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whoslaurapalmer · 3 years

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so i never do this but i put a lot of thought into really specific details about the structure and scene layout of (the three-part folding mirror) and i really really really want to talk about it so here are some of my notes and some general commentary

-the crux of the fic, at least the way i had envisioned it, is what vfd does to family, how it becomes biological family vs the family created by vfd

-what vfd did to specific families: -physically separated the calibans -morally separated the denouements and the snickets -somehow brought the anwhistles closer together

-in terms of ramona and olaf, ramona was there to stress the distinction of biological family vs. vfd family but also how they’re so inextricably intertwined with each other, and olaf, this is harder to tell bc he doesn’t have a point of view here, but olaf is scoping out potential candidates for his personal group of firestarters – his own sort of “family” (ramona bc she’s a duchess, ernest because he has a similar line of thought, josephine because her husband is working with the mushrooms, the white-faced women because, well they wind up in his troupe and I have very vague headcanons about how that happens)

-related; the reason frank asks olivia about miranda at the end is because, at that point in the fic, frank feels so terrible about what he said to ernest that he’s trying to reassure himself that his family is still okay because (dewey’s right) at least they’re together, compared to the calibans, who haven’t seen each other in years. it was one of the first ideas I had when I was jotting ideas down in april and it stuck with me the whole way through. I really wanted it in there. I went back and forth before I got to this plot, though, on whether or not frank or ernest would be the one asking it. but I think it fits frank. -(ahahahahahaha the kicker being that miranda really was at the party the whole time and olivia didn’t recognize her) -anyway

-the parallels in the fic were: -the denouements start the fic together, and end the fic alone (by being honest about how they feel about each other) -the snickets start the fic relatively separated, and end the fic together (by being dishonest about what happened during the party) -the denouements start the fic by playing their game, and the snickets end the fic with theirs -frank is mistaken for ernest, ernest is mistaken for frank -frank pretends to be ernest on accident, ernest pretends to be frank on purpose -dewey has never slammed a door in his life; towards the end of the fic he slams the tray -i….think that’s all of them. I think

-character-wise, jacques and frank both see themselves as the people holding their families together; when in fact for the denouements, it’s dewey, which I think is clear in this, and for the snickets it’s lemony, which is less clear here? but definitely something I agree with -dewey and kit see themselves as the most ‘normal’, and they both have relatively solitary positions of acquiring information -ernest and lemony clearly both vibe on a ‘question vfd’ wavelength -i was also interested in kit and ernest, as siblings who feel stifled by an older/perceived older sibling, and dewey and lemony, who are sometimes unnecessarily protected by their siblings because they are the youngest/perceived youngest -this doesn’t show up in the fic bc olaf’s parents are still alive, but I thought ramona and olaf were also interesting foils re: reacting to their parent’s deaths

-some narration notes: -frank never refers to ernest and dewey as his brothers, except in the scene where he argues with ernest. because frank doesn’t necessarily see the split of biological family vs vfd family but has definitely swayed more to vfd family -ernest and dewey always refer to each other as brothers. -similarly, frank refers to the members of vfd as associates, most everyone else refers to them as friends. -ernest refers to vfd as strictly VFD because he’s distanced himself from it, while everyone else calls it ‘the organization’ -frank doesn’t swear even in his narration when he’s thinking them and not saying them because it’s, still his narration. he still wouldn’t quite completely say the words. (oh, he’s like gansey, like that. the raven cycle is still on my brain. i had so many scene sketches where ernest and frank were way too callous to each other bc they kept coming out like ronan and declan.) -kit’s line at the beginning is “someone in this very room has betrayed us” which is jacques’s line from the building committee meeting in unauto. the clock saying wrong afterwards is because the someone who really betrayed them (lemony) isn’t in the room.

-the costumes, which i did decide very arbitrarily: monty: clearly a snake. olaf: sigh. wolf ramona and olivia: oh, there was actually a slight distinction that just no one notices because none of them have looked at an insect (and also because describing clothes properly but succinctly is the hardest thing. i've written fic for a long time!!!!! i did my time in block paragraph clothing description hell!!! it haunts me!!!!!!!!!!), but ramona was the butterfly and olivia was actually a dragonfly. their masks are roses because, well 1) I thought that would be cool 2) butterflies and dragonflies land on flowers…. jacques: the boxwood, but a lion otherwise. josephine: ocean widdershins: the octopus with the pirate hat jacquelyn: the gold star suit (because gustav said she should do it for a play on. star. like. actress star.) miranda: uranus’s moon named miranda. it was very vague and I put that in the fic before I decided to have her in the little scene with esme. and then i thought i would put her in that scene too. gustav: phantom of the opera. haruki: tree frog hector: tree (not because of haruki’s costume but because i literally could not think of a damn thing for hector to be) lemony: uhhhhhh I had vague ideas he was. a cloud or something. like a stormcloud???? couldn’t pan out though. I like him in grey anyway. kit: I really just wanted her in red. with a big cape. and i spent so much time mentally deciding if i wanted her to have glasses or not in the archives that i forgot to mention her mask. everyone has one i swear to god white faced women: did anyone recognize that was them? :) it’s not mentioned in any way at all but in my head they were all dressed identically as flappers

esme actually doesn’t have one, because I, forgot, to give her one. I’m taking suggestions.

-references to lyeekha’s fics: -“that which is essential is invisible to the eye” is what frank says to jacques at the end of edge, and also the title of their snicket/denouement series -it initially wasn’t in there, because I was worried it wasn’t, like, in the right tone, re: what happens in edge vs how I was interpreting jacques and frank? but i liked it a lot. so i put it back in. -“frank quit smoking, but you didn’t” is a reference to frank smoking at the end of rigged -guess the guest and the clock alcove are from the end of fragments, with dewey and ernest watching hotel guests. this is my favorite thing in the whole world and something i actually keep forgetting is not canon because it is SUCH the perfect beethoven parallel -kit’s tattoo, which I was specifically imagining as the giant bombinating beast tattoo from ink on her back, which is definitely not around her neck but that was the only spot of skin she was showing so it was available and my thought was, it was kind of a low-cut in the back dress, and she was wearing the cape to cover up the giant tattoo on her back because beatrice was not there to cover it up with makeup (also bea picked out the dress.) (bea: if I can’t be there you have to make a statement) (kit: I have to what) -lemony being a “powerful, mythical figure” to the sugar bowl gen was actually something I wrote a long time ago, back in 2013, and I put it in the fic because I thought it fit, and then happened to reread double edged VERY late into the rewriting, literally THE DAY after I wrote that line in, and i saw a similar line of thought, and I was like “*cooper voice* sometimes you just get lucky ~ ” -jacques being in a lion costume, from the masquerade outfit sketches

additionally – -yes I am still cackling about ‘angel of my apple’ -angel of my apple -ANGEL OF MY APPLE -writing olaf is constantly like, he can say the funniest fucking things. and then turn around and say the absolute cruelest shit and the balance can be difficult. -but, angel of my a p p l e

-i can’t believe that out of all the people here, frank and jacques are the ones having the most semi-successful romantic relationship. well, ramona and olivia, too, but frank and jacques actually kiss so good for them -i know it was very vague and it’s because writing romance is physically embarrassing, but yes that last line was supposed to be them kissing, i’m so sorry

-undercover underwater was a last-minute addition because I didn’t want to take the time to try and google something real and good because I didn’t have the time. my guilty pleasure is super shitty hallmark murder mystery movies (I like good murder mysteries as well, thank you.) and my mom’s been reading terrible murder mysteries during lunch (where I was sitting across from her, also eating lunch, but also hiding behind my laptop and writing the fic) so I just came up with undercover underwater on the spot, but my mom came up with the tagline. it was originally ‘sleeps with the fishes’ (especially because i love the godfather movies which also, clearly has a very big stress on family vs The Family) but I thought ‘diving for the truth’ was funnier. -my mom and my brother (who has no interest in shitty murder mysteries, but loves to verbally smack them down with me re: their predictable tropes) and I decided that the plotline was something like, single woman scuba dives and keeps running into stuff (you know, hidden treasure, dead bodies, the like); her love interest drives the boat; her overbearing family member is an aunt; this is definitely like, book four in the series. there’s probably twelve books or something. (she goes on vacation on like book six and still finds a dead body, come on it practically writes itself.) (she probably owns a little fish tank......it’s a small sunny beach town.........etc etc.........) (it’s so easy to do this.) -oh, fixer upper is the worst hallmark murder mystery series, murder she baked is the best. in my opinion.

