer, so most of my digital work is just on an iPad where I can sit anywhere. I try to keep good lighting around my drafting table and there’s always loose eraser shavings all over.

Natasha Berlin (Pot of Gold)

I got myself a lil corner desk by the dining table. Not as well-lit as I'd like, but it's decently ergonomic and I started putting posters on my wall Plus I can leave work mindset easily by turning off my computer and forgetting about the dark corner in the dining room XD(edited)

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

My desk is really sloppy and covered in all kinds of junk. I have a harmonica, a ball of yarn, a bunch of ink bottles, etc on my desk. I have my sketchbook under my tablet and usually a notebook somewhere for writing. My tablet sits to the right of my laptop (on top of sketchbook) while I'm not using it and when I'm using it it goes over my computer keyboard. I sometimes have a glass of water or some food sitting to the lefthand side

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

The only thing I wanna share about my workspace is this

once i spent over three hours looking for that damned pen

never again

🌈ERROR404 🌈

Ajkdhfkjs the models for hte magazine im crying

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh my God

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

mad giggling

Deo101 [Millennium]

youre gonna manage to lose the string

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

omg

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

i know in my heart deo is right but still i hope

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

You should weld a metal chain to it

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

Watch me lose the whole tablet

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh nooo

I believe in you!

TaliePlume

My workspace is a black table with a white, yellow, blue and green tablecloth with 3 black chairs. It's next to the kitchen. On it, is my laptop and the left side is my clipboard, 3 blue folders full of writing. Then above it, is 3 sketchbooks and another blue folder from a class that I took in community college.

June 16, 2020

sagaholmgaard

I have one long desk at almost three meters. On the left side is all my coffee and tea supplies, in the middle is my work space and on the right is my dining table xD I get everything done from there, despite having a mobilestudio so I COULD sit anywhere and work, lol. It's a blessing during holiday seasons to be able to bring it everywhere, but at some I like my designated working space. Although I am moving in a few weeks, so who knows what my new workspace will be

Moral_Gutpunch

My workspace is anywhere I can draw or write. It's more of a "Will I be interrupted over something petty or stupid" issue than space. Not that I don't want more space.

Mitzi (Trophallaxis)

My workspace is a big, broken corner desk I managed to lug out of an old apartment when it was gonna be trashed. Before then, I'd just draw in bed. I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure the folding chair I sit at is a similar affair. It's got a Dollar General throw pillow on it so I can at least say I'm trying to save my back. The top of the desk is a mess of mostly old bottles and cans, pencils, incense ash, and my old tarot deck. I love this setup dearly. This is the first time I've ever had my own desk space, much less a space I can decorate or leave as messy as I want. Got my own art up on the walls with sticky tack and all! Also the cat's scratching post is directly behind me, because we've learned the cat won't use it unless it's as in the way as possible. What can ya do, lol.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Oh cats...

Desnik

I got spoiled with an adjustable desk. It is six feet long, and has a whiteboard top for noodling with dry erase markers

my main computer is set up on an adjustable stand so it floats over the desk, and then I have my cintiq, which we tried to mount on a similar stand but then it was just too heavy

I keep my dice collection nearby because fidgeting helps think things through sometimes

and rolling to make odd decisions never hurts

lately during the quarantine I've been sharing the office with my spouse so we've had to establish rules over when it's okay to bug each other(edited)

oh yeah and we also have a whiteboard installed in the office, and it rules!(edited)

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

Mine is pretty simple: I have a laptop that's long stopped being portable and is now mostly just sitting at my desk at all times and a 19 inch Ugee as my display. I usually keep a lot of stuff on top of my desk, but it's mostly just a mess because I have been using it for work too for a while now

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

I suppose I'll talk about my setup too :) My main setup is where I do digital art. I share an office with my SO, so we both have workspaces on opposite walls from each other. I work on a corner desk that holds my beefy computer, two monitors, and a Huion Kamvas GT-191. That's where I draw my comic and pretty much everything else done digitally. Ngl, it's a mess right now. I have comic notes and location floor plans in sketchbooks and DnD character sheets spread out all over the surface, and random pens and sticky notes. In the corner of the room, we have a nice large-format printer where I produce prints for conventions. I actually sketch my pages on an iPad pro in Procreate, so during the sketch phase, sometimes I'll just bundle up on my couch and do it, or before quarantine, sometimes I'd sketch on the go. My other workspace (which hasn't gotten much love as of late tbh) is a drafting table in the corner of our living room. I keep a tabletop easel on it and my Copic markers, as well as whatever I'm working on at the moment. (RN it's some ink washes.) The drawers hold all my ink, pencils, erasers, etc. Next to the drafting table is where I keep all my large charcoal, graphite, and oil pastel drawings (mostly school projects), and my large paintings. Other than that, I have a nifty little cart where I keep painting supplies :) I will say, this setup is by far an enormous improvement from my previous setups.

#ctparchive #comics #webcomics #indie comics #comic chat #comic discussion #comic tea party #ctp #creator interview #comic creator interview #creator babble

[purplesurveys]

707

Do you think you're clever? I can be but I wouldn’t say it’s a dominant personality trait. Did you wear socks today? No, I haven’t worn socks since the last day I went to school :/ Can you remember how you celebrated your 10th birthday? I don’t remember how the whole day went but I do have a photo of me on that day. We were in our old house then and I was at the dining area smiling with my cake, surrounded by my mom and sister.

Know any magic tricks? Nah I can’t perform any of them. Do you sleep well most nights? These days I certainly do. They’ve suspended online classes, and acads is really the main thing taking up my time (and head) most days until recently. Without that I’m just sleeping, eating, and having random bursts of productivity everyday.

Are your nails painted? No. Is there somebody you know that you really don't trust? Yeah I have a couple of orgmates that are a little sketchy. I also dunno if I can trust my mom in the bigger scheme of things - we’re just not close like that. Is there music in your head right now? No need to have it playing in my head, I already have a lo-fi livestream playing on YouTube at the moment. When's the last time you baked a cake? Grade 6 when we baked a rainbow cake in home economics. What time was it half an hour ago? 7:26 PM. Did you ever play cowboys and indians when you were growing up? I have no idea what that game is. Probs an American thing? Can anyone confirm? When did it last rain? My dad said it drizzled earlier this afternoon, but I wouldn’t know because I was taking a nap. The last time it rained and I caught it was two nights ago. Would you like to become a dancer? I would love to be able to dance gracefully and call myself a dancer, but I wouldn’t want it to be my Number One Agenda, as in joining contests or have it be my whole career and stuff. It’ll be nice to simply have it as a hobby. What colour is the bathroom of your house painted? The top half of the wall is white, the bottom half consists of light brown tiles. Which country is to the north of your home country? Taiwan. Name one person of the same sex as you you wouldn't mind doing: My girlfriend. Haaaaah you thought. What is the most gory film you've seen? Evil Dead, but I’ve only seen the 2013 reboot. Is there anybody that you know that you just feel really sorry for? Yeah I guess, like my uncle for stubbornly never getting his life back on track. I’ve been done waiting for him to get better. Do you like the Austin Powers films? I’ve never seen any one of them, even the one Beyoncé is in.

Where is the worst place you have ever travelled to? All the places I’ve been to have been wonderful and it wouldn’t feel right to tag one of them as the ‘worst’ because all the trips have been paid for by my parents lmao. But the one trip that didn’t exactly turn out the way we would’ve wanted it to was Caramoan in Camarines Sur. It was raining almost the entire time, so the scenario was either 1) the rain messed with the cable signal and we only had one channel every time we were in the cabin or 2) we had to make do with being rained on whenever we wanted to go out to the beach. It was also in the middle of nowhere, so we didn’t have internet. Ever fallen down a hole? Nope. That’s one of the scenarios I’m particularly afraid of. Do you like to read poetry? No I hate having to. I’ve never understood poems. What's your preferred frozen snack? Other than ice cream? Idk, frozen fries maybe? Those hit differently. Is rap music overrated? I’d say some are, but rap generally has a rich underground culture as well so I wouldn’t say all of it is overrated. Do you work better in a clean or messy environment? That doesn’t matter to me. I care more about how warm/cold it is, because I can’t start working anywhere I find too hot or else I’ll feel too sluggish. Do you know any vegans? Only from the internet. Filipinos are big meat eaters so it’s hard to find resources for if you want to become vegan. There are vegan food stalls but they’re VERY few and far between, and they’re typically situated in hipper, more cosmopolitan parts of the city since veganism isn’t a known concept here. Earphones or headphones? Earphones. Do you like bananas? Eugh no. What's a film you've seen that confused you? Interstellar confuses me to this day. But I loved it a lot and I enjoyed the premise, and that’s what matters to me. Do you ever wear black lipstick? I don’t think I’ve ever worn it before. You can take any illegal drug without any bad consequences, which one? That’s a really dark question but uh... I’d go with meth because idk, Breaking Bad? I certainly wouldn’t want to try heroin though. What is next to your bed? I have a drawer with my clothes and other knickknacks on one side, and a chest with a bunch of memorabilia and old books I’ve had since I was a kid on the other side. Are your fingernails dirty? Nope. What would you change about yourself appearence-wise? I’d straighten my front teeth and make my teeth in general smaller. I’d also have some hair grow on my left eyebrow because I permanently damaged the hair growth there by plucking too much as an anxiety habit. How long do you normally spend in the shower? Depends on how relaxed I need to feel. If I’m showering for school it takes me 4-5 minutes. If it’s been hot all day like in the summer I’d take up to 15. When's the last time somebody called you "baby"? Sometime today, I don’t exactly remember when. Have you ever had to keep something important from your family? Like... my 4-year same-sex relationship? Yup. Don't you think things feel much better after a good cry? The things that made me cry don’t get better or automatically get fixed, but it’s always nice to give myself a break and to let everything out. Do you think the UK should keep its monarchy? I honestly don’t know enough about their system to confidently form an opinion about it. My only contribution to this conversation is that the royal family does interest me and I know more trivia about them than the average person should hahahahaha. True or false: you'd do Mila Kunis. I’d do her character in Friends with Benefits but like I don’t really feel that way for IRL Mila, mostly cos I’d rather do wholesome stuff with her hahaha. Which colour would you rather have your hair: pink, grey or green? Green > grey > pink. Don't you just hate the sound of people eating? NOOOOOOO are you kidding. Mukbang ASMRs are my faveeeeeee. What's your favourite music video? Meh I don’t really watch music videos. Is it your aim to be perfect? About the things I do, yeah. I’m not obsessed about having *everything* be perfect, even stuff I have no control over.. Ever climbed to the top of a mountain? No. That’s on my bucket list though. Have you ever fell for someone believing you could "fix" them? No. That’s never been a reason I’ve had feelings for someone. Someone's paying for a fancy dinner, where do you eat and who do you take? BLACKBIRD. I’ve wanted to try it for a while now but Makati is a bitch to get to + their food would literally take away two weeks’ worth of my allowance. I’d take Gab with me for sure. Can you honestly say you are truly happy with your life? Not right now, but I’m not hopeless about it either. Can you paint well? I can’t paint at all. Describe a picture of yourself that you hate: The candid ones are the ones I end up hating the most. If you could keep any animal as a pet, which would you choose? Just all the dogs would be fine, thanks. Something you did in the past that you're embarrassed about: I was bidding Gab’s dad goodbye because he was leaving to meet up with his friends or something. Anyway my shoes chose to be slippery that day and I completely tripped the whole way walking over to him and I even unconsciously grabbed onto his arm to keep myself from falling flat on my face. I AM WINCING JUST TYPING THIS OUT PLS SEND HELP Would you rather play a good or an evil character in a play? Evil. It’d be easier acting that way. Do you like porridge? It’s alright. I mostly avoid it because it was all I ate for breakfast from when I was 4 up to when I was 10, and I’m so so sick of the taste and texture by now.