-dewey and lemony were supposed to have an actual conversation at the hors d’oeuvres table but every time I tried to put lemony in earlier he just wouldn’t work. it didn’t feel right. so he got saved for the reveal. -but i’m still delighted by the idea of lemony literally doing the shot of gazpacho. -dewey uses a spoon because he doesn’t have the composure or the guts to do a shot of cold soup -lemony was also supposed to have a scene with kit and one with jacques, i’m pretty sure, to lead up to the gazpacho conversation and the commiserating re: siblings. but again, didn’t work out. so then dewey had to fare alone in the scene. -oh!! the line about how lemony hides, in the least likely places, was actually something that was in my initial write of lemony’s scrapped pov of my ellington fic. jacques being responsible for sending olivia to the hinterlands was from a scrapped jacques fic. -steal from your unused fic.

-because I had to take scenes with lemony out, I had some, gaps in the night that I had to fill in (especially because this is a party more people are there than the snickets and the denouements), so that was how esme, the herpetology squad, and olaf and josephine came to be. (also olaf needed to show up again somewhere else otherwise he kind of, disappeared awkwardly, I thought?) -also because initially there was going to be a scene of bea and bertrand, elsewhere, but I wanted to keep the fic contained to the hotel, because one of the ideas I wasn’t able to put into the fic all that much was the sense of the hotel being its own world -oh, bea and bertrand don’t know that lemony used them as cover. the assignment they were working on instead of being at the party? planning the opera. the scene would’ve come right after ramona and olaf’s conversation. -the herpetology squad not only serves to highlight that people can’t tell the denouements apart (part of the foreshadowing that ernest would pretend to be frank), but was also me roasting myself because writing like a million different characters I had never written like this before had me very concerned about if their characterization was consistent, specifically for kit. (specifically, her with dewey.) also defining a character down to one base trait can be helpful when writing and creating characters, but for people no it’s not ideal. -haruki’s estimation of the denouement’s traits were not how i was mentally keeping track of them, because i definitely do do the ‘one base trait’ sometimes, but i had a lot more going on when i was thinking of them -but yes dewey is kind. in the way that bertrand is kind, but bertrand’s like, way more smooth about it.

-lemony does not have his own pov because, for me personally, I can’t fathom writing him in any other way besides first person, and it just would not do to have one scene out of the whole fic not in third person. unless he was secretly narrating each scene, which, he clearly was not. i would’ve had to do it in a whole different style.

-i love that dewey and kit are like ‘ahaha we’re the normal ones though’ and their normal conversation is them literally going ‘hey these creepy fish are AWESOME THOUGH’ -i looked at so many fish. for hours. -ALL BECAUSE I came up with the phrase ‘oceanic intrigue’ as a fun phrase and decided I had to commit my soul to it and never look back. -oh, the fairy shrimp are really very cute though. and i think the cookiecutter shark is, fucked up but a neat little guy.

-i’m eternally going to be laughing about this too kit: where the fuck is frank frank: /three floors down, making out with jacques

-oh!! 40-49 is unassigned in the dewey decimal system (which I googled. many, many times.), and was previously biographies. there’s another section for biographies now, but because biography was the closest I could come to like, some sort of, identity category, I thought it was more fitting if it was the section that used to be biography but was now as blank as frank felt.

-dewey is the one responsible for the clock sounding like it does. he just thinks ‘wrong’ is a fun word. that, and frank recognizing jacques by sound, were from my earlier scene sketches for this when i thought this fic was going to be much, much shorter.

#lulu talks about the sad lemon man

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sleekervae · 3 years

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The Neighbour [2.1]

Masterlist

A/N: OH MY GOD I LIVE!!!! Also, spoiler ahead for The Bastards graphic novel; not so much plot-wise but there are a few lines from the book. Indented paragraph is credited to Emerson Barrett and XoBillie.

“I have loved you from the moment you first smiled at me,

Giddy, mischievous, not ever looking for trouble yet somehow

Trouble has a way of always finding you.”

Remington stared wistfully at the view from Eva’s balcony, knowing how self-conscious she was when he watched her as she read a piece. In his lap sat Pluto, satisfied to have his ears stroked while he took his afternoon nap.

He couldn’t explain it, but somehow Remington found he was always transported to a new dimension when he heard Eva’s poetry. It was so soft and delicate, he could appreciate it the same way one does the petals of the first flowers of spring. Everything about her writing was so soothing, now a familiar notion that he never wanted to let go of.

“You’ve ignited a fire in my belly with embers sparking and popping

Under the intense pressure of your dark eyes

And the bubbling pearls of your laugh.

I loved you when I first ran into your open arms and marvelled

“My God, you feel just like home”

And with a few simple touches the open sores on my skin

Recede and heal, and their pain is a faint memory in comparison

To the electricity your fingertips carry.

I loved you when we were flying over the streets,

Vibrant yellow, orange and purple coating my eyes and

Painting you into Monet’s Twilight, Venice.

You’re a renaissance masterpiece that has been imprinted

Into the soft folds of my brain...”

Eva set her book down having finished the incomplete piece, watching her boyfriend with a dazed smile on his face as the echo of her prose sunk in. She simpered to herself with giddy.

“You know, I always have mixed feelings about reading you my poetry,” she said.

“Why’s that?” Remington asked, “It’s very good,”

“I know that. And you know that,” she smirked, “And I know that you know that I’m low-key inflating your ego with this shit,”

Remington chuckled, reaching out across the small table to take her smaller hand in his, “Would it put you at ease if I told you my ego is too far gone?”

Eva rolled her eyes and snapped her notebook shut, “Maybe I should start writing poems about the things you do I find annoying?”

“You say that like it’s bad,” Remington shrugged, giddy when she shook her head in dismay at his teasing.

Pluto continued to lie motionless in Remington’s lap, assuming the sphinx position as he had his ears rubbed. However, the tabby’s eyes sprung open when a guttural vibration shook through the small wooden table, disturbing the peaceful afternoon.

Eva glanced at the familiar glare of ‘Blocked Caller ID’ appearing, refraining from showing little disdain as she declined the call. Remington however was curious; for the past few months he’d seen Eva decline calls like that over and over again. The first few times he figured it was telemarketers, or scam calls. However, he noticed how they came frequently in the weeks; more prominent on Wednesdays and Thursdays.

“Who is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “It’s blocked for a reason,”

“But if you blocked the caller... then you have to know who it is so you could block them,” he reasoned, “Right?”

Eva responded in silence, taking her phone and quickly tucking it beneath her thigh. Remington stared at her pointedly.

“Eva, you get these calls nearly every day,” he said, “If it’s something bad... you know you can trust me with anything,”

“I know...” Eva nodded slowly, exhaling, “It’s my mom,”

Eva had been exceptionally non-forth coming when it came to her life back in Seattle, only remembering hearing about her friends and family once or twice. He respected her privacy, though he couldn’t help but be a tad curious. She fit the overall profile as someone who was running away from her problems.

“You blocked your mom?” he asked, somewhat in disbelief though from what he understood of their relationship he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Eva nodded, “Yep. Either she can’t take a hint or she’s way more stubborn than I am,”

Remington looked across the street to his own house, the gentle breeze billowing through the sheer curtain in the living room he remembered his mom helping him and Emerson pick out.

“Why don’t you speak to her?”

“Why don’t you speak to your dad?”

“I told you already,”

Pluto then leapt off of Remington’s lap and landed on the table, crossing over to his owner and staring at her with his big, soulful eyes. Eva smiled and gently scratched his ears.

“She showed up to my graduation, which would have been fine... but she showed up with her new husband and a kid,” she admitted.

Remington raised his eyebrows, “Her own kid?”

“Yeah. She got married to her co-pilot and they have a ten-year-old son together. She abandoned our family and started a new one,” Eva shook her head, “I guess being married to a chem teacher wasn’t as exciting for her,”

“What did your dad do?” he asked.

“That’s the best part. He knew about it and chose not to tell me. I just couldn’t believe it,” she replied, “But the fact that she just... she disappeared for years and then showed up again with a new family -- at my college graduation! How could I possibly celebrate after seeing that?”

“And you haven’t spoken to her since?” he asked tentatively.

“No. The way I saw it, she walked out of my life with no qualms. So... I walked out of hers. And it doesn’t matter how much she phones me; I don’t have time for disingenuine people,”

Remington reached over to take her hand that was resting on the table, stroking gently over the bumps of her knuckles, “Did you... did you meet her son?”

It was then Eva looked truly bummed out, “I think that’s the part I regret most. I mean -- he’s a kid. It’s not his fault his mom is a flake,”

Remington nodded, “Do you still love your mom?”

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “Call me a coward, but avoidance is just easier to deal with,”

“You’re not a coward,” Remington assured, “I get it. But... speaking from experience, you can only avoid your issues for so long. As hard as it may be, you might want to address these problems sooner rather than later. I promise you won’t regret it,”

“Rem --”

“She’s your mom. And obviously the fact that she’s still blowing up your phone should tell you something,”

Eva sat quietly, letting his words sink in. She knew Remington was right; knowing what she knew about him she also knew that he wasn’t just talking out of his ass. She appreciated that he understood where she was coming from, she just wished that his solution could be as easy as it sounded.

“I will call her back... eventually. My dad wants me to come home for Christmas, I guess I have to,” she chuckled sheepishly, warranting a sympathetic smile on his part, “Just... not today,”

“That’s okay,” Remington said, gently squeezing her hand, “It’s all gonna’ work out, Eva,”

“You can’t promise that,” she pointed out.

He shrugged, “Let’s not call it a promise, then. Let’s call is a whim,”

July had faded into August, as did pandemic fatigue. The streets were becoming busier, the business’ were seeing more intake in revenue, and people were slowly coming back out to try and enjoy was little of a summer was left.

And while most people were doing their best to social distance and keep safe, the cases continued to grow. Safe in the confines of the house, Eva sat at the table and read over the final print draft of the band’s graphic novel. Eva was blown away, completely immersed from the plot line to the artwork. She was supposed to be working with Emerson on his latest project, yet afforded herself a small break.

Across from her, Emerson was reading through Eva’s Tumblr blog, blown away at the amount of work she had posted since mid-June. Every prose and line was so vivid, painting a clear picture of her emotions. On the one hand, he couldn't help but be a little uncomfortable, knowing the sensual poems he was reading was about his older brother. On the other hand, everything was so poised and punctual -- he figured he may borrow some stuff to try on Shy some time.

Eva turned to a new page littered with more text than it was visuals, but on the edge of the left page was a stunning, very accurate sketch of Remington. His hair looked so different in the form of a basic sketch, yet those eyes, that face still captured all the majesty and curiosity within. She was unable to help that her fingers glossed over the lines that made up his torso with all his tattoos visible, tracing down the length of his arm to the vanity beside him and back up again. The cold paper singed her fingertips as she read the prose beside the sketch, a small smile creeping onto her lips with every word that echoed in her brain.

“...Emerson thought that if hell and heaven had a bastard son, that it would be Remington. His brother had an angelic-looking face with big almond-shaped eyes. His eyes were brown but could shift into black, and melt into the iris. It was a look that Emerson though the angel of hell would be proud of. But then, in the right light, those dark eyes changed and came to glimmer like the purest of gold - a look angels would swarm for. Apart from the eyes, his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him...”

Eva had to give credit to Emerson for his writing, capturing his brother in such a way that she herself would have. And like the flip of a switch, the memory of Remington’s eyes flashed through her mind, shining of gold and beauty the way the words had echoed to her.

In another blink his eyes turned into the eerie shadow of black, flashing a look he’d throw her way when his lust for her consumed him. In one paragraph, Remington had been portrayed as a killer from hell, offering flowers to his peers instead of knives.

Though, all romanticism was put aside as Eva read the paragraph again, noting the last line she had skimmed over quickly:

“...his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him. The rest of him was not...”

There as no denying how cruel the world had been to Remington and his brothers, though the more she pondered the more she realized she had never seen the type of dejection in his face the way Emerson had described. He always appeared -- not happy, per say -- but content with his life.

Emerson looked up from his tablet, noticing the way Eva’s eyes were glued to her own reading, her hand placed protectively over the sketch of Remington.

“You okay, Eva?” he asked.

She glanced at the youngest brother, shaken by the break in silence. But she smiled reassuringly and flipped the page, despite not having finished reading the last.

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, “It’s absolutely beautiful. I did make note of a couple grammatical errors... I hope you don’t mind,”

“It’s fine,” he grinned, “Deadline for rewrites is on Friday,”

“If you'd like, I could go through the rest for you. I’m in between articles right now,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Promise I won’t post spoilers for fans,”

“Might have to get you an NDA,” he giggled merrily, “I’ll send the file over. You ever work with InDesign?”

“A few times, yeah...” she trailed off, a new train of thought lingering in the back of her mind, “Emerson... can I ask you something sorta’ personal?”

Emerson raised an eyebrow, “How personal?” he asked.

She breathed out carefully, “Remington had told me about your dad --”

“What did he say?” Emerson asked quickly, his cheerful demeanour quickly souring.

“Just that he hadn’t been in the picture for a while,” she said assuringly, “Nothing else,”

Emerson began to relax a little, “Okay. What’s your question, Eva?”

“Say he out of the blue started making an effort to get back in touch with you... would you take that offer?” she asked.

“Nope,” he replied shortly, “Because if he wanted back in our lives, it would be for his own gain,”

Eva stayed silent, his quick answer all she needed to know that she shouldn’t push the envelope. Emerson saw the fall in her face, feeling a tad bad for being so short with Eva.

“Sorry...” he grimaced, “I just... I don’t like to talk about my dad,”

“I understand,” Eva nodded, “I’m sorry I brought it up,”

“... Why did you?” Emerson asked curiously.

Eva exhaled, her fingers picking at the edge of the glossy page, “Just getting room different perspectives. My mom and I don’t exactly have a Gilmore Girls kind of relationship. I’ve just been thinking ‘cause she’s been trying to get a hold of me for so long,”

“Was she nice to you? When you were younger?” he asked.

“I don’t really remember,” Eva replied truthfully, “She was -- superficial. There but not really there,”

He cocked his head, his wispy black hair falling over his eyes, “So... you’re trying to figure out if you want a relationship with your mom?”

Before she could reply, they both turned when they heard footsteps echoing in the hall towards them. Michael had appeared, panning his camera around for new footage for the band’s Youtube channel. Eva was unsure whether she pay attention or turn back to the book and pretend not to see.

“What’re you two working on?” he asked, focusing the lens on Emerson so Eva was just out of the shot. Michael respected that Eva was a touch camera shy.

“Top secret,” Emerson replied promptly, “And if we told you, we’d have to kill you,”

“I won’t unleash that wrath,” Michael chuckled, “Don’t have too much fun!”

“We’ll try,” Emerson muttered as he sauntered into the next room.

Eva closed the book and pushed it aside, sighing to herself as she pulled back her laptop and opened Emerson’s project. The youngest brother watched her unabashedly, picking off the air of uncertainty swirling around her.

“Does Remington know your mom keeps calling you?” he asked.

“He was kind of curious as to why I kept getting all these blocked calls,” she replied.

“What did he say?”

“That everything was going to be okay,” she nodded slowly, “You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that in my life and... it’s not. So, I’m super inclined to believe him,”

Emerson swallowed, “My brother has a tendency to want to take care of everybody. And it’s not a bad quality. But he also doesn’t know how he can make it better,” he said.

“It’s not up to him to make it better,” Eva declared.