Has anybody ever lied to you just to impress you? Idk, probably. Strangest gift you ever received: Don’t think I’ve ever received anything I was genuinely baffled by. But I try not to be like that - all gifts are gifts so I’m always grateful whenever someone gives me one. Do most people annoy you? Nah. But 14 year old Robyn taking surveys would probably say yes just to sound edgy :/ Don't you think you should really be doing something more productive? Idk man we’re in the middle of a global health crisis. I think being productive shouldn’t be a priority for once. Have you ever felt really out of place? Yesssssss this was me when I was trying to apply for AIESEC. The crowd was just too different and I didn’t last long in the application process. What's your favourite shade of blue? Royal and sky blue. Do you have any odd phobias? I used to be afraid of watching advertisements at night, but I think it’s mostly gone now. What's the longest you've gone without sleep? 18-20 hours maybe. I don’t let myself pull all-nighters. When was the last time you just wanted to be left alone? Earlier this noon when I felt disrespected by my dad. Do you believe in karma? Sure. Can you remember a world before iPods? Nope. Google says the first iPod came out in 2001, and I don’t remember being 3 years old or younger. When was the last time it was sunny? This morning. Would you like to be photographed by Terry Richardson? I’ve never heard of him but I checked Google just now and apparently he’s been an asshat to his subjects? So no. Smoke? Yes please I so have been needing one throughout this quarantine. I ran out of puffs for my vape pen which is even worse. Would you rather have a lazy day or a day of being really busy? I’ve had 31+ lazy days now. I wouldn’t mind a busy day. Do you like the way that spoken French sounds? I don’t get to hear it all that much but it was spoken so beautifully in Portrait of a Lady on Fire, so I guess I’m alright with it for the most part. I just don’t like the times it comes from the throat and it sounds a bit like hawking. D: But maybe it’s just a cultural thing - Filipino isn’t throaty at all so when we hear sounds like that we’re just not used to it. What's the best film soundtrack? As stupid as the storylines were, they really made sure the Twilight Saga soundtracks SLAPPED. Bon Iver, St. Vincent, Muse, Death Cab for Cutie, The Black Keys, Florence + The Machine, PARAMORE?????? They weren’t fucking around. Interstellar and Gone with the Wind also had amazing scores. Where did you go on your last date? My informal first date with Gabie was at a museum + this quaint Italian place in Greenbelt that has since closed. My legit first date with her was at a Bonchon LMFAOOOOOOOOOO Do people find you "cute"? Not really... only my girlfriend calls me that. Who does the best remixes? Eh not a fan. What is most of your money spent on? Gas, food, dates.

#survey #surveys

[actuallyschizoid]

Do any of you guys experience concerningly low empathy? How about limited emotional range, like a spectrum? What about sensory process meltdowns, similar to autists? Do you feel almost no emotion until hit with intensity? How about falling inlove and a best friend? Any previous ddx of anxiety or depression or adhd? Ever made stock friends for the sake of benefits? Rather One night stand than relationships or is it all to disinteresting? Any comorbid SzPD and APD out there? How did you get diagnosed? Views on religion? Im sorry for asking alot, recent ddx and idk what this means for me, never met the average schizoid to paint the picture. Some of these questions have to do with relatability to my symptoms, I guess.

Thanks for submission! Interesting questions. For me personally:

Empathy. In fact, it gets better over time. At least cognitive empathy - which is pretty much psychoanalysis on the go, i.e. taking into account what you know about each person and trying to extrapolate what would they feel, how would they react based on those feels, etc. It isn’t really connected to being able to understand their feelings on your own experience, and way more dependent on one’s knowledge of human psychology, experience observing people and just general live experience. It can be trained for anyone with some effort, but for those who lacks natural emotional empathy it generally gets better just due to having a constant reason to practice it. 

As for emotional and other kinds of empathy... eh, mine’s pretty much limited to laughing along when someone’s laughing their ass off. Yeah, tiny bit of mirroring is all I get, it’s pretty useless. Though, I must say, I do get easier time to relate to feels of other schizoids, autistic people and pretty much anyone who struggles relating to average kind of people.

Emotions. Now that I’m 32, it’s probably not as limited as when I was in my 15-to-25 years, but less of a mess than it was before 15. Still those are pretty... uh, alternative emotions. I still don’t often get the “correct” one triggered on same triggers as most people. My natural tendency is to rationalize stuff, analyze it from system POV instead of getting sad and emotional. 

Like, yesterday there was a plain crush, the whole local internet was buzzing about how terrible it was. I can’t say that was exactly what felt, but instead we were casually discussing the technical nuances of it with a fellow schizoid. Like what effects this kind of event might have had on this or that system, how it might have been made better, what mistakes happened there and what were the means to prevent some of those deaths. I.e more from a system design point of view, where people are just numbers in statistic rather than dead kids who won’t have live, sad parents, etc etc. 

I mean, all that’s sad and all, I get it, but there’s nothing I can do to be sad about it. To me it’s no different from knowing the fact that every day on roads in my country horribly dies about the same amount of people and no one gives a single flying fuck about it. But then same people die in a plain crush and it’s a nation-wide tragedy for some reason. To be honest, if I try to dig into actual emotions I feel about stuff like that, I can find out this kind of feels look rather... wrong to me. I know people can’t help but to feel whatever way they do, and there’s no such thing as “wrong emotions”, I definitely won’t be the one to judge them. But from my POV, it’s really hard to understand this negative hype around it.

Meltdowns. Not sure I ever had an actual meltdown, perhaps as a kid. But I might not even get the idea of what it is well enough. Heavy sensory stimulation actually causes me lots of discomfort. Like, neighbors drilling their walls almost on daily basis is an utter nightmare for me. I still stick my fingers into ears like a kid, yeah. And then try to poke at my macbook’s touchpad with whatever I get left - elbows, tongue, toes... To find at least some distraction from the noise. Eh. Not sure what’d happen if I wasn’t protecting myself from this kind of stuff, tbh, I never neglected this kind of safety measures to find out if I’d be able to handle it.

About no emotions until being hit. Hmm, maybe, not sure. To me it’s more often just no emotions from one specific trigger until.. well, until the trigger is gone lol. It just never occurs if it’s not there, yet when it’s there - it’s there. 

Being in love and having best friends. Never was in love. Seriously, I doubt I’m capable of it. And not sure the best friend thing relates to me either. I had some friends, but never the kind of friends whom I could entrust much about myself. Like, the schizoid person I still consider best friend doesn’t even know I have this blog lol. Or that I write a book, for example. I feel uncomfortable with the fact that people who knows me would also know... well, me. Knowing some part of my life is ok, but no way someone would have access to everything. And the better I know people, the less I feel like sharing. Yet I have absolute no issue with writing this kind of personal stuff anonymously and hundreds of people potentionally reading it.

Previous diagnosis. At early childhood I was suspected to have autism, actually. Or, well, it was long time ago so it was more of a “some development malfunction” diagnosis. I started speaking way too late, but by the time I was able to hack into this speech thing, I already was rather fluent at it, could understand more than my peers, etc. Same happened with reading. And from then on any language, be it human or programming, I can pretty much grab and use, if I want. I can turn in some youtube video on whatever language I’ve no idea about, turn in automatically generated subtitles translated to English and understand most of it, and after few hours getting the basic structure and matching a few common words with their meaning by ear. It might be related to that “could’ve had autism”, but not sure, it’s still not something I explored much with professionals as adult. And yeah, ADHD in some of its (subtile and inactive) forms could be the case too.

Stock friends. Eh, probably? I mean, some kids used to stuck on me now and then in school or college. I didn’t care much, but I tolerated them as long as they weren’t too annoying at least for the sake of dragging at least tiny bit less attention to my own weirdness. It felt like a safer option, yet most time I still have spent alone. 

Relationships and one night stands. Well, I’m aro ace agender, so... Actual romantic relationships were always out of question for me, tbh. Never tried, never feel like trying in the future. Had somewhat of an experimental semi-relationship with a friend, but it wasn’t romantic much and never was intended as long-lasting (at least, not on my part). We’re still friends, by the way, there was no “break-up” (coz there wasn’t much to break in first place). 

As for one-night-stands thing - yeah, that’s pretty useless for me either. Not that I’d had anything against it, were I in need to have sex. Perhaps, if I had that need, it would be the way to go for me. But since nothing really drives me for this shit, I’m fine without it.

Religion. Atheist down to the bone marrow. There was never really a dilemma for me, I knew it’s all utter BS the moment I’ve heard what the fuck is the fuss about this “God” thing people are talking about. Mind you, my mother is kinda religious (not in actual practice way, but she sees no logical issue with the idea of religion, that’s for sure). But she never dared to bring me to church for that orthodox christian initiation practice, what’s it called? Probably was afraid I’d yap about what idiots they are to believe it right in the middle of being shoved in a bucket of “holy” water lol.

Ok, that’s about it. :) And what about y’all? Feel free to add, I’ll reblog.

#actually schizoid #actuallyschizoid #schizoid #schizoid PD #schizoid traits #schizotypal #schizophrenia #depression #social anxiety #ADHD #autism #self-diagnosed #officially diagnosed #submission

[salamispots]

Hi! What are your favorite artists and influences? And what are your favorite mythical creatures? :)

hi! and mythology creatures you say

and griffin hippogriff sphinx things. and merfolk (but yall already know that one haha)

OK so I always keep saying there’s too many artists/influences and whatnot but for once I’m going to (try) list all of the main ones -cracks knuckles-

Amei Zhao (I love her comics/stories/flowyness)

Atelier Sentô  (gorgeous watercolor comics and art)

Victorin Ripert (really playful art and shapes also there’s a giant mola mola banner art what’s not to love)

Shaun Tan (super dreamlike idk everything is beautiful period; their comic/book The Arrival is one of my top favs honestly)

reykat (everything is so strange and mysterious and beautiful)

nephelomancer (also very beautiful and strange and mysterious)

Natalie Andrewson (I love how effortless the lines feel and how playful/colorful)

Jen Wang (graphic novels and comics; work is gesturey and lovely)

Emily Carroll (I love her use of comic layouts -esp. online- and stories; mostly horror/creepy things)

Matt Rockefeller (every illustration is so chock full of story and moods)

Jonathan Mathiasen (really unique gorgeous style and thoughtful/mindful way of approaching art in general)

Zoé B. Simpson (beautiful solid style)

Heather Penn (beautiful comics and colors)

Hwei Lim (effortless feeling and elegant art)

Florian Aupetit (really intriguing illustrations and his lighting/colors are killer)

pixelpchan (tasty paintings; really interesting how he translates things into gouache)

Manu Arenas (sketches/style/shapes/comics are magical and natural)

Joy Ang (art shapes are really precise and lovely)

Arthur Fong (inks and style are really cool)

Kellan Jett (plein air and nice shape language)

Enrique Fernández (comics and shapes/style are amazing; I have his comic L’ile sans sourire and I still can’t believe it’s digital)

Tyler Crook (moody watercolor/painty style; worked on Harrow County comics!)

Daryl Toh ( I love the digital-ness feeling of his work and his comics/stories; there was an old comic called The Dreamwalker Chronicles and that influenced me a ton/stuck with me)

Yvan Duque (everything feels like a fairy tale and a lot of his stuff is from gouache; art shapes)

Veikka Somerma (beautiful environments and shapes/colors)

Thomas Scholes (ornate and colors)

Tobias Kwan (everything is greaat sketches/paintings are dark moody and gorgeous)

Clio Chiang (how she draws/sketches people and uses different mediums)

Kei Acedera (really neat concepts/kinda dreamy and soft -honestly makes me think of cotton candy haha)

Dani Diez (beautiful shapes and colors; love his sketchbook stuff as well)

heikala (so effortless feeling and nice; also the videos of her processes are really relaxing and fun to watch)

loiclocatelli (beautiful gesturey and flowy art and I love his comics/compositions)

Alan Cortes (beautiful inky monstersss)

Sophie Li ( lovely art shapes/characters

Uwe Heidschötter (character style/shape language is really nice and balanced)

Kazu Kibuishi (what made me want to start making comics was his comic anthology called Flight; found a ton of artists through those comics)

Amy Kibuishi (one of the first webcomics I ever read online; I think right now she’s working on that same webcomic and it’s getting published next year?)

https://claystorks.tumblr.com/ (soft style and really good comics/stories)

Books/comics/etc:

Four Eyes by Joe Kelly and Max Fiumara (comic about dragon fighting rings and a boy who’s raising one? it’s great)

East by Edith Pattou (idk I found this book in junior high and it’s always going to have a soft spot in my heart; basically a retelling of East of the Sun and West of the Moon).