“But he loves you,” Emerson stated, “And just because of that, he’ll want to help you find your way out of this. When Remington commits to someone, he tends to go one-hundred-percent all in,”

Eva simpered to herself, “I appreciate him. He’s -- definitely been a plot twist,”

“Good or bad plot twist?”

“Very good,”

Emerson smiled as she started to type on her keyboard, some of Eva’s vexations visibly released when the topic had changed to Remington. As she appreciated Remington, Emerson appreciated Eva for all that she’d done for him. He had this gut intuition, a simmering notion that Eva was going to be sticking around for a long time. And he had absolutely no problem with that.

“Can I ask you a serious question, though?” he asked.

“Of course,” Eva nodded.

“Do you like his blue hair...?” he asked with a drawling disdain.

The young brunette turned her head in the direction of the distant chatter of the boys.

“I take it by your tone you’re not a fan,” she said.

Emerson scoffed, “He’s taking me back to the Kool-Aid dye trend,”

“Oh, Emerson,”

#palaye royale #palaye royale imagine #palaye fanart #palaye positivity #Palaye Royale fic #remington leith #Remington Leith imagine #Remington Leith fic #emerson barrett #sebastian danzig #band blog #band imagines #band imagine blog #poetry #domesticity #original series #original story #original female character

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humble-althemist · 4 years

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The Hargrove-Mayfield House

I’ve been working on drafting this floorplan for ages, but now that I’ve got quarantine amounts of free-time I’ve come back to it with extra focus and determination to get this thing right, so here you go!

reference photos with explanation will be below the cut, because there are some weird-ass bits to this house that I feel need explanation/clarification/general screaming, and that in some case are very variable depending on what canon you want to go with.

anyway! with the front of the house down there at the bottom, and keeping in mind this house is on a corner lot (streets on both sides that have exterior doors), here ya go!

(also just a heads-up that the exact proportions of everything was difficult to figure off based on a lot of these photos, and this house very much resisted attempts to be sketched out on graph paper, so while this is as close as I could get it without losing my mind, it’s definitely got some little issues here and there still.)

OK! so starting from the front, we’re all familiar with the view from the street, the long, thin porch along the front. but did y’all know the front of the house isn’t as flat as the porch makes it seem?

this is supported by the inside of the house, where we have Billy’s room in that pushed-out bit, and the front door visible through his door, leading into a living room in the pushed-back bit. (if any of that makes sense.) not the best screenshot but you can at least kind of see the corner behind Billy’s door and how it’s clearly not level with the front door

now, I’m not gonna spend much time on Billy’s room because @gothyringwald has already done the work of the gods with that one (IN THREE PARTS, MY HERO), except to briefly say yes, there is a fireplace in here, it’s the back-end of a slightly bigger one in the front room. also, not that it’s at all important cause I won’t be using s3 screencaps for his room, but his room was very clearly not filmed in the same house for s3. the view out Billy’s door changes from the front door to a hallway from s2 to s3 (and there are no hallways in this house, as you’ll see), and the view out his front-facing window changes from porch to bushes. it drove me crazy the whole time so I just had to throw that out there.

anyway, for now I want to turn your attention towards Max’s room while we’re still in here because...

first of all, yes there is a door straight into Max’s room from Billy’s, and no, I have not included it on my layout. That’s because in the show they use a bookcase on both sides of the door to hide it, so you could canonically say that there is no door. to be fair, though, they use this inset shelf thing that looks like in actual fact it wouldn’t work if both of them had one. so, use the door if it suits you, use the bookshelves if they suit you. canon is putty in your hands.

also I wanna point out that in the very bottom right corner of this shot you can see the corner of some wall trim. that’s the edge of Billy’s closet. and yes, it does stick out from the wall like that. at a guess I’d say about half of that wall is closet, and half of it is pushed back by exactly the closet’s depth, giving us this corner look.

moving on to the view into Max’s room, we can see the tiny closet space that her room has. it doesn’t appear much wider than the door to it is wide, though it is deeper than it appears from this angle, probably by about a foot. we can also see her door to the living room from here.

moving into Max’s room...

in season 2 you can feel the camera operators doing their damn best to show as little of this room as possible because it’s so weird and got so many doors, but in s3 we do get a little bit of a better feel and the screenshots I got from there do seem consistent enough with real-estate photos and s2 that I’m like 99% sure they shot Max’s bedroom scenes in the same house as in s2.

so, firstly we have a shot of that inset bookcase I mentioned hiding the door to Billy’s room, and Max’s lil closet to the right. it takes a stupid about of staring at the bottom right corner, but you can just barely see the shadow of what must be the closet’s outer corner there.

panning left, we can see Max’s windows, prime for sneaking out to do nerd shit. in the show they put a lil firewood storage thing directly under her windows for extra sneaking out potential, but I can only put so many pictures in here before tumblr makes me split this thing into two posts so I’ll refrain from adding a cap of that.

note also that that’s Billy’s window closer to us, and Susan & Neil’s at the back of the house. Billy’s would seem ideal for climbing out of as well, but some asshole put his sound system and vanity right under that window so idk how he’d manage it if he did. I’d love to see the elaborate shifting-stuff-around/gymnastics that goes into Billy’s regular sneaking out, though, if anybody wants to get on that.

ok, back into Max’s room cause we’re not done with it yet. we’ve accounted for a door that may or may not be between hers and Billy’s room, one to a lil closet space, and the one into the living room, but this girl has two more fuckin doors in her room.

unfortunately these two doors are never photographed together, so I didn’t figure out that there are two on this last wall until literally this morning while editing this post, but hopefully I can take you along my thought process on why it has to be two different doors.

essentially the thought process is, (L) no wall at all between darkened/blocked-off door and corner, (R) at least a foot of flat wall to the left of door. going back to all of my screencaps with this knowledge makes a whole lot of stuff make more sense, but again I can’t put everything here. If there’s demand for more detailed screencaps and stuff maybe I’ll make a part 2, but for now I’m trying to be as succinct as possible. (lol)

so anyway, that door on the right clearly goes into the third bedroom of the house, because why the hell not have all the bedrooms connected, and that one Susan’s standing in front of in the screencap, I believe, leads to a bathroom. (to be clear, there are two doors in that screencap. one on the left that leads to the living room as mentioned before, and the one I’m talking about, behind her, which set designers have understandably tried to disguise as a closet.)

this is purely process of elimination, since the real estate photo I have of the bathroom does not show the door, does not have any windows, and doesn’t even remotely resemble the bathroom used in s3, but the only other bathroom space I was able to find in this house was off the dining room, which is definitely not big enough to hold a bath or shower. I may throw out all the reference photos of bathrooms I have if anyone is desperately curious, but for now in my head it’s just a general haze of ~a bathroom exists here~

anyway, from that right door let’s walk on into Neil and Susan’s tiny-ass bedroom.

this room is so comically small I’m amazed Billy didn’t get saddled with it, honestly, but if you want some headcanons about why he might not have, my go-to is that Neil /or Susan realized this bedroom was the best for any teen with a mind for mischief. while the windows are definitely not as ideal for climbing out of as Max and Billy’s are, if we take that door on the left we’re in the pantry (yes, the pantry. stay with me), and it’s a straight trip from there out the side door, and out to your smokin’ hot Camaro.

idk how sound that logic is, but it’s what I’ve got lol

But anyway, now we’ve reached the end of the house on one side, so I’m gonna take us back to the front living room and work our way back from there. here we’ve a quick glance at the other end of that fireplace, and another angle of how the front door and Billy’s door relate to each other:

the two parts of the living room are separated by this wide arch, and that further bit is where we see Billy’s weights and weight bench in s2. one could say that this is just normally where he keeps it, but my own personal hc is that they’re only there in s2 because the family just moved in, and that they later get moved to his room and the basement, leaving the living room more usable.