I, Coriander by Sally Gardner and The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale (haha all my books/influences are ones I found in highschool/junior high; basically fairy tale-esque stories)

The Fisherman by John Langan (very good horror I think it’s one of my favorites)

Fairy Tales by Berlie Doherty and Jane Ray (my mom got me this book when I was a kid and the illustrations def. influenced my style).

Coraline by Neil Gaiman (drawings were really cool and I think that’s where I get the slight creepiness sometimes in my art from)

Laird Barron (recently found his work and they’re very good; horror story stuff)

The Screams of Dragons by Kelley Armstrong

Harrow County by Cullen Bunn and Tyler Crook (mentioned it earlier but it’s very good)

Immortal Rain (Meteor Methuselah) by Kaori Ozaki (favorite manga, story is beautiful and so is the art)

Ancient Magus Bride by Kore Yamazaki (beautiful art and stories, also a favorite)

Kuutei Dragons (Drifting Dragons) by Taku Kuwabara  (the story/world is fun)

Ao no Flag by Kaito (story is very good/thoughtful)

Houseki no Kuni by Haruko Ichikawa (I love how fluid the lines are)

Sing No Evil by Jp Ahonen and KP Alare (art is great, story is interesting too, it involves music bands and a talking bear and …a possible accidental demon contract thing that makes you a little uh hungry in exchange for playing bangin’ music?)

The Prince and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang (coming of age story in a way, it’s very good)

Most of the Ghibli movies haha (Howl’s Moving Castle, Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, Tales from Earthsea, Porco Rosso, and esp. On Your Mark music video

Rise of the Guardians movie (idk haha this movie just got stuck in my head after I first watched it)

ps: will be adding more/editing every once in a while

#long post #anon asks #art asks #art inspiration #artist inspiration #idk if you wanna see more you can always see who I follow on instagram haha #a buncha fellas

[ratandphilgames]

Our Lives Don’t Collide

{chapter 4: in too deep} 

summary: Shit hits the fan when famous actor!Phil is caught smooching a boy in an alleyway. Only problem? He’s not out and what’s worse? The boy he was smooching was a journalist who set it all up to get a quick picture and now Phil is royally screwed. The only answer Phils management can come up with is a fake relationship to try and do damage control and famous actor!Dan is the perfect candidate.

chapter word count: 2478

total word count: 9936

rating: t

note: super thanks to everyone who likes/ reblogs/ sends me a message! the support has been amazing! also huge thanks to all the babes in the writing gc for motivating me to write! ily!

updates on thursdays!

{read on ao3}

{read from the beginning}

{next chapter} 

—–

The 2 boys ended up playing video games for an hour after they decided they’d become friends, which went surprisingly well. They were really just big nerds too tall for their own good, and it showed when they played video games.

Conversation flowed easily, bants were abundant, and afterwhile they both forgot they were there because of their fake relationship, it just felt like hanging out. It’d been a long time since Dan had just hung out with someone who was genuine and didn’t want something from him. At least with Phil he was upfront with what he wanted from Dan, it was all in contract form to keep it clear.

“Wotch your back Daniel, I’m creeping up on you.” Phil yelled as he gripped his controller more intensely.

In any other setting Dan would’ve been frightened by this sentence, but seeing as it was because Dan was currently in first place in an intense game of mario kart 8, it was rather acceptable. They were on the first lap of the animal crossing track, season: autumn, and Dan had already pulled ahead as he spent far too much time playing mario kart in his free time. When you don’t know who you can trust, mario kart will always be there for you.

“Oh are you? ARE YOU?” Dan had a bad habit of getting way too loud when it came to competitions. He was howling in a way that could be deemed offensive had he been playing with a different person, Phil however, just laughed at him as he attempted to catch up.

“Yes! You’re going down!” Phil shrieked, and before Dan even knew what was happening he was hit with a blue shell, effectively knocking him out of his first place position and letting Phil take the lead.

“YOU LITTLE SON OF A PFFT PSH PFT.” Dan was trying not to swear too much, as to leave a good first impression on his fake boyfriend, but goddamn it was hard. He ended up just making random exhales of air as he tried to earn back his spot in first place.

Phil found so much joy in that little blue shell moment, his eyes were lit up and he was laughing like a maniac and just a little part of Dan felt that it was worth letting him win if he got to see him being so happy. The rest of Dan wanted to crush all his hopes and dreams as he destroyed him at mario kart.

They kept up the back and forth game of going between 1rst and 2nd until the third lap when Dan had pretty much established himself as winner in his own eyes. That was until the biggest upset in the history or time when Phil got the bullet on the last corner and won by a very small margin. Needless to say Dan threw his controller and Phil laughed so hard he was snorting.

“I won! Take that, Danny boi!” Phil had stood up on his couch and stared down at Dan in victory.

“Danny boi? Oh god this is embarrassing. Losing mario kart in my own home, to a noob.” Phil was hardly a noob, but Dan liked to tease. He glossed over the fact that he’d earned himself a new nickname, one he’d surprisingly never heard before. After his high school experience with gems such as ‘dick loving dan’ and ‘homo howell’ he’d have thought he’d heard every variation of his name possible, but Phil was constantly coming up with new ways to surprise him.

Mid gloat Phil’s phone started buzzing nonstop and he put a pause on his victory chant to reach down and grab the vibrating device. Phil plopped himself back down onto a seated position as he checked his phone to see who his caller was, as Dan started deciding on the next track they should play.

“Oh, uh, I’ve got to take this, it’s my manager.”

Dan barely looked up as he waved him off to allow him to go answer his phone. As Phil exited the room he could hear a greeting being exchanged and then some whispering. If he tried he could make out the words, but that was wrong, right? Eavesdropping was bad and he shouldn’t do it. Dan maintained that idea until he heard his name spoken and then curiosity got the better of him. He crept quietly, almost spy like towards the entryway of his living room, just far enough that he could better hear, but not too far that it would be unnatural if Phil were to walk back in and see him. Dan was just hanging out on the edge of the couch, nothing weird about that.

“It’s going okay, Liam. He seems cool, everything will be fine.” Phil was pacing back and forth through the hallway, making parts of his sentence quieter than the rest, but the message Dan received was loud and clear in his ears. Phil Lester thought he was cool.

Suddenly all those fanboy feelings Dan had been repressing through the time they spent together were resurfacing as he played those words over and over and over again in his head. All that mumbo jumbo about Phil being just a regular guy flew out the window as Dan heard himself being complimented by one of the most iconic actors of the recent era (and not to mention overall attractive man).

Phil Lester thinks you’re cool.

That was one hell of a confidence booster.

Dan zoned out and missed  the rest of the convo because goddamnit he was cool. Shans advice really worked, he played it cool and it payed off in the end.

As Dan’s brain was still processing the idea that he was cool, he heard Phil’s footsteps and realized he must’ve hung up the phone and was headed back towards the lounge, back to Dan. As this truly hit Dan, he scrambled to seem casual, natural, and cool.

“Hey, I think I’m going to head off soon, manager called my car already.” Phil said as he made his reappearance, seemingly not noticing Dan’s less than usual behavior.

“Okay, cool.”

Fucking hell don’t say cool, that makes it seem like you were eavesdropping.

Dan had been eavesdropping but he didn’t want Phil to know he’d been listening in. Already feeling the effects of guilt for being a sneaky little shit, Dan made sure to avoid meeting Phil’s gaze, although that probably just made him seem even more sketchy.

“Yeah, so, thanks for having me over, and for the whole- ya know, fake boyfriend stuff. Really saved me there.” Phil was fidgeting with his fingers as he stood awkwardly by the lounge entrance, having yet to step back into the room as he knew he’d be leaving soon.

“Oh yeah, sure. No problem, should be fun. Speaking of which, what’s the next thing we need to do?” Dan asked, unsure how to about this thing. They needed to be spotted together a lot to be seen a realistic couple, and with paparazzi swarming the both of them at the moment, it wouldn’t be hard to strike up buzz.

“Uhhh probably just more social media stuff, get people hooked. We’re ‘like a drug’ to the fans according to my agent.” Phil shifted uncomfortably as he quoted his agent, clearly as uneasy about the way it sounded as Dan was. A drug? What did that even mean?

“Sooooooooooooo should we hang out like this again sometime? Soon?” Maybe Dan was just hoping he could spend more time with Phil, but he could paint it as part of the deal and nobody would ever have to know the difference.

“Yeah, I’ll text you.” Dan simply stared at Phil because how in the hell did he have his number? Did his publicist give it to him? This whole goddamn time they could’ve been texting each other? And they weren’t?

“That was a hint for you to give me your phone so I can put my number in it.” Phil said with a chuckle.

Oh.

Dan grabbed his cell off the little coffee table, the place he’d set it down when they first started playing mario kart, and stood to hand it to Phil, trying to keep his head down so his blush wasn’t too apparent.

Of course he wants your number, you have to communicate somehow. Don’t read too much into this, don’t read too much into this, don’t read too much-

“We still need to take that picture, ya know, to make us instagram official.” Phil said, startling Dan out of his thoughts and handing him back his phone. Phil really typed fast.

“Yeah, Shannon- er my manager- will kill me if we forget. Like actually behead me, like hide the guillotine.”

Phil just laughed at his weird attempt at humor, bless his little heart.

“Alright well let’s do this thing, I’d rather like you to keep your head attached to your body.”  

Dan tapped around on his phone a little bit and pulled up the camera and both boys positioned themselves so that the lighting was okay and they could both be seen effectively.

They took a few of them together, smiles bright with Phil peeking over Dans shoulder.

And then Phil did something unexpected.

He reached his long neck over and planted a soft lil kiss onto Dan’s cheek, right over his dimple and Dan, unsure of how to react, just kept snapping pictures. And once Phil felt they had a sufficient amount to pick from with the cheek kisses, he snuggled his face into Dan’s neck and Dan just kept taking those pics, his body wanting him to have a completely different reaction.

Holy fuck.

Just as fast as Phil had attached to himself Dan he was backed away, the smile not leaving his face though.

“Sorry, hope that wasn’t awkward.”

“Oh, no, you’re fine, we’re both actors right? Totally fine. I’ll go through and find the good ones and post them later. Gotta call my mum first or she’ll be livid, ya know how it is.”

Dan was rambling, trying to make the situation seem casual when really his insides were ready to explode out of his ass.

“I haven’t even told my mom about the whole gay thing. I’m not quite sure how she’ll take it, so I just kind of… put it off.”

All Dan wanted to do was hug the guy, all the dumb crush feelings forgotten as he remembered how rough things actually were for Phil right now. Publicly outed, not even getting a chance to tell his family. It sounded like hell, yet he was handling it like a champ. Almost too well.

“That’s no good. You’ve gotta talk to your mum, call her up. Throw down the facts. If she doesn’t like it then I’ll be your mum from now on, simple as that.”

Phil laughed a little at that last part, but overall seemed uncomfortable with the idea. Dan could definitely see why, it was terrifying to think that the one person that’s supposed to love you unconditionally could turn you away simply for being true to yourself, but he also knew that finding out your son was gay from the internet was 100 times worse than hearing it from him.

“We’ll see.”

“Call me up if you need emotional support, I know a thing or two about this whole ‘coming out’ bullshit.” It had been a daunting process for Dan, no one in his family understood what being bisexual even meant, he was constantly being asked if he was sure he wasn’t just gay or just straight but in time they learned and now’s in a pretty good place with his family.

“Thanks, I might take you up on that offer. Maybe.”

“You can’t run away from your problems.”

“I can try.” Phil said with a shrug.

“You’re a mess Lester.”

“Well when you get your shit together and post on instagram, I’ll officially be your mess.”

That stopped Dan in his tracks, unable to think of a witty remark to keep up their little game because surely that was flirting. This wasn’t just Dan making up little things in his head, anyone would interpret that as flirting, right? If this was just for the public Phil wouldn’t have said that inside the confidence of Dan’s home, where nobody was around to hear them.

Lucky for Dan, the buzzer went off moments later, covering his ass.

Dan quickly moved from the lounge, where they were standing, to his little foyer, and over to the intercom.

“Hello.” Dan said into the little microphone, realizing Phil had followed him into the room only after he felt a little tickle of breath on his neck.

“I’m here to pick up Phil Lester, and no sir, this isn’t a prank.”

Dan felt just a little embarrassed as he typed in the password to open the gate. He had only been asking if he was being pranked because he’d been told the wrong day, it was a valid question at the time, now it just felt a little silly.

“Alright, well, I’ll see you later I guess.” Dan said.

“Yeah, I’ll be looking out for your instagram post.”

“You better turn on notifications.”

“Oh, I will.”

Again, Dan had a blush on his face because of Phil.

The doorbell began ringing and before he opened the door, Dan looked over at Phil and said “don’t forget about your mum, Phil,”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dan smiled at him and Phil smiled back and then Dan opened up the door and stepped out of the way so that Phil could get through. Standing there, outside, was the same muscular man that had been with him when Phil was left at Dan’s home less than 2 hours ago.

It didn’t feel like that little of time had passed, yet it truly had been less than 2 hours. Dan waved as Phil got into his car, making it seem like a bigger thing than it was for all the people with cameras lined up behind his iron gate which he was certain were taking pictures like mad.

After Phil’s car had pulled away, Dan went back inside and immediately flopped down onto the couch and clicked the tv off from when they were playing mario kart earlier.

Dan was in deep. So incredibly deep.

This little rendezvous only furthered Dan’s suspicion that he liked Phil, like a lot. He was just as fantastic in real life as Dan had imagined which was really just a big problem.

What’s one to do when they like their fake boyfriend? That’s just a whole new level of complicated that Dan didn’t want to delve into just yet. So he just put it off, the exact thing he’d advised Phil against doing.

God, he was in so so deep. 

#our lives dont collide #phanfiction #phan #dnp #dan and phil #phandom #please like/ reblog if you enjoyed!

[magical-awesome-kid]

Allergic Interaction

Inspired by @edorazzi‘s BEAUTIFUL little OCs Amun and Carter and all of their antics, Miraculous’ titular character Chat Noir AKA Adrien and his affliction with feathers, and my recent jackpot of allergies. Enjoy!

Also found on AO3.

           Amun would say his luck with the accursed food was dismal at best.

           Hazelnuts, as he learned since his revival, were not, in fact, cursed but some sort of chemical thing, as Angelo put it, caused him to have a reaction in his immune system. Since his internal organs had recently been re-growing, that meant that former hives evolved into far worse reactions when exposed to the fatal nut.

           His luck was dismal because, even after learning of this and learning enough English reading to avoid it, they were in France, and, therefore, French was written everywhere. Amun hadn’t even thought to ask someone to read it to him - he knew the language of French but not how to read it - when he’d eaten that chocolate bar offered to him by one of the clerks at the museum.

           If not for Angelo’s quick grab for the Epinephrine pen upon seeing Amun go red and begin to wobble from dizziness, this might have been his second death.

           As it was, Amun was now sitting in a Parisian hospital an hour after arrival. They’d managed to easily stabilize him and get him mostly back to normal. “Mostly” because he had weird heart palpitations and only half the number of lungs he should have. Professor Carter and Angelo had escorted the doctor out about twenty minutes back to try to explain it away with various “disorders” that he had causing such things, but Amun would put his gold on the language barrier holding them up.

           He sighed, still bored as he played with the bed sheets and cords sticking to his chest and registering his heart rate. The room he was in was nice, somewhere situated in the ER but close to the allergy wing. It had two beds, one of which Amun was stuck in for another two hours to make sure he didn’t slip back into anaphylactic shock. Honestly, the only thing he wanted to slip into was his sarcophagus to sleep another couple thousand years.

           When the door opened, Amun looked up hoping to see a familiar Carter face, but instead a nurse and a boy with blonde hair in a wheel chair came in. The blonde, who was handsome by most standards, was likely Amun’s age (minus the whole, you know, death and revival thing), and he gave off an edge of magic (the undead teen could always sense background magic - it was an apparent thing going from school, surrounded by the stuff, and home, where it was just the leftover specks from his earlier presence).

           The most noticeable thing, though, was that his skin was covered in hives and welts.

           The boy was put into the opposing bed and hooked up to an IV as a second nurse closed the divider shade. Amun could lightly see through as they administered medication and seemed to help him change into the hospital gowns. They were all speaking French quickly - mostly the adults asking medical questions and the teen answering, before the elders left with a word that a doctor would be by soon and, if something was wrong, hit the red button.

           Then, silence.

           Amun fiddled with his sheets once more. Should he say something? Was that appropriate? Gosh darn it, he was just getting used to AMERICAN social norms let alone French ones…

           “Uh, hello?” A soft yet rough voice called from the curtain as Amun looked over. “Uh, kid on the other side? You don’t happen to have the TV remote, do you?”

           Amun blinked before processing the words. “There’s… a TV in here?” He returned in French.

           There was some shuffling before the curtain pulled back. A tired blonde - now with IV and scrubs as well as being COVERED in some sort of cream - smiled back. “Yeah, it’s right there.” He pointed to a dark corner Amun had previously not paid enough attention to. Sure enough, a small flat screen lay there.

           “Ah… Oh Ra that would have made the first hour so much more bearable.” He bemoaned.

           The kid chuckled. “I know the feeling. I’ve been in this wing enough times to know the drill. Allergies?”

           “Yes, to the accursed hazelnut.” Amun returned as he sought out the remote. He spotted it on a table on the opposite side of his bed to the other teen. “What about you?”

           “Feathers. Or, well, feathers by pigeon barrage.” The boy made a face as he was offered the electric controller. “Thanks. Got any preferences? Or do you want me to mute it?”

           “Honestly, I’ll watch anything. And, please, do leave the noise on.” Amun smiled as the boy flipped on a cartoon show. “I am Amun, by the way, Amun Carter.” He offered a hand with his name. As part of Monster High’s “interesting” offerings, they’d established a legal personhood for the undead boy when he’d enrolled, including things like birth certificate and passport. Amun’s full name was used as his first while “Carter” had been chosen for his last.

           The boy turned back before offering a hand himself. “Adrien Agreste. You’re not from around here, are you?”

           Amun chuckled as he settled back. The cartoon was one he and Angelo had watched before - a “Ben Tenyson” alien show - though this was an old episode. “Yes, I am from… ah, well, Egypt and America. How could you tell?”

           “You have a really unique accent.” Adrien returned. “Egypt and America, huh? That’s got to be one unique story.”

           “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe…” Amun trailed off.

           Now it was Adrien’s turn to chuckle. “This is Paris, dude. Unless you can top spandex heroes and pigeon villains, I assure you your story can’t be that bad.”

           The ancient teen opened his mouth, ready to retort, when the words processed. “Wait, heroes??? Villains??? Like, on the TV?”

           “Wow, where have you been?”

           “Lost to the sands of Giza for thousands of years.”

           Adrien barked a laugh at the truth, taking it as falsehood even with Amun’s complete seriousness. “Well, this isn’t thousands of years old, but magical heroes and villains did start showing up here about a year ago. It’s kind of become our new normal for Chat Noir and Ladybug to come save the day whenever a monster is afoot.”

           Amun’s curiosity was perked as he ignored the show to press Adrien for more about these magical beings. Adrien was in his element as he sang the praises of the city’s heroes - especially Ladybug - and shown all the videos and articles from the Ladyblog using his phone. Apparently, that’s how he ended up here in the first place. An “akuma,” as they called it, had attacked the city using pigeons (again), and, while the heroes had stopped it and undone the damage, Adrien had been swept into a flock of birds and feathers after the spell on them had broken. The result was a massive allergic reaction and a trip to the ER.

           Amun bit his tongue, but, man, these teen heroes would have fit right in at Monster High. After all, magic and crazy powers? Evil villains? It was like another Tuesday for the mummy boy.

           “Fascinating. You know, I think I read somewhere that there was a magical red lady of luck in ancient times as well in Egypt.” Amun mentioned as he offered the phone back. Vaguely, he began to recall one of the bedtime stories his mother passed to him before her death. “Her and her partner, the night cat. She was of the burning heat and he the restful night. They protected the Nile from all who dare poison her life-giving waters. They were legionnaires of the gods.”

           Adrien’s eyes blew wide. “Seriously? Where’d you hear that?”

           “My mother told me stories… long ago.” He smiled fondly as he remembered her. “She passed when I was ten sol- ah, about ten years old.” He explained. “My adoptive uncle looked into her stories at one point and thinks there is evidence to it, like how the Sphinx was supposed to be a memorium to them both.”

           Adrien’s eyes, if possible, popped wider before they took in all the words. “That’s amazing but… I’m sorry about your mom.”

           “Thank you.” Amun returned genuinely. While many remembered him as the illegitimate son of a pharaoh, his mother was the one who truly raised him. Not since her passing had anyone given their condolences. “But she is in the afterlife on her journey through the underworld, and her heart was always lighter than air. I know that she is fine.”

           Adrien’s smile grew larger but somehow sadder. “I like that sentiment. My mom… my mom disappeared a little over two years ago, so I always try to keep her close to my heart, wherever she is.”

           The topic shifted then from tales of magic to that of mothers. Amun spun grand stories of a mother and child chasing through grand halls and playing simple games though she always cheated in the most ridiculous ways once Amun proved he was well and good at the games. Adrien, in turn, painted the mural of a loving, doting mother who taught him about life’s beauty and a love for knowledge and the world of science, who encouraged his pursuits wherever they took him, even if it ruined his designer clothes and drove his father mad.

           When the door was opened once more, the two teens were laughing just as a third entered. His dark black and blue hair was an instant recognition to Amun, who smiled in return. “Angelo! Where have you been?”

           Angelo raised an eyebrow as he stood tall. “Uh… what are you saying?”

           Amun realized that he was still speaking French and blushed. “Sorry.” He returned in English. “Forgot which language I was in.”

           “I do that sometimes when I get caught up.” Adrien grinned as he added in English.

           Amun spun around. “You speak English?”

           Adrien shrugged as he itched one of the badges that covered the worst of the warts. It was only now that Amun noted how most of the irritation had gone down or vanished altogether. “Enough not to totally sound like a moron.” He looked to the new entry. “Hi, my name is Adrien.”

           “…Angelo.” The American boy returned unsurely.

           Amun continued ignoring his boyfriend’s friend’s hesitance. “He and I are now… what did you call it? ‘Hospital allergy anime buddies?’ Well, he’s in here for allergies, too. I did not know birds could be cursed like this!”

           Adrien chuckled at Amun’s enthusiasm over their shared ailments. “I’m just glad this stuff is working.” He waved his hand around, skin noticeably more clearer now. “My father would have a fit if my skin and health were in jeopardy.”

           Angelo stared at Adrien longer. “Uh, have I seen you somewhere before? You look… you look very familiar somehow.”

           “He kind of resembles Bastet, I think.” Amun noted as he sensed the boy’s magic once more. “Very cat-like.”

           The blonde’s face was somewhere between guarded, humorous, and completely confused. “I… don’t know how to take that.”

           “Compliment.” The American answered as he pulled up a chair. “Being compared to an Egyptian God is always a compliment in Amun’s book. By the way, Amun, the doc said you could be out in about an hour. They had some concerns about the… you know…” Angelo vaguely gestured to his abdomen. “But the great Professor Carter has saved the day once more.��

           The mummy boy scratched his bed shirt (and under wrappings, which were still used as his skin had yet to knit itself back together fully even as his internal organs began to grow back) at the gesture. “I still do not understand why it is such a big deal.”

           The blue and black haired boy rolled his eyes. “And THIS is why I think you’ve spent too much time with Cloe.”

           The door swung open as a doctor and two nurses came in followed by a woman in a fashionable suit. The Carter boys looked in confusion as Adrien had full recognition on his face. “Natalie?”

           “Hello Adrien.” She nodded, ignoring the other teenage occupants of the room. “This is Doctor Danvers. He’s going to transfer you to another, private room for a full evaluation. Your father is attempting to return to the city now from his distribution house, but traffic is appalling post attack.”

           Adrien nodded and looked to the two boys. Natalie had, of course, spoken in French, so while Amun had understood her, Angelo was at a loss. “So, I’m getting transferred around, but it was great talking to you guys!” He smiled brightly. “Hey, you guys want to exchange numbers or something? If you’re still in the city for a few days, maybe we can hang out.”