It’s hard to be 100% sure, but looking at these photos, particularly at the floor, I believe the second living room area is narrower (as shown in the floorplan sketch). It makes Max’s room make a little more sense size- and shape-wise, and it seems like all the pictures I have of this space confirm it.

anyway, the open door on the right of the second living room bit leads back into Max’s room, and through another arch we can see into the kitchen, and beyond that the dining room.

for some reason the only shots of the kitchen are taken from the back of the house looking forward, so try not to get dizzy as we spin around here.

as you can see we’re now pointed towards the living room, and on our left (towards the bedrooms) we see the doors to that pantry I mentioned earlier. I don’t have any photos of the inside of the pantry, alas. those would solve probably every question I have about the ground floor of this house. if you look closely they look like bi-fold doors to me, but they could just open inward.

we can also definitely tell that the wall on the left side of that arch is much shallower(?) than it is on the living room side, if that makes sense. essentially, these rooms on the left side of the house are getting narrower as they go on.

until the dining room! this room narrows a little on the right side, which you can see from exterior shots, but the pantry/bathroom weirdness in the middle of the house has definitely cleared out of the way to make room for dining here. we’ve also got two big-ass windows (comparatively), since going by the direction of the wood floors, the window on the left is not the same window as the one on the right.

and going by the existence of a window in that bathroom, we know this part of the house has three external-facing walls -- or however a professional would say that. (essentially, Susan and Neil’s bedroom can’t be overlapping the other side of the bathroom.)

we’ve been pretty low on storage space here so far, so that + the fact that the door in the corner looks nothing like a door to the outside + the fact that there’s a door to the outside literally on the other side of the room, gives me the conviction that this door is just into closet space. it could be a door to the basement, but we’ve seen the back of the house before and it doesn’t look like there’s enough space there for a whole other room full of staircase. observe:

not to mention Neil’s headlights are illuminating a perfectly good door to the basement right there, although idk shit about houses with basements. do they usually have two ways down if they’re built like this? I wouldn’t know, I live on a fault-line. we don’t do that shit here.

ANYWAY, that’s the house. somehow I feel like I’ve covered like way too much, and also not nearly enough, so do let me know if anything isn’t clear and I’ll try to fix it/do an additional post and link that. cause even if most of us are writing Billy living outside of Old Cherry Road/Cherry Lane at this point, this kind of shit is always handy to have around, at least imo?

#harringrove #billy hargrove #billy hargrove reference #stranger things reference #fanfic reference

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ollie-ollie-oxenfreee · 4 years

Text

reverie

The empire siblings have a chat about notebooks, feelings, weird smut and memories.

It takes a while for you to get up the courage to talk to her. Quite a while. You’ve spent the last hour pacing and fidgeting and giving Frumpkin half-hearted speeches about why this is a terrible idea, you should very much not do it and you are going to return to your book now, thank you very much. The cat - little instigator that he is - blocks off this method of avoidance halfway through your latest monologue by hopping up onto your desk, curling up into a ball on the worn cover of your spellbook, giving you a pointed look and shutting his eyes.

“That - that is very unfair,” you protest, waving a hand indignantly. A wave of sly mischievousness floods your bond in response. Problem solved, it seems to say, rumbling with a soundless, satisfied purr.

You hover in the doorway a moment longer, wondering faintly how your own familiar could have betrayed you like this, before another mental nudge - like the tap of a paw against your shoulder - pushes you forward a step. Go. You’ll be just fine.

“I will be just fine,” you repeat, soft, like a mantra. Like the prayers the clerics whisper on the battlefield. “I will be fine. She has been my - my traveling companion for some time now. I can share things with her if I so choose.”

You close your hand around the tiny, precious journal in your pocket, take a deep breath and knock three times on Beauregard’s door.

A grumbled, sleepy “the fuck?,” then silence.

You come so close to taking the gods-granted opportunity to run back down the hallway and escape into your room before steeling yourself and knocking again. One, two, three. Clean and measured and precise.

“Door’s open, Jessie. You don’t have to knock.” “No - nein, Jester is not - Jester is downstairs.”

A pause. A shuffle of quiet footsteps. You flinch back a bit as the door swings open, revealing a thoroughly rumpled Beauregard. She blinks at you for a moment, her expression softening just a fraction as she takes in your obvious unease. “You okay?”

“More or less.”

“You’ve gotta know by now that I’m gonna call bullshit on that.”

“That may be wise.”

She raises an eyebrow and gestures for you to continue.

“I, ah, I have something that I would like to discuss with you. Something of some importance.”

“‘Of some importance?’ So like, quest stuff?”

You swallow thickly, shake your head. “No, not exactly. Nothing quite so urgent. Memories. Of my past… education.. Since you were so open as to share your history, I thought it was only right to unveil a bit more of mine. Is that something you would be comfortable -”

To your faint shock she nods immediately, opening the door a crack for you to step through. “Yeah, yeah, absolutely. Do you want Nott to be here for this, or -”

“No, no, she is with Yeza.”

“Alright.” She knows you well enough by now not to push. Thank Ioun for small miracles. “You can sit wherever,” she says, gesturing widely around the room as she flops back on her bed. You instinctively scan the unfamiliar space as you hover in the threshold - Jester’s art desk, covered in paint splotches and far too realistically rendered genitalia; Beauregard’s teetering stack of books, their blue leather spines stamped with the Cobalt Soul insignia; an expensive half-melted candle spilling warm yellow light across the floor and filling the air with the scent of sugar and flowers. You spot a rickety wooden chair in the far shadowed corner of the room and make for it before Beau rolls her eyes - not unkindly - and pats the foot of the bed.

“C’mon, Widogast. We’re gonna be adults about this. Gonna have feelings out in the open.”

“Is that what makes one an adult where you come from?”

“Yeah. Real important milestone.”

“In that case, I had not realized we were still traveling with a child. It puts so much in perspective.”

“Get over here and sit your ass down already.” You smile wryly in spite of yourself and do as she says, inching over to perch on the very edge of the soft pile of blankets.

“So,” she says after a moment of painfully awkward silence. “Feelings.”

“Yes.”

“Any in particular you’ve been feelin’?”

“Quite a few.”

“Can you be a little more specific than that?” She lifts one bandaged hand to jab you gently in the shoulder. “Show me what the important thing is. Lay it on me.”

I will be just fine. I will be just fine. I trust her. Nerve slipping away bit by tenuous bit, you reach into your coat pocket and withdraw your journal. It looks so innocent, laying there on the bed. Its oiled leather cover dark as coal against the starched white blankets, its ragged pages translucent in the pale light. Just as damnably unassuming as it’s always been.

You clear your throat thickly, finding the words. “Has Nott told you about my notebook? My, ah, other notebook. I would just like to gauge how much you know. Before we take this deep dive into ‘feelings.’”

She nods. “One night after you went to bed. Back at that open bar place in Zadash. Didn’t tell me what it was or what’s in it, just that you had a ‘secret book.’ Then Jester asked if it was porn and the conversation kinda stopped.”

You smile ruefully. “That is about what I expected, I suppose. It is not porn. To everyone’s great disappointment, I’m sure.”

“Yours included?”

“Mine included. I imagine I’d have to be much less secretive if it were.”

“That depends, man. Who knows what kind of weird shit you’re into.” She pauses and hums a bit, thinking. “Do you think wizard sex is like, a thing? Like Essek or whoever uses his arcane powers to bone down? Are people into that?”

This rampant train of thought startles a laugh out of you. “I cannot say that I have much knowledge of wizard sex, but I don’t doubt that there are some. Jester seems to be an expert on this sort of thing - perhaps you should ask her?”

You don’t miss the tiny, wistful smile that ghosts across her face at the name. “Yeah. Maybe she’d know. Anyway -” She shakes herself out of the daydream with a roll of her shoulders and fixes you with a pointed if not unkind look. “Back to feelings.”

“Back to feelings.” You pick the notebook up and ruffle gently through the pages, the flood of memories crashing over you as it always does. The sketches, the notes, the scraps of paper and snippets of old books, the coffee stains and ink splashes. Closing your eyes, you find your way to the proper page. The drawing of both of them.