           Natalie frowned at the boy’s words. “Adrien, you are very busy…”

           Amun ignored the woman as he cheered. “YES! We would love to talk on the fee-one.”

           “Phone. Cell.” Angelo corrected, Amun still occasionally having issues with modern technical terms even with his year spent reanimated in the modern time. Angelo, in turn, pulled around a backpack that had been hidden behind Amun’s chair. The teen rummaged around past English reading books (mostly for elementary school readers as Amun was still learning English) and found a notebook and pen. He quickly scribbled down a number and an email address before tearing the page and handing it to the Parisian teen. “Amun doesn’t have an international plan so just text me. That’s Amun’s email, though, “[email protected],” if you want to contact him directly.”

           “You know, I’ve always wanted a pen pal!” Amun grinned at Adrien even as the Nurses began to move his bed out. “Don’t forget to contact us, alright?”

           Adrien gave a thumbs up. “I’ll make fur to do! Cat’s honor!”

           As the door closed behind the blonde, he heard a belly-splitting laugh and a snort, and the boy couldn’t have been more happy as he clutched the note to his chest. He’d made a new friend, and it was awesome.

           It wasn’t until Adrien was alone, though, that Plagg flew out from his shirt pocket, having hidden there since they’d been hauled off to the hospital. “Man, that kid reeked.”

           “Plagg! That’s rude!”

           “He reeked of the dead, kid.”

           “…what?”

           “Do I need to spell it out? He was a mummy. Undead being of Egypt. The magic was all over him. Now, were’s my cheese.”

           “Wait, WHAT???”

           “You know, I think Adrien would fit in well at Monster High.”

           “Why do you say that?”

           “I don’t know. He has a weird magic about him, like Catrine and Meowlody.”

           “So… Cat kid?”

           “Cat kid.”

           Angelo shrugged as he pulled out his iPod. “Honestly, a French Monster High would be more believable then all this about heroes and villains. Want a listen?”

           Amun accepted the offered earbud. “Oh, I don’t know. Did I ever tell you the story of the Red Lady Luck and her partner the Night Cat?”

#Monster High #Miraculous #Miraculous the Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir #Allergies #Hospital Visits #FRIENDSHIP #Edorazzi's lovely OCs

[team-skull-admin]

My favorite 40 games of all-time

Made an arbitrary list of my favorite games of all-time cause I wanted to figure out where Breath of the Wild is on it. It’s, uh, pretty high. Assload of text below the break.

40: Castlevania: Aria of Sorrow I'm not the world's biggest Symphony of the Night fan (outside of the incredible soundtrack) and I think this is where Iga's seamless platformers found their footing.

39: Call of Juarez: Gunslinger I love goofy, experimental games like this and Far Cry: Blood Dragon, but I think the schtick in this (an unreliable narrator bragging about their heroic exploits) works better than Blood Dragon's dorky 80s nostalgia.

38: Rayman Origins A beautiful platformer with incredible level design. The music for the diabolical secret level is seared into my memory.

37: Cibele A short, story-centric indie game that captures the essence of playing MMOs in the mid-2000s and long-distance relationships. The awkward conversations in this game made me think about my WoW years for an entire weekend.

36: Mario Kart Wii It's not technically the "best" Mario Kart, but I actually enjoyed the motorcycles and I have fond memories of crushing my brother while we downed beers and talked shit.

35: Guild of Dungeoneering I'm usually not super into "We made X game, but added CARDS!" even though I love card games, but they nailed the loop here. I vaguely remember one of the decks being super busted, though.

34: Tropico 4 Adding a political slant to Sim City by making you the leader of a banana republic was just the slant to that formula I was looking for, and I lost a weekend circa New Year's '13 just delving into this hard.

33: Gran Turismo 2 My brother bought a PS1 off a friend when they upgraded to a PS2, and I grabbed a copy of this cheaply at the local EB Games. Once I wrapped my mind around the simulation, upgrading cars and havin fun with them here might have more to do with me being somewhat of a car person than anything else.

32: Metal Gear Solid 4 I should really put the whole series on here, but MGS4 deserves special note for making the core stealth actually fun and somehow tying all the loose ends of the insane plot together while dialing up the insanity even further.

31: Sim City 2000 I figured out how to make a 50,000 person city when I was like, 8. I still have no fucking idea how I did this. It took me till my 20s to crack 100k.

30: Pokemon Black/White People are torn on this game, but the contentious design decision to hide the old Pokemon in the postgame made every new encounter incredibly exciting in a way the series hadn't been since the orignals. The writing also shows signs of the maturity that Sun/Moon would follow through with.

29: Dragon Warrior Monsters 2 I think most would deride this series as a soulless Pokemon cash-grab on the surface, but they're actually roguelikes with a crazy monster breeding system and the most rote of stories to get you into the core loop of exploring new keys to breed ever crazier monsters.

28: Diablo 3: Reaper of Souls Diablo 3 vanilla's reliance on the auction house created design issues that were hard to look past, but Blizzard abandoning it for the expansion made the game into an incredible dungeon crawler. I never laddered, but had fun for hundreds of hours chasing loot with friends.

27: Fallout 3 I'll never forget the feeling of walking out of the vault for the first time, and feeling like I could go anywhere. I also think this is the only Bethesda game that regularly pays off when exploring - weird shit like the Republic of Dave or the man stuck in the tree are fantastic rewards for poking at the less inhabited edges of the map.

26: Bassin's Black Bass featuring Hank Parker I'm honestly wondering if the rest of the world has picked up on this game's low-key genius since I saw it for 15 bucks at a retro game store recently, but this game's arcadey fishing is incredibly satisfying and snappy. It has some major, obvious, irritating mechanical issues, but the core gameplay loop is so good I don't care.

25: Middle Earth: Shadow of Mordor I still remember my nemesis. This motherfucker was right at the beginning of the game, inside the first quest area, and was like level 5 or 6, but had a defensive ability that made it harder for me to gank him easily. So he killed me. Twice. And leveled up each time, becoming a level 12 badass who could literally sniff me out when I hid. But he was weak to fire, and I lured him to a campfire and set him ablaze, getting my revenge.

24: Super Metroid I feel like most people would have this game higher on the list, but I think the controls are floaty and Meridia is overly confusing. The rest of the game is incredible and I can't believe they pulled it off on a Super Nintendo.

23: Pokemon Sun/Moon After XY and ORAS were disapointments I was cool on Pokemon, but Sun/Moon challenged a ton of series conventions and got a lot right in the process. I can't believe how deftly this game handles dysfunctional families.

22: A Link Between Worlds This was Nintendo's hit at what was to come with Zelda - a smart, experimental take on the franchise that's easily its best 2d outing.

21: Muramasa: The Demon Blade Vanillaware's magnum opus, a gorgeous Metroidvania where everything is hand-painted. The combat's loop of mixing launchers with sword management is also incredibly fun, if not particularly deep. But fuck I loved looking at it so much and it felt good.

20: The Walking Dead Only time a video game made me cry.

19: Banjo-Kazooie The only 3d collect-a-thon platformer from that era that still holds up, it combines cheeky humor and an incredible soundtrack to craft a world that's always surprising.

18: Borderlands 2 is better crafted, but I enjoyed the dry wit and more grounded guns of the first. I've replayed this like 4 times and I'm not entirely sure why, but I have a blast each time.

17: Doom (2016) Apparently the secret to making this license work in a modern context is to give Halo combat arenas a healthy dose of cocaine and play Meshuggah riffs over it. It so fucking works.

16: Saints Row: The Third I think the writing in GTA is usually sophomoric at best and its attempts at commentary are eye-roll worthy, but having a game say "FUCK IT" and just Mel Brooks that experience is such a wonderful idea. It's also hard to pull off, and SR3 totally sticks the landing (unlike the sequel).

15: Super Mario World The best traditional Mario game. I replayed it recently, and it struck me how much secret exits add to the level design versus 3, and how freed Koji Kondo is by the new hardware. The castle music's classical overture sticks out.

14: Monster Hunter 4 I liked Monster Hunter 3's various iterations but I hated swimming. Taking out swimming and replacing it  with mounting was enough for me to sink hundreds of hours. I actively avoided getting Generations because I knew it would interfere with school.

13: Mario Golf (GBC) The perfect portable game. Golf works well on the platform, and adding basic RPG hooks was enough to make a rote story totally engaging.

12: Super Mario Maker I think the real triumph of Mario Maker isn't the levels (which are usually terrible), it's how Nintendo imparted the feeling of being creative in such an easily digestible and satisfying way. It's an achievement that ascends past Mario design (which still works here) into something greater and more profound.

11: Hearthstone I fucking hate this game and I keep playing it because the Arena is like literal fucking crack and every time I have an opponent at 1 life and they beat me they can eat fucking dicks.

10: Super Mario RPG Clever writing and a strange world grabbed me way harder than Intelligent System's later Paper Mario games. It's too easy and doesn't look as slick now, but the writing still holds up.

09: Mass Effect Trilogy You can't really separate these, as the experience that makes Mass Effect great was carrying your Shepard and their decisions from one game to the next. Everyone will remember Garrus, Wrex, and co. Shame about the ending.

08: Tetris I am weirdly good at Tetris. I know what a T-Spin is. I sank hundreds of hours into it on Facebook. I don't regret it.

07: Persona 4 Describe a game to me as a mix of a J-RPG and a slice-of-life anime and I'll run to the hills, so the fact this game's sharp, mature writing and "just one more day" calendar mechanic combined into one of my favorite games of all-time is a shock. They also put in Pokemon with fucking demons, how cool is that shit?

06: Ocarina of Time I can't believe this game came out in 1998. The world is still fun to traverse, and the dungeon design (especially as an adult) still holds up at the top of action-adventure puzzle design.

05: Magic: the Gathering I wish it was less expensive otherwise it'd be higher.

04: Breath of the Wild I can't believe Nintendo reinvented the wheel so well that I'm putting the game so high on the list. Every design decision in this game is carefully considered to make exploring this iteration of Hyrule that much more satisfying. And its incredibly clever chemistry engine, where every object in the game has chemical properties that can be manipulated as well as physics, creates a ton of emergent gameplay scenarios where you're constantly asking "Can I do that?" and the game almost never lets you down.

03: World of Warcraft Sometimes I regret the 4000 hours I spent in Azeroth, but I'd have a hard time giving up the friends I made there. I could probably shred and like, speak another language though.

02: Pokemon Red I was the perfect age for Pokemon mania, and the fact that the core game was literally designed to appeal to me didn't help. I still love collecting the things and min/maxing ways to beat the Elite 4 with minimal grinding.

01: Mega Man X I think this is literally the perfect platformer. Moving X feels incredible. There's nothing in any of the levels I think is out of place. The soundtrack is a masterpiece. And the game's hidden secret is so insane you'd probably call bullshit on any kid who told it to you at recess. I'm really glad the rest of the world picked up on it after Arin Hanson did a Sequelitis about it, because I've been beating this drum for decades.

[worldcakecakecake]

Throwing Cellphones

                     Feliciano gets himself a sugar daddy.

So remember that request about a sugar daddy AU? Remember when I said it was just going to be a long one-shot...I lied, it’s going to be a multichapter. Apparently to me there’s no such thing as a simple idea. I gave it more thought in my mind and it turned into this huge thing and I really wanted to make it so...here. Don’t worry it’s not going to be the largeness of Feliciano and the King of Hearts. It’s probably going to be only 10 chapters or a slight more, who knows, but it aint an epic novel. I have enough written down and for the new year I wanted to start with it. I’ll be quick with this one, don’t worry guys, expect updates on FATKOH as usual.

                 I’ll be updating this one every Monday.

Why the tittle? I didn't have any more ideas, it was a random tittle after I realized there’s a lot of phone throwing in this story.

Also, if this is a lifestyle you pursue or you get the idea after reading this, please let me warn you that you should REALLY research this well before you dive into it. This is a work of fiction and you should not expect something exactly like this to happen to you. I just hope that Lud here is enough of an inspiration for you to decide on what kind of sugar daddy you should settle with.

I hope you enjoy it! 