“These were my - well, I suppose they were more than friends. We studied together. This was Astrid -” you trace your finger over the sketchy rendering of the girl, standing proud and tall with her nightingale on her shoulder, that familiar crinkle to the corner of her eyes. “She was always the ambitious one. Brighter than any of us. She made her mission to learn everything the world had to offer. Nothing was ever out of her reach. Once, when she learned that our other friend and I hadn’t learned to dance, she spent the rest of the night teaching us how. I would not have known how to waltz if not for her. That and - many other things.” Your scars pulse dully, and a tiny flicker of flame dances across your fingertips before guttering into a wisp of smoke. No. No bad memories now. This is not the time.

“What happened to her?”

“That I am not sure of. I haven’t heard from her since - since things went wrong. I can only hope that she found her way out intact. She deserves that much.” You sigh, trace your still gently smouldering fingertip along the worn out page. “She had a wicked sense of humor as well, you know. Coarse as a sailor, and clever. She’d figure out what made you tick, what made you laugh, within moments of knowing you. Always was good at reading people. And Eodwulf -'' you look at the drawing of the young man beside her, tall and strong, that little smile on his face - “he was kind. Big and tough and strong, but so kind. Gentlest soul I knew for quite some time. He told us stories about his farm back in Blumenthal, his little garden. How he’d tend the plants every day and make sure they reached the sun.”

“So he was kinda like Cad?”

“I suppose he was. He was good. I miss them both very much.”

She reaches a hand out and rests it with surprising gentleness on your shoulder. “Yeah, I get that. They sound like they were good.” She pauses for a moment. “You know that you didn’t deserve the shit you went through, right? None of you did. If you can think of them as being nice kids who were manipulated by a fucked up monster, you can think of yourself that way too.”

“I was not a nice kid, Beauregard.”

“Doesn’t change anything. No kid deserves to be treated like that.”

“Would you say the same for yourself?”

The silence is heavy for a long, long moment. “If I did, would you try? Make it a part of our hold - each - other - accountable deal?” She lifts the hand off of your shoulder and holds it out for you to shake on it.

You take a deep breath and take her hand in your own. “I will try.”

She nods, just a little, and gives a proper businessman’s handshake. “Alright. Cool.”

“Cool.” Still holding her hand, you give it a little squeeze. “You did deserve better than the way your father treated you, Beauregard. He was a dick, and he was wrong. You deserved a family that loved you as you were. And our little group, I believe you may have one.”

“Thanks, Caleb,” she says at last, her eyes watery as she smiles at you and pops you gently on the shoulder.

“Of course.”

The two of you sit like that for a while, watching as the moonlight filters in narrow silver bars through the window, and for the first time in a long, long time, your mind is quiet.

#bit of a longer angstier one this time around #minor content warning for discussions of abuse in the context of beau and caleb's backstories #empire siblings #my writing #critical role

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dakotakaiskicks · 4 years

Text

Tattooed Heart

A/N: Ya girl is back with another mediocre fanfic that nobody asked for! This idea was brought on from my accidental Ink Master binge session on YouTube, oops. Fair warning, I know little to nothing about tattooing because I’m scared shitless of needles but the Tattoo Shop AU begs to be written. Also, this one is dedicated to @relentlessriott again because she’s captain of RuLiv and she’s my best pal.

There aren’t many things that Liv Morgan can say she hates, but needles are pretty high up on that list. The pain they bring, albeit temporary, is something she would rather not experience unless necessary. So the fact that she is currently in a car, on the way to a tattoo shop with her best friend, is a feat in and of itself.

“Dude, you’re gonna be fine! It’s not a big deal.”

Sonya Deville looked over from the driver’s seat to see Liv pouting with her arms crossed over her chest, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“Not a big deal? Not only is it gonna hurt, but it’s gonna be on my body forever! That’s a VERY big deal.”

Sonya rolled her eyes before responding, “It only hurts for a little while. If it will make you feel better, I’ll even hold your hand.”

“I don’t think Mandy would be very happy about that,” Liv smirked as the words left her mouth, Making Sonya blush at the mention of her girlfriend.

“Shut up, Olivia!” The brunette playfully slapped her friend on the arm, chuckling at the offended look on the blonde’s face.

“Don’t bring my government name into this!”

“You’re an idiot, and you’re being dramatic. Everything’s gonna be okay! They have numbing cream for wimps like you.” As they pulled up in front of the tattoo shop, any wise retort fell off of the blonde’s tongue. The hairs on the back of her neck were on end as she looked at the big sign on top of the building that read, ‘Riott, Inc.’

“Well, we’re here.”

“Yes, Sonya, I can see that!!” She was hesitant to open the car door, so much so that Sonya actually had to force the door open herself and practically drag Liv into the shop.

The first person that the two women saw was a tall, bald man who was heavily tattooed and seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. “Can I help you two?” His voice was deep and Liv was immediately intimidated by him. She was definitely regretting her decision to come along now.

Sonya spoke up as Liv was too distracted by not only the man’s presence, but the sounds of punk rock music and tattoo guns. “We’re here to get tattoos.”

“Well, you’re in a good place for that. I’m Baron, by the way.” The tattooed man finally managed a smile that made him seem at least a little approachable.

“I’m Sonya, and this is Liv.” The brunette gestured towards the blonde, but Liv was looking straight past him and to a woman with bright green hair and full sleeves of tattoos. She was completely taken back by how beautiful the woman was. Sonya noticed that her friend was distracted and punched her in the shoulder to bring her back to Earth.

“Bro, what the hell?!?”

Sonya smirked. “You weren’t paying attention, had to get you back somehow.”

“By resorting to violence? I thought we were more mature than that, Deville.” Both women turned around to see the tattooed woman that Liv was staring at, was standing right in front of them.

“A little violence never hurt anybody, Riott, you know that!”

Liv rolled her eyes, “My arm begs to differ on that one!”

Ruby smiled at how adorable the blonde was, her voice making butterflies erupt in the tattooed woman’s stomach. She didn’t think she had ever seen a more beautiful woman in all her life, but she was a professional before anything else, so she decided to let it be.

“Are you getting another tattoo? You were just here like 2 weeks ago. I’m starting to think you think we’re friends or something.” The green haired woman smirked as she looked at Sonya, trying to get under her skin a little bit.

“I actually came to see Paige but I see she’s not here today so I guess we’ll just leave.”

“Whatever, you know you love me.” She turned to look at Liv, staring into her blue eyes and blushing slightly. “I’m Ruby, it’s nice to meet you.”

Liv offered her hand out for Ruby to shake, which the tattooed woman gladly took. “I-I’m Liv.”

Sonya’s eyes rolled so far into the back of her head that she thought she had been able to see her brain. She had chosen to bring Liv to Ruby’s shop under the pretense of maybe getting them together, but seeing how disgustingly cute they were being made her regret that decision.

Baron cleared his throat, making the 3 women jump in surprise. “That’s not fair, I didn’t get a handshake!”

The response made Liv giggle, the blonde trying to quickly cover her mouth in order to hide her laugh. She had always been insecure about her laugh, but Ruby thought it was just as adorable as the rest of her. “Dude, nobody wants to shake your hand, nobody knows where it’s been.” The man scoffed while looking at Sonya, “Do you know what you want? We’ll let the lovebirds be alone with each other.”

Liv and Ruby both blushed, the blonde suddenly becoming aware of what was about to happen. Sonya was about to be taken to a different room, leaving Liv to not only be in pain by herself, but also be left alone with an attractive woman. That combination was something that left Liv’s stomach in knots for many different reasons.

Ruby lead the way to a room in the back of the shop that had various tattoo designs adorning the green walls. Liv was under the assumption that this was Ruby’s room, and the photos on the wall of the tattooed woman with what appeared to be her friends and family confirmed it.

“So,” Ruby began, “do you know what you’re looking to get?”

Liv was suddenly overwhelmed, not only by the decision she had to make, but by how close the two women were to each other. The blonde studied the tattoos across Ruby’s arms, as well as the one across her throat. She was in awe of the intricate designs and wondered what they all meant. She thought she might ask about them, but that would depend on how much pain she would soon be in.

“Honestly, I don’t have any ideas. Sonya kinda pressured me into coming along even though she knows I’m terrified of needles, plus the commitment of having something on my body for the rest of my life is scary, you know?”