                                                                        Chapter 1

“Another refusal,” Lovino knew, he had gotten used to this kind of reaction to the point that he was unfazed. He continued with his lunch rather uncaring.

“Just when I needed it the most,” Feliciano breathed out trying to push back tears.

“Then stop submitting to galleries and actually search for a real job this time. Take this as a lesson that you should stop painting and start doing something useful.” He began to pick his empty plates and cups, along with Feliciano’s.

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me! I could very well slap you!”

But Lovino knew he wouldn’t, rolling his eyes and leaving him at the table while he went inside the restaurant. His break would be over soon, so he decided on wearing his apron and preparing his notepad for the coming orders he was to take. Expecting Feliciano to be wallowing on the mantle he had to remove, he met him with his phone back in his hand, aiming it to himself as he tried to find good light with the rising sun. He tried to put behind him the colored houses, along with the crashing sea in the center. He pulled various expressions, until he settled on a gentle smile, took the picture and looked to it proudly.

“Are you serious?” Lovino scolded.

“I’m documenting my sorrow,” was his excuse.

“You should be getting a local newspaper and looking for job openings.”

He went and took one another waiter was reading and threw it before him. Feliciano sighed in defeat, but not before choosing a right filter, adding ‘#broke but still cute and Italian’, posting it to his Instagram, putting his phone away and taking the long newspaper to start looking. Lovino did him the favor of also throwing a highlighter.

“I assume you’ll be staying at my place until you get the rent money,”

”Yep!” That very instant he circled an add.

Lovino grumbled but had to accept, the only good thing being that he knew his younger brother would cook and try to keep the apartment tidy while he was away…even if he would use it for his selfies and make aesthetic pictures to post on his Instagram and Tumblr pages. Didn’t he also have quick cooking videos in Facebook? Sometimes Lovino wished he could get paid for all the effort he was giving to these pages.

  He left resumes in two cafes outside Manarola or just the cinque terre area, which would give him an effort, but he was desperate for anything.

As he took the train back to Lovino’s apartment, he checked on galleries outside of Liguria, specifically Piedmont. During the process he received a message from a Hungarian follower that he had befriended well over the last two years. She had just found out about his situation and suggested he began to sell some of his paintings and sculptures on Etsy.

‘People would only want something abstract and that is not for me’ he messaged her, growing spite because it was the very reason for why his paintings were denied in many of the galleries he submitted.

‘Come on Feli, your paintings are amazing, they get hundreds of likes and shares in your pages’

‘yes, but no buyers. Why buy when you can easily rip it off online and print them out. I’ve been thinking about just starting commissions’

He was thinking about prices and how to decorate the announcement when he arrived to Manarola and went up to Lovino’s apartment. It was dark and empty when he arrived, remembering that Lovino had a date with his Spanish boyfriend outside the village and probably wouldn't return till the next morning. He dropped on the couch, legs upon it taking the entire space, letting the reminding light of the day fall upon him and he welcomed it like an embrace. Perfect selfie time, he thought with a chuckle, taking out his phone and a picture of the grand view of the setting sun from the window. He then turned it towards himself and began to pose. He dropped his long sleeve white shirt to reveal his neck and shoulders, teasing eyes with a seductive grin, something that had many of his followers drooling upon seeing, no matter man or woman. He wished he hadn’t left his flower crowns with his grandfather back in Rome, and he also wished he had something richer like diamonds or pearls decorating his chest than just some shinny rock Lovino tied with a string for him on his last birthday. He touched upon his bare chest with sad wishes, but settled none the less. He still thought he looked amazing.

He posted both the pictures, side by side, the perfect filters, good tags, and the likes started pouring in. He leaned back into the couch, looking to the sun setting over the near sea.

For a guy who was currently living in Cinque Terre, you would have expected him to be on a fancy yacht, on his way to his mansion of opulence, of golds, diamonds, Armani suits and cooks that made him all the focaccia he wanted. Yet here he was, in a rundown apartment that actually belonged to his older brother, in old jeans and shoes, and an empty kitchen that expected his working no matter how tired he was. But he let himself rest in the dream, in which his paintings finally got accepted into galleries and were sold in many hundreds. He relished on fancy parties and travel to Antarctica, with a- a sudden buzzing awoke him, the skies dark, only the dim lighting of some of the street lamps that reached the window. The phone showed his Instagram notifications of likes, requests, comments and a message from Elizabeta. He opened that one first:

‘ooohhh look at youuuu’- surely about the last selfie he posted- ‘who needs a job when you can get yourself a sugar daddy’

It got him a big laugh, lighting with the energy to finally rise and cook onward.

He found it very ridiculous, yet he messaged back jokingly:

‘aaahhh yes, a hunky filthy rich daddy is just what I need right now! Hook me up!’

  A month in, a single job working at a tucked gelato shop in Portofino, commissions open, and still he lived under his older brother’s roof. None of the two things were justly enough. The money he earned he usually used on train rides, food and materials for his paintings. It was no chance back at his own apartment, or leave outside the villages and head to Genova perhaps.

He was currently taking a third request, but his client was asking for something small that the most Feliciano could charge would be twenty euros. He checked the kitchen, Lovino hadn’t gone to the market in a while, so there was not enough to make something new and it meant dealing with the leftovers from yesterday. He groaned but accepted, heating up a bowl of stew.

As he decided to re share his page of commissions, he stumbled upon a rather provocative add of a beautiful young woman sitting upon the lap of an older man, handsome, but still surely reaching his fifties. ‘arrangement.com’ it read at the top, along with a ‘Meet the perfect sugar daddy just for you’. He laughed, for he had recently been joking about this to Elizaveta, and it seemed his browsers were starting to notice and were beginning to send rather harsh signs.

Oh no, no, no, definitely not.

He scrolled past it.

  “-about Antonio.”

“What about him?”

“So we’ve been-”

“You broke up again?”

“No!” Lovino was about ready to throw his Panini at him. When he calmed down, he continued: “We’ve been together for three years now and… we kind of decided to-”

Feliciano gave a happy and excited gasp, “You’re getting married!”

“No!” This time he threw him a piece of lettuce. “Would you please listen first!” He shouted and Feliciano nodded in approval this time, slightly intimidated after that outburst. Lovino calmed, coughed, took a deep breath and tried to earn back the confidence he needed to tell him this. “Antonio and I, we decided to move in together.”

Feliciano gave no instant reaction. He looked around as Lovino sat worriedly, expecting something, but his younger brother did not understand for what.

“So?” He questioned.

“So um…yeah, I’m going to be living with him,”

“That’s amazing! I’m actually really glad for you! It be nice to have someone extra around the apartment. I assume Antonio would be sleeping in your bed, so I can keep my room. You have to admit it turned out really nice after I redecorated, I’m thinking of adding a collage of pictures of all our trips around Italy, I’m sure Antonio would love it!”

“Uh, actually, Antonio and I decided, that I…would be moving in with him.”

And that’s when he understood, his joyous expression deflating until he settled with clear dejection.

“I mean, I don’t think Antonio would mind having you at his apartment, but…”

“It’s not like I’m going to be a burden, you know I can clean and cook,”

“I know, not that you can’t go, but I kind of prefer that we’ve had more…intimacy.” The blush on Lovino’s face was enough for Feliciano to get.

“Oh,” he simply answered, knowing that he was doomed to return to his own apartment.

“I’m sure you get enough now to pay the rent,”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t.

If he only paid his rent, he would starve, resort to digital drawings and visits to their local church to pray. But he didn’t want Lovino to worry, especially when he had such a happy chance with his boyfriend. How could he ruin that? How could he come between them?

He took his most trustworthy smile and changed the topic to something about the last celebrity that came vacationing to their area.

  His visits to the church had only worked in having a nice old lady make him some food that he could bring back to his apartment. She lived close and saw him often run hurriedly to the train. She had an enact sense to tell when he was hungry and Feliciano would always return to have a whole new pot of food that could last him three days. He deeply appreciated her for this, but it did not make him feel any better.

He only managed to pay rent because he was borrowing from Lovino, and he managed to pay for his phone borrowing from Nonno Roma.

He felt so inadequate, and currently, even worst when he received another refusal from a gallery in Pavia. It said the same thing as always: that they would be willing to consider if he submitted another style or theme. He threw the letter harshly to the floor, stomping it to pieces and then falling to his old couch in a long groan.

His desperation took peek, so he cried and whimpered as he had accustomed himself to doing these lonely days and nights where all he could think about was his disastrous situation. Sometimes he would go on until he grew too tired or until Elizabeta would cheer him up with some new meme that was raging on the internet. It was late unto the night when he received such message, raising his face from his tear stained pillow to the glowing phone.

Elizabeta instead was informing him that one of his favorite artist online just started a webcomic, and guess what about, yep, about a young girl in Las Vegas who becomes involved with the rich owner of the most wealthy hotel in the city, basically becoming his sugar baby. Elizabeta would never stop teasing him about this. Sure, he was sick of it, but that didn’t stop him from actually starting to read it. At least it helped to keep his emotions at bay for the night.

As he kept on his reading, and catching up with the updates, Feliciano began to get very envious about the main character of this webcomic. She started out as the single daughter of this alcoholic mother who didn’t bother in trying to help their poor economic state. Wanting to go to college to have a successful degree in marketing, she tries to save up with her job as a maid in one of the many big hotels the city is known for. There she meets with the very man who changes her life, and Feliciano read and watched as the girl’s life changes to one of diamonds, of expensive branding, of five star hotels in Monaco, as well as the success of her career and a very handsome man at her side that made all of this happen.

It was rather silly to get flared with anger about this, to look to his messed apartment, his heated food from the last pot Signora Sara gave him, his breaking converse shoes, and rage that he was letting himself go through this when he could easily change it with the charm and seduction of a nice rich man. It was tempting him more strongly, especially with the raging ads, the idea pushing him on researching stories and articles, until one day he finally decided.

  With a wink, pink lips in a kiss, sun shining brightly on him to alight his skin, hair and eyes, his neck free and only but a tight white shirt to show off his slimness but just right contour lines. And of course, an orchid flower crown on his hair to match with the rising curls and the shine of his ends like blazing fire.

Venice, Italy Age: 22 Height: 172 cm (5’7.7) Hair Color: Brown Eye Color: Brown Interested in: Men and Women Education: Bachelors in Art History Relationship Status: Single Children: None Smoking: None Drinking: Definitely Lifestyle Expectation: Negotiable

About Me: Although I was born in Venice, it is not the only place in Italy I have made my home. I’ve lived in Rome, Florence and currently in Manarola, and have explored and know a great deal of this beautiful country that I’m proud to call home and be a part of. I will be happy to show you every little corner you desire to see and hope that you can catch up with my ramblings of food, culture, art periods and my sudden bursts of singing. I am cheerful, energetic and I really like to spend my time out doing whatever the sun’s rays have to offer and not wasting time on the bleak and tragic. Take me to a dump and I’ll try to make the best of it (But please don’t actually do that). I’ll be honest and say that I’m currently going through some harsh times as I don’t have enough money to pay anything and I am relying on what my family could give, as well as some little things from my art commissioning. It’s not letting me enjoy life to the potential it should be, and I’m hoping to find somebody who could not only help me, but someone who I can spend a good time with, that can show me a whole new world of things I haven’t tried, to have silly but also deep conversations about life or what kind of gelatos flavors there should be and cool nights to spend in arms together. What you could give and I can accept I would gladly speak over e-mails. 

Done, posted, it was out there for all to see. He threw his phone to the other side of the couch in shame.

He did what most articles and blogs suggested. Eloquently, attracting, quick, just enough and not overly detailed. The picture was the one with the most likes on his Instagram, which got him messages from both cute boys and girls, and of course, the random annoying dick picks or naked girls in his inbox. Now he just hoped it would be enough to attract the nice rich man he had been dreaming about the last few days.

His creeping shame still continued, and as to distract himself, he decided on tidying his apartment, washing dishes, throwing some trash and hoping his mind could focus solely on carpaccio.

For the next two days, his inbox was flooded with all kinds of suitors. Well actually, only one kind, the type that already made heinous remarks at him, begging for more pictures, detailing what exactly they would do to him, but no talking of the negotiations Feliciano had expected when he first signed up to the site. He didn’t take them seriously, ignoring them and not offering any kind of response that would surely waste his time when he was honestly needy. He was supposed to be expecting a respectable aged man, but yet all he got were comments seeming to be written by hormonal teenage boys.

Great, not even this seemed to be working.

He went that early afternoon to work at the gelato shop as was expected of him, being grateful that it was a rather dull day as it was Tuesday and barely any tourists came down. Only a small family that lived in the village had come, and two college girls from the Philippines, who he enjoyed a quick flirt with. He had plenty of time to just sit at the back counter, look through his phone or look out to the shinning day, practically deserted by people, the waves and boats clear for him to see as they swayed with the sea. Such peace to only be disturbed by the sudden bell ring of a new customer. Feliciano quickly hid his phone and stood up, his welcoming smile ready to serve.

Once he took a glimpse of this man, it took sheer strength to not melt by his strong and tall build, intense blue eyes and powerful features. Instead of wearing the typical shorts and buttoned shirts Feliciano had accustomed from his customers, he wore a rather heavy suit, of expensive branding, Feliciano noticed as he stared to the buttons and the insignia in the man’s coat. It was rather heavy for a day in which the sun was shining brightly. Not even celebrities came dressed like that when they came into the village.

These kinds of men never really paid much attention to rustic hidden gelato shops, so why was he here? Did he perhaps want to buy something for a little daughter of his? Was he dared? Did he get lost trying to find his way to a hotel or a special business meeting? Or was he honestly looking to have some good gelato?

He began to move closer, to the counter and where all the flavors were presented. He gave the entire shop a thorough inspection and then settled his eyes heavily on Feliciano. Their eyes met and Feliciano’s brain seemed to have electrocuted, his slight heavy breathing surely noticeable and all words forgotten, even how to wish a simple good afternoon. It didn’t help when the stranger didn’t say anything either, but stared on, examining, down his body as if he was the flavor that was being showcased. No matter how handsome he was, it was starting to become uncomfortable and for some reason he wanted to cover himself despite being fully clothed.

“Be, dimmi?” He finally said, even if he had stuttered.

And suddenly the stranger had awakened from the exploration he had given the scooper, away from his thoughts, away from what he had imagined.

“…Sprichst du Deutsch?”

Oh god, he was foreign, and although he knew enough German to understand what he just said, his brain was too blanked to articulate in another language. The sudden silence and stammering assured the other enough.

“I’ll take a small cup of black cherry and vanilla.” At least.

As he turned around to fetch the cup and the scoop, he bended slightly and he knew that the stranger was ravaging him with his eyes again, down his back, to his rear and thighs. He turned quickly, his blush evident as he picked the flavors, stabbed the spoon, and handed it way too harshly he was afraid he would punch him accidentally in the face.

He took his cup gently without a problem and then handed him…fifty euros.

“Sir, do you perhaps have something smaller?” He didn’t know if there was enough change in the register.

“Keep it,” he said simply, turning away with one last spoonful and leaving Feliciano dumbfounded alone before he could deny.

Once he was out of sight, he took out his phone and instantly started texting.

‘this really hot German just came into the shop and gave me fifty euros’

‘FIFTY EUROS???!!!! Eyyyy…what did you do ;)’ Elizabeta replied

‘noootthiiinggg, he just gave them to me, but mmmpphhh, I would have gladly done anything for him. You should have seen him Lizzie, tall, hunky, blond, blue eyes, and he came in wearing a suit!!!!!’

‘lol Sounds like the man of your dreams’

‘He was checking me out too’

‘oh do tell ;D’

Now he hated how soon their meeting had been, how quick he had gone, wishing he could have remained longer to let his eyes journey as they had done shortly. He should have opened his legs to tease, should have swayed his hips slightly, coax him into seeing and wanting more. But, he was gone! A tragedy he wrote to Elizabeta as he closed the shop for the night and made his way to the train station to go back to his apartment. So distracted he was with it, that he wasn’t aware of the pair of eyes that followed him, that walked with him, that even reached his own apartment.

As Feliciano was heating his last batch from Signora Sara, he remembered how the extra fifty euros was enough to let him do some grocery shopping. He could finally cook something on his own, and it was with that prospect that he remained with a smile as he went to his small table and ate.

By the time he finished, there was a sudden knock at the door, rare in the night and even fearsome.

Lovino wouldn’t visit without sending him a text beforehand, Nonno Roma couldn’t have come from Rome as he was busy with his own schedule, and he really didn’t have friends in the village or in the area who would visit him suddenly like this.

Fearing a robber or some kidnapper, he picked up one of the lighter chairs, hoping he could throw it against any intruder just in case.

He pushed the door open, aiming his chair, but when he looked, there was absolutely no one there. He put the chair down and looked around, finding no sudden presence, no lone figure walking down the street.

That was odd.

He was just about to come back in and close the door when something attached to the wall caught his attention. It was a rich black box, with a silver shinning card tag imprinted with his name, written in beautiful cursive. He took it with him inside, closing the door and locking it just in case. He turned the item around, trying to see if there was something else besides the card, wondering what it could possibly hold. But he wasn’t going to know anytime soon if he didn’t actually open it. It had his name on it, so surely it was meant for him.

It revealed a spectacular diamond evening necklace, shining brightly in the dim lighting of the apartment, and the silence was interrupted with Feliciano’s wondered aw. It was simple, yet rich and just what he wanted. He touched it, feeling it real, its wealth, continuing to tell himself that it was actually for him- but…who even gave it to him?

He took a peek through the window to see if he could meet another hint, but that’s when he noticed the envelope stuck at the top of the box. He took it, the paper as fine as the necklace, even stamped with a seal that held an intricate ‘B’. He rushed to open it, inside holding a printed letter in silver ink, shinning with the glow of the lights. It read:

I saw and read your profile on arrangement.com and must admit that you were the most alluring of all the young men there. I instantly sought to make you mine and came to Italy myself just as I had business to attend in the area. I figured this would be much better than an e-mail. I have already made reservations for the two of us at Ristoranti ai Castelli in Sestri Levante. I have placed the number of a chauffeur that can take you at the designated time if you have any problems getting there. We can discuss whatever we need to over dinner tomorrow at eight. I’ll be looking forward and I hope you can consider me well for the position of your benefactor or…’Sugar Daddy’ – L. B.

This was definitely better than any of the e-mails he had received.

It was rather obscure though. All he had for identification was the ‘L.B.’, no picture and no profile to check. His only way of finding out was this dinner for tomorrow, and how could Feliciano refuse when he gave him this beautiful diamond necklace and offered food.

                                                                                                   next chapter >

#Throwing Cellphones #gerita #gerita fanfiction #gerita fic #gerita fanfic

[itshummelswitch]

KURILEY | Explosion.

When: May 2nd, 2020.

Where: Riley’s house.

Who: Riley & Kurt Hummel. | @rilcyhummel

Event: Riley admits something, Kurt lashes out out of frustration and hurts himself accidentally. 

Triggers: Mentions of suicidal thoughts and attempts. Self-harm. Blood.

Their sister had left an hour ago, the dishes had been cleaned off the table, and Kurt was now in the spare bedroom of Riley's with his arms folded with a judgmental squint. He had brought over equipment they needed to set-up his new play area for the new job he was going to be doing. Trading the mothballs and dust for sweat and questionable bodily fluids. It would make him more money, as that's what his main concern was right now. Needing to feel more sated in his wardrobe. Idly from that knowledge does his mind jump back to his and Riley's brief text conversation. About the white sweats. About the staining them red. Something that tightened in his chest. It wasn't like they hadn't done that before, but god. Maybe it was the recent conversation with a submissive who had just brushed off death and tried to justify his argument with religion that left a bad taste in Kurt's mouth. Before he can stop himself, he opens his mouth. "Were you serious about staining your white sweats?" 

Riley had chosen to focus his energy on the ring light for the moment. He was sitting on the floor of the spare room surrounded by the pieces. Screwdriver in hand. He was so focused in fact that he almost missed the question that his brother let fall from his lips. “Of course I was. When have I ever not been serious about something like that?” He was hoping to gloss over the real reason behind the fascination but something in Kurt’s tone said that it was going to see the light of day sooner rather than later. “Why do you ask?” He looks up from his work briefly and raises his brows.

Shifting on his feet as the question gets redirected back at him, Kurt can only give a helpless shrug. Why did it matter? Why did he ask? He knew his brother like the back of his hand. Anything more sinister and sadistic was his thing. It always had been. But it had been stuck in his head, the vivid image of the white speckled and painted with bits of red. Maybe the whole topic of death was what had him on edge. After the whole Easter debacle. The brush off that being dead was better than here. "I don't know." He kicks his socked toe against the hardwood floor, avoiding the look Riley was giving him over the top of those glasses of his. "I've just been on edge lately regarding...stuff like that. Been hashing over the fact that I almost lost you forever once, and the knowledge that you did that thing where Sylvester had to step in."

His heart sunk when Kurt brought up his first attempt. Riley closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. This conversation was not going to end well. He could sense it. Especially with the bomb that he was going to have to drop. Even though he didn’t want to. He just wanted to go on keeping that locked away. Taking out his frustrations and sorrows through his sadistic headspace. It’s how he’d been coping since that night. Why change it now? Because Kurt deserved to know, that’s why. “Twice.” His voice is low, almost embarrassed. A pause, eyes starting to sting but he refuses to let tears get to the point of falling. “She’s had to intervene twice.”

It was like a bomb had gone off that left Kurt's ears ringing. Twice. What did that mean? It was like swimming through molasses to get the connection with the words. Everything dimming darker around the edges, and suddenly he was back in high school. Looking down at his late mother's prescribed medicine bottle in his parents bathroom. He was back there. For a moment. And then he was back, staring hard at Riley. Rising to his full height, which of course would be towering over his brother in the floor, but even so. "What's that now? Twice?" His eye twitches. Remembering the video chat they had last time when he had Blaine over and couldn't leave him. But this time, he was here. Now. No phone separating them. "And you failed to mention this WHY?!"

He suddenly felt so small from his position on the floor. It was a weird shift within him and he hated it but he was rooted on the spot. Fingers turning the screwdriver over and over while he tries to reign those emotions back in. “Because it never comes up organically in conversation?” He starts, hyper focusing on a screw on the floor. “Did you want me to bring down the mood of chats we’ve been having lately with — Oh hey, by the way, I decided to throw myself off a building once because I found out I was never going to have an heir on this island. — And then continue on like nothing happened? That I didn’t just say that?”

Kurt's eyes stung. Hard. He couldn't keep them from rising to the surface, spilling over. He didn't know what to feel, or how to take this new information. It was processing very slowly in his head and making everything hurt. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, he wraps his arms around himself with a deep and controlled breath. The vision of Riley falling, alone and upset. "I would've thought we were more open and honest about this stuff, Riley!" He snaps, or really shouts, at his brother. He isn't meaning to lash out. This was obviously upsetting, but why did it bubble in his stomach like anger? Or was it nausea? Hard to tell. He has to take a calming breath through his nose, needing to try and keep himself from hyperventilating. "How did she intervene this time?"

He doesn’t want to relive the moment. Didn’t want to bring up another thing about this island that was hidden from the masses. Known only to those who had been so stupid and reckless to attempt what he did. “She, uh...” Riley started, eyes falling shut. “Distracted me with...you.”

Kurt blinks rapidly, as if that is going to make him hear better. But it was a natural reaction. To try and process what he was hearing. Him? How? Did she use blackmail somehow? How would she even — "She didn't have a cardboard cutout of me that she waved in front of you did she?"

He lets out a snort of laughter despite himself and shakes his head. “No...it was more of mirage. It felt so real, Kurt. Somehow she managed to get your voice and face perfect. I don’t know how the hell she pulled it off. Or why she has that type of technology or magic but...it clearly worked.”

Deflecting. Something Kurt's good at doing. Heading Riley's snort of laughter is all he needed to confirm he's still good at using humor as a way to avoid further negative emotions. Keeping the boiling down in his gut. A mirage? Sylvester literally got him to appear before Riley to pull him back? Was that all it took? Despite himself, he lets out a choked sound of disbelief, caught in his throat as he steps back to rest against the dresser drawers, bringing his hands to his face. "Oh my god...I'm so sorry, Riley. You wouldn't have been here if we didn't have that fight —" that damn fight he has to replay over in his head. Every well, leave then and fuck off, you mean nothing to me anymore. "— You have to promise me. You won't leave me! You can't leave me!" God, he sounded so selfish. "Promise me!"