Ruby chuckled before answering. “I’m gonna tell you something, but you can’t say anything about it to anybody else: I’m actually scared of needles, too.”

The blonde looked at the various tattoos on her skin before looking back up at Ruby, not believing her. “Why do you have so many tattoos, then?”

“Because the pain of the tattoos is worth the stories told through them. It doesn’t matter if it’s something that has specific meaning, or if it’s just a random drawing picked at the last second. Every tattoo has some sort of story behind it.”

Liv was in awe of her response, not expecting that, but it did make her feel a little better. Still, she had come no closer to making a decision on what she actually wanted to get permanently placed on her body.

“What would you recommend? Like what do you think will look good?”

“Honestly, on you, anything would look good.” That statement caught both women off guard, Ruby not actually meaning to say that out loud.

Liv looked at the designs on the wall once again to see if she could see anything she thought she might be able to get away with. There weren’t many that she could see herself wearing on her body for the rest of her life, until she spotted a floral design in the corner of one of the frames. She decided that it was perfect for her. She pointed it out to Ruby to see what she thought.

“That’s actually one of my favorites that I’ve drawn, but most people that come in here usually go for the weirder designs I have up. But I think that one will look beautiful on you. Where do you think you’re gonna want it?”

“My wrist, maybe? Wait, it doesn’t hurt that much, does it? Where is it gonna hurt the least? Wherever it is, that’s where I want it.”

“Darling, wherever you get it, it’s gonna at least hurt a little bit. But if you want it on your wrist, I’ll do everything I can to make it as comfortable as possible for you.”

Liv blushed at the nickname, not even sure if Ruby had meant to call her that or not. She wasn’t going to complain, though. If a beautiful girl wanted to call her cute nicknames, she could definitely handle that.

“Okay, let’s just do it before I change my mind.”

“Only if you’re sure. This is gonna be on you forever.” Ruby didn’t want Liv to leave her shop with a tattoo she didn’t like, but she was also kind of looking forward to being in the presence of the blonde for even a couple of hours longer. “Yes, let’s get it done. I’m sure Sonya’s in there talking mad shit about how big of a baby I am and I need to prove her wrong.”

Ruby laughed before sketching out the stencil to place on Liv’s wrist. Liv was nervous, that much was obvious, but the tattooed woman’s touch was calming her nerves at least a little bit.

“So,” she began, “I know this might sound weird, but could you, like, I don’t know, hold my hand maybe?”

Ruby looked at Liv and responded with a bright smile. “I’m kinda gonna have to so I can keep your arm steady.”

“Yeah, right.” The mood in the room was now slightly awkward, which neither woman enjoyed. But, being the professional that she is, Ruby started her tattoo gun and began to get to work. Liv flinched at the first feeling of the needle touching her skin, the feeling like a bee stinging her repeatedly. It wasn’t as intense as she had figured it would be, so she began to try and make small talk with Ruby.

That small talk soon turned into meaningful conversation, the two women chatting and joking around like they had known each other forever. Before they knew it, the tattoo was finished and Liv feeling relieved that the pain was done with, but saddened that her time with Ruby would soon be over.

“Well, you’re done. Take a look and tell me what you think.” Liv looked down at the flowers that adorned the inside of her wrist and smiled. She loved it, and she made sure to let Ruby know it. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much! I don’t know what I was so afraid of, it really didn’t even hurt that bad.”

“I’m glad you love it. I think it looks perfect on you.” Both women blushed as they realized that they were still holding hands. Ruby reluctantly pulled away so she could wrap Liv’s wrist to keep it protected. After going over some aftercare procedures, the blonde stood up out of the chair she was sitting in, a slight pout on her face.

Sonya came knocking on the door soon after, asking if Liv was almost done. “You didn’t pass out, did you? Because I don’t have any kind of time to be taking you to the hospital. I have a date with Mandy tonight!”

“I’ll have you know that I did great! I didn’t even cry or anything. Ruby did a great job keeping me distracted.” The two women smiled at each other before opening the door and going back out into the lobby of the shop, hands brushing because of how close they were.

The two women paid for their work, and before they walked out, Liv turned back around to speak to Ruby once again. “Thank you for everything. I just may be back. I think I’ve caught the tattoo bug.”

“Looks like you caught the love bug, too,” Sonya said, ignoring the glare being given to her by the blonde. Ruby looked shocked, wondering if her feelings were really that obvious. Maybe not love, but there was a definite crush there at least.

The green haired woman rushed to the desk at the front of the shop, grabbing a piece of paper and jotting something down before handing it to Liv. “This is my number, I hope you’ll text me. You know, in case you need any help taking care of your tattoo or anything.”

The blonde put the piece of paper in her back pocket and smiled at the woman. “I might just do that, though it might not be about the tattoo.” Sonya grabbed Liv’s other wrist before pulling her out the door, not wanting to witness her friends pining over each other any longer.

“So, you regret going with me now?”

The blonde had a dreamy smile on her face, already thinking about the next time she would be able to talk to Ruby. “Not at all.”

#ruby riott #liv morgan #ruliv

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iris-writes-things · 5 years

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Two Guys and a Baby: Day 3 part 2

Read on AO3, FF.net or under the cut, or read up to 2 chapters ahead as a $1 Patreon patron!

A little voice in his voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny angel on his right shoulder, shouted as it worked itself into a panic and hid its face into the collar of his shirt, oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Or, Crowley fucks up.

Chapter 5 of 20 Ongoing 1700 words Romance/Humor

It was half an hour past Adam’s bedtime and Crowley had just picked his palette back up when someone knocked on his door again. He sighed and put it back down, stalked to the door, yanked it open and said:

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it.”

“Good evening to you too,” said Ezra who, in his vintage jumper, vintage shirt… vintage everything looked extremely out of place in the sterile white hallway of the modern apartment building.

Crowley bumped his forehead against the doorframe in frustration. Ideally, he would have gone for slamming, but he knew the other wouldn’t approve.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today,” he mumbled. He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but his mind was so overflowing with thoughts that raced too fast for him to grasp them, it might as well have been empty. It had bothered him all day.

Ezra just smiled his usual gentle smile. “It’s okay, we all have off-days sometimes,” he said. “If it’s any consolation to you, I brought you this.” He held up a bottle of wine that had a thin yet persistent layer of dust on it. He must have had it for a while.

Crowley carefully took the bottle and examined the label as he stepped aside to let the other in, only to come to the conclusion he had no idea what the words on the bottle actually meant. “As long as it doesn’t taste like cork or vinegar, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” After all, years old wine wasn’t the worst thing Crowley had drank. “I’ll get some glasses and a corkscrew. You make yourself at home in the meantime.”

Once in the kitchen, Crowley smacked his head against the cabinet a little harder. What on Earth was Ezra doing here? Better yet, why hadn't Crowley just sent him away?

Then again, there was no use dwelling on it now. And who knew, a little alcohol might actually slow his thoughts down enough to firmly grasp one by the balls and demand to know what it wanted from him.

With newfound resolution, he took two wine glasses from the cabinet, produced a corkscrew from the drawer under his pristine cooktop and returned to the living room.

“Sorry I took so long, I usually get the bottles with the screw—”

Crowley stopped dead in his tracks when he found Ezra standing at his drawing board, smoothing down the crumpled and discarded sketches with gentle hands and glancing at the canvas on the easel next to it. He heard the man murmur to himself, but didn't catch a single word of it. What did catch his attention were his eyes. Striking blue, creased with fondness, but still sparkling with youth. He knew Ezra was a little older than him, but it never made him any less charming.

He realized a little too late he was staring. Ezra turned to him and smiled.

“Ah, sorry my dear, I was just admiring your handiwork,” he said, beaming more brightly at Crowley than he had all day. He considered putting his sunglasses back on.

“Oh, that? That's nowhere near where I want it to be,” Crowley scoffed in a weak attempt to play it cool.

“That's okay. There's more than enough time to figure it out.”

“If you say so,” Crowley mumbled, yet he couldn't help the smile creeping to his face. He picked the bottle of wine from the glass salon table, twisted the corkscrew into the cork and pulled. And pulled. And pulled…

Ezra chuckled. “Here, let me help you,” he offered and reached to take the bottle, brushing against his hand.

Crowley dropped it, Ezra caught it.

“See, the trick is that you need to twist the cork while you pull it out,” he said as he did just that, pulling out the cork with a satisfying pop. “There we go. Now, I believe you were holding some glasses?”

“What? Oh, right,” Crowley stammered as he tried to regain his composure. He held out the glasses and Ezra poured. And poured. And poured…

“Are you sure you know how this works?” He dared to venture when the wine was nearing the rim of the glass. Ezra stopped pouring with one millimeter to go.

“I do. I just figured you could use it,” Ezra shrugged as he poured himself the normal amount.

“I was that much of a mess, wasn't I?” Crowley asked before carefully slurping some wine from the top of his glass. It tasted like what he imagined a mouldy gym sock to taste like, but still, he persisted. It wasn’t so bad once you got used to it.

“If I'm completely honest, you still look like a mess.”

“Of course I do.”

“I don't care that you do. And I don't know what all that in the bookshop was about and I can imagine that you absolutely won't feel like it, but if you want, you can always talk to me.”

Crowley groaned. What he had said and done in the bookshop was the last thing he wanted to think about right now. He placed his wine on the table and sat down on his white leather couch, his back hunched slightly.

Ezra followed suit.

“These last few days, I've been thinking a lot. There are things in my life that you've made me reconsider and I just don't know how to cope,” he admitted, masterfully dancing around Ezra’s quest for answers. Crowley gazed up, and Ezra seemed to be taken aback.

“I'm sorry dear, but I'm afraid you're giving me too much credit.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Crowley's throat and he took another swig from his wine. It seemed to taste better this time around, but then again, perhaps that was only because it was starting to work.

“I'm really not. You were right about my job. I'm actually glad to be out of the office for a while. Lucy seems to be the only redeeming factor. My work is boring, and Hastings and Liggett, the head of studios and head creative, they make my life a living Hell at every chance they get. It gives me security, but it drains me. And it certainly doesn't make me happy…”

Ezra reached and took his hand. It was soft and warm. Hot, even. And yet, Crowley didn't recoil. In fact, he squeezed back.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel this way,” he whispered.

“No, it's… It's okay. I needed that wake-up call, I think. I mean, now that I'm drawing and painting and having fun again, I'm actually realizing how shit my job is,” Crowley smiled, but it quickly faltered. “Except if I were to quit I would have to figure out how to make a viable income from my art.”

Ezra raised his hand to make a suggestion.

“Drawing portraits in the park for tourists is an absolute last resort,” Crowley insisted.

And Ezra immediately lowered his hand again.

“I appreciate it, though. And you in general, you know.” He took another swig from his wine for courage. “You,” he started, “are very…”

Oh, God, Crowley, what were you thinking?! You literally just reconnected with him two days ago, shut uuuuuuup!

Another little voice in his mind that, had this been a cartoon and not real life, would have manifested as a tiny devil on his left shoulder shouted kicking, screaming and pulling at his hair.

Just fucking say it you fucking coward, you started this, now with God as my witness, you’re going to finish it!

"Persuasive?" Crowley tried.

Ezra quirked an eyebrow.

Wrong word. Try again.

"Learned?"

He frowned.

Fuck. Third time's the charm.

"Wise," Crowley finally settled on.

Ezra smiled. "Thanks, but I'm not that much older or smarter than you."

"Since when does that matter?"

Ezra shrugged. "They say wisdom comes with age."

"As do wrinkles, but you still look like one of those, whatchamacallit…" Crowley wracked his mind for his hungover art history lessons. "Cherubs, was it?"

"That's what I get for not smoking," Ezra smirked.

Crowley placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "You're too harsh, angel."

"There it is again. Are you planning to keep calling me that?" Ezra asked. Nothing in his tone remotely suggested any objection to this.

"Is that a challenge, angel?" the taller man teased again, leaning closer.

Ezra, on the other hand, leaned backwards. "What are you trying to do here, Crowley?"

There was a pause. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. The realization that he had no idea what he was trying to do hit him like a brick wall.

Well.

Of course he knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to have a nice evening with a good friend whom he also had a crush on. Why was that so hard?

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said as he pulled himself back. “Just, kinda… I don’t know…” He glanced away. He couldn’t bear to look at Ezra any longer. It was like the angel on his shoulder said, they had just started to reconnect, and now Crowley was going too far too fast. “Forget I ever said anything, I guess.”

Ezra laid a sympathetic hand on Crowley’s back and rubbed firmly between his shoulder blades. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come uninvited. You made it quite clear that you needed space and I didn’t respect that…” he said as he gave Crowley’s back another pat. However, upon likely realizing the irony of the situation, he quickly removed his hand and scooted further away on the sofa. “I should go. You can keep the wine. Consider it a gift.”

Crowley didn’t move an inch as Ezra got up and made his way back to the door. He only buried his face in his hands with a deep sigh.

“Until tomorrow.” he heard Ezra mumble before the door clicked shut.

He’d fucked up.

#EN #fanfic #Good Omens #ineffable husbands #human AU

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fae-fucker · 5 years

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Review: The Murder Complex

by Lindsay Cummings

An action-packed, blood-soaked, futuristic debut thriller set in a world where the murder rate is higher than the birthrate. For fans of Moira Young’s Dust Lands series, La Femme Nikita, and the movie Hanna.

Meadow Woodson, a fifteen-year-old girl who has been trained by her father to fight, to kill, and to survive in any situation, lives with her family on a houseboat in Florida. The state is controlled by The Murder Complex, an organization that tracks the population with precision.

The plot starts to thicken when Meadow meets Zephyr James, who is—although he doesn’t know it—one of the MC’s programmed assassins. Is their meeting a coincidence? Destiny? Or part of a terrifying strategy? And will Zephyr keep Meadow from discovering the haunting truth about her family?

Action-packed, blood-soaked, and chilling, this is a dark and compelling debut novel by Lindsay Cummings.

There’s a video on YouTube where Sasha Alsberg and Lindsay Cummings try to promote Zenith and their favorite books by speculating about what sort of books Andi would enjoy reading.

Lindsay, being the humble creature that she is, says that Andi would enjoy this book. Why? Because Andi would recognize Meadow’s methods as similar to her own? Because Andi would enjoy reading an edgy “thriller” because she too is edgy? Or even because both Andi and Meadow are beautiful waifish white girls with silver hair who don’t particularly mind killing people?

Actually, no, you absolute fool. Sasha speculates on why Andi would enjoy this book (because of the title and how both Meadow and Andi have … uh … something … in common) and tries and fails to give Lindsay a way out. Lindsay admits to not listening, occupied with her book, which she lovingly strokes while staring into the camera.

I think this says a lot about Lindsay herself, Andi’s personality (or rather, lack thereof), and most importantly, the content of this here book.

This review contains spoilers and discussions of potentially triggering topics.

The Writing

I don’t have much to say here. Zenith was far, far worse when you just compare the prose. It’s simple, bare-bones, and straight to the point. Perfectly mediocre and not memorable at all. It flows well enough, and if it weren’t for uuuh everything else in this book, I’d say it’s a quick and easy read.

It does get very melodramatic and edgy at times, but that is to be expected, and since the melodrama mostly avoids getting too purple or lasting too long, I will officially give Cummings the “I could read your book mostly without cringing at the words” award.

The story is told from Meadow and Zephyr’s POVs, and I’d have to disagree with other reviewers who said that their narration was too similar. I mean, it wasn’t spectacular and they definitely had some overlap in expressions, but I could tell that Cummings was making a conscious effort to make them distinct and for me, it worked (mostly past the first half of the book where both of them just mope around and sound very similar), so I commend that.

The Characters

Now, while Andi OH SHIT FUCK I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT THAT WASN’T A BIT I LITERALLY JUST TYPED ANDI INSTEAD OF MEADOW

Now, while