“Stop apologizing for the fight that I started.  We can’t go back and change anything that happened.” A pause, fingers flexing around the screwdriver. “Now we’re here. We’re together. I don’t plan on doing anything stupid again.” His tone was a little clipped. There were too many emotions flowing through him in that moment to focus on what way his voice came out.

Whatever the reason, Kurt feels himself trying to make himself smaller. He hated when Riley used that tone on him. With anyone else? Could care less. With him? He wanted to disappear. Maybe it was reflex, but he wants to hit something and chooses the top of the dresser to do it. And that was how he broke a hand mirror against the side of his hand. His first reaction wasn't to do much except wince, until his hand stared feeling wet. Warm, and throbbing. Ignoring it, he clenches his jaw. "Don't snap at me. I just found out my brother tried to...tried to...twice!"

Riley’s head snaps up when he hears the loud thud with a hint of glass breaking. It was also when he realized that he hadn’t been making eye contact with his brother the whole time. It was decidedly out of character for him. But once he finally caught on to what had happened he was up on his feet and in Kurt’s personal space. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.” He grabs for his hand to inspect the damage. “Let me see what you did.”

Pain was flowing through his hand, traveling up his arm even as his body signaled of the damage. A piece of glass was embedded in his hand, nothing too deep but enough to cause a nice flow of red pooling around the area and on the broken hand mirror. Not wanting Riley to change the subject, not when they had gone this far and he hadn't even promised - he needed to promise him he wouldn't do this again. "I'm fine!" He tugs his hand free out of his brother's hand, only to throw more weight behind the action which slams his whole forearm back against the vanity mirror, making things worse. His arm went through the reflection, sending shards raining down on the dresser top, and through his alabaster skin. If the piece in his hand wasn't bad enough, he got larger ones shredding over his arm. Well, fuck. Not even caring now, he holds his arm securely against his chest, watching the usual pale skin tint red. "...I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Riley didn’t say anything. Instead he led Kurt out of the room, through the hall and into the car as quickly as he could. Usually he would have been able to administer first aid on his own but with the amount of glass embedded in his brother’s arm and how many cuts there were, it was best to get him professional help. “We will continue our conversation once they get you patched up, okay?”

He was too shaken. Too pumped up on adrenaline from so much happening at once. He didn't even realize he was being guided out of the room until he was being directed into the car. He felt sick. Cold. Sinking in his seat more, not bothering to respond to Riley as he could only stare blankly at his arm. Any slight bump in the road would cause another shock of pain spreading through his arm, over his shoulder, and making everything ache. Tense and pulled tight.

#[ baby penguin para ] #[ ship | you jump i jump remember ]

[joronomo]

5 Brutal Self-Owns From the Week

New Post has been published on https://joronomo.com/5-brutal-self-owns-from-the-week/

5 Brutal Self-Owns From the Week

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This week has been weirdly filled with large-scale self-owns – to the degree we felt the need to compile some of the best. Please enjoy these idiots who made themselves look even stupider:

1. Baked Alaska, who threatened a lawsuit over a photo (that he forgot that he made)

America’s favorite possibly-self-macing internet racist – Twitter user @BakedAlaska – took issue with a news story posted by AJ Plus that called him a white supremacist (no idea why anyone would accuse him of that!) and for photoshopping a gun over a picture of his face. And who can blame him? It’s a sloppy photoshop job and certainly paints him as a violent individual – where would AJ Plus get such an idea?!

Wow @ajplus photoshopped a picture of me holding a gun & calls me white supremacist, putting me in danger! BIG LAWSUIT coming! pic.twitter.com/lQ726zoqNi

— Baked Alaska™ (@bakedalaska) September 6, 2017

Oh! Right. They got the idea ACTUAL PHOTO from – you guessed it – @BakedAlaska:

get in bitch we are saving the world pic.twitter.com/w76DEkHCrs

— Baked Alaska™ (@bakedalaska) August 8, 2017

This is a pretty brutal self-own – threatening to sue an organization for photoshopping you….and then finding out it was YOUR PHOTOSHOP they were using. And it was LESS THAN A MONTH OLD. And – somehow – he has not yet deleted either the tweet accusing AJ Plus of improper reporting NOR his original photoshop.

2. Ian Miles Cheong, who is convinced that we haven’t been to space

Who is Ian Miles Cheong? Well, if you’re not familiar with THE ETHICS OF TRUE VIDEOGAMES JOURNALISM (and the various controversial factions of insanely angry individuals who obsess over the perceived bias of videogame websites), he might be a stranger to you. He fashions himself as a videogame and culture journalist, writing primarily for the right-wing outlet The Daily Caller.

But more importantly, he’s the type of writer who spends pretty much every day tweeting nonstop about whatever’s making him mad at that particular moment, and usually in extremely weird, nonsensical ways – like saying humanity had not gone to space circa 1977 because a child likes to dress in drag.

A few issues here (beyond the grammatical problems):

1. What the hell is he talking about?

2. Why is a cute video of a kid who likes to dress up in drag making him so mad that his brain is short-circuiting and making him say that humanity’s greatest dream in 1977 was to someday travel into space?

3. We had absolutely been to space by 1977…HOW IS THIS BEING DEBATED?

Of course, Cheong wouldn’t let things like “basic logic” stop him from making the most baffling and pointless tweet in recent memory – and proceeded to argue that TECHNICALLY previous space travel didn’t count as ACTUAL SPACE?

This is the laziest clapback, and also wrong. The earth’s outer atmosphere extends all the way out to 960 km. Yuri Gagarin achieved 200 km. pic.twitter.com/OsFSwGjPic

— Ian Miles Cheong (@stillgray) September 4, 2017

His answer was “dig in way harder” and “completely change what he was talking about.” 

If you find yourself arguing about what technically counts as “space travel” online, maybe it’s time to accept the L and move on.

3. Louise Mensch, who fired her own lawyer….over Twitter….for correcting Evan McMullin…

This has been a banner year (of sorts) for Louise Mensch, aka the dumbest,  most easily duped faux-journalist to ever enter the online world. For months and months she drew attention to herself for her supposed insider info about Trump’s purported collusion with Russia and how the Supreme Court was planning to impeach him (despite, uh, how easy it is to check how the actual impeachment process works, and how it does not involve the Supreme Court) and that the death penalty was already being discussed for Trump and Steve Bannon. And as the investigation into the Trump campaign’s communication with Russia, Louise Mensch is proving a massive thorn in the side of the world of public opinion – since it becomes so much easier to dismiss actual evidence of collusion as phony when Louise Mensch is continually serving up heaping helpings of bullshit and being taken seriously enough to get published in the New York Times.

Still, Louise Mensch has a long and storied history of bizarre claims with no bearing on reality that I won’t attempt to summarize here – the point is that she gave herself a brutal, unprompted self-own this week by publicly firing her lawyer…ON TWITTER.

This is real – Mark Zaid was serving as a pro bono lawyer for Mensch, and now (apparently) no longer has her as a client. And the cause, bizarrely, was that he asserted (correctly) that the United States had engaged in propaganda campaigns (not to mention supporting coups) in other foreign nations throughout the years to subvert their democratic institutions. And Mensch decided to publicly embarrass both Zaid and herself with a weird, petty social media firing.

4. Peter Daou, who launched the stupidest website of 2017 and has been melting down ever since

Peter Daou is a special kind of online news pundit – one who unabashedly is dedicated to one person and one person only: former presidential candidate Hillary Clinton. His politics seem to lean left, but primarily in service to Secretary Clinton moreso than any firmly-held beliefs of his own. He could not be more clear about this: he was banking everything on her victory in November, and her loss has left him a shattered man – and now brags about his greatest enemies from the rightwing complimenting him for his loyalty to Hillary:

Both @hughhewitt and @Cernovich (political views opposed to mine), have complimented my loyalty to Hillary, which Bernie diehards NEVER do.

— Peter Daou (@peterdaou) March 14, 2017

What truly makes his abject dedication to Clinton pretty sad is that leaked emails from last year confirm the campaign did not think highly of him and found him to be “a little off.”

Still, none of this has stopped Daou from launching a new digital venture – Verrit, an online brand that specializes in…inspirational quote macros with codes attached to them? On a WordPress blog? Explicitly only for people who voted for Hillary Clinton?

The reason it’s difficult to quickly sum up what Verrit is is because it’s a nebulously-defined idea with even vaguer purpose – it’s half-opinion pieces, half-random quotes and blurbs set against gray backgrounds. The one thing uniting everything are the six-digit numerical codes attached to each image – which allows you to type in the code to the site and see the same image you were already looking at. Realistically, the code-system that forms the foundation of Verrit only works to prevent trolls from making up fake Verrits – so, essentially, it’s a defense against a problem that only could come up after it was created.

The internet’s reaction to Verrit was expected – everyone making fun of it: for it’s confusing/contradictory purpose, for it’s piss-poor design, and for the impossible-to-penetrate messaging surrounding it. But things got much more serious when the site suffered a DDOS attack after it was formally endorsed by Hillary Clinton on Twitter. Peter Daou saw the criticism, the attack, and the swirling cacophony of people yelling at him the only way he knew how – by getting insanely mad online, which includes:

Calling out reporter Sopan Deb and putting him on blast for ‘liking’ a tweet critical of Verrit.

Being so blinded by people dunking on him nonstop, was completely unable to recognize the world’s most obvious troll who appeared to be paying him a compliment:

Computer….ENHANCE:

Yes, that is a furry with the Verrit logo photoshopped on. Christ, Peter Daou, c’mon.

And, of course, the requisite insanely tweet-thread meltdown – where he equates any and all criticism of Verrit with attacks on Hillary Clinton:

1. PERSONAL THREAD: I had the WILDEST night in the fetid swamps of Hillary hate. These people are PETRIFIED of her. I’ll explain… (1/10) pic.twitter.com/G1a46DtBbz

— Peter Daou (@peterdaou) September 4, 2017

Despite pretty much every outlet online saying Verrit was a useless, pointless, poorly-thought out venture, Daou is remaining steadfast in his belief that Verrit is a worthy, noble pursuit. And honestly? You almost have to respect that kind of commitment.

5. Rush Limbaugh, who claimed Hurricane Irma was a liberal hoax perpetrated by the “climate change industry” and bottled water companies….and then evacuated Florida

Rush Limbaugh opened his week of radio programming with a pretty bold claim – the panic over Hurricane Irma was all being manufactured by conspiratorial forces looking to benefit or profit in some way off of a terrified public. While he wasn’t denying Hurricane Irma existed, he was denying that it posed any real threat and its severity was being exaggerrated for two insidious purposes:

1. To promote the “climate change agenda” by convincing people man-made climate change was partially responsible for both the frequency of recent hurricanes and their increasing strength

2. To scare people into buying bottled water

Of course, being Rush Limbaugh, he monologued about this for an insane amount of time (you can read the transcript here, if you’re into masochism), but that’s basically what it boiled down to – Irma wasn’t a big deal and was unlikely to hit South Florida in any significant way.

That was the beginning of the week – since then, Irma has decimated large portions of the Caribbean and is approaching Florida as a Category 4 storm…so Limbaugh is evacuating.

Mark Steyn is filling in on Rush Limbaugh’s radio show today, because Rush has had to evacuate his FL home/studio.

— Brian Stelter (@brianstelter) September 8, 2017

Yep – on Thursday’s show, Limbaugh said:

“May as well… announce this. I’m not going to get into details because of the security nature of things, but it turns out that we will not be able to do the program here tomorrow. We’ll be on the air next week, folks, from parts unknown.”

At no point in his program did he apologize for claiming that Hurricane Irma warnings were a hoax nor did he encourage his listeners to also evacuate. So within the span of the week, Limbaugh went from a hurricane truther to evacuating due to the same hurricane he had tried to convince his audience was no big deal.

Although, honestly, I think the most embarrassing aspect of all of this is this image Rush included in his transcript:

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#Fake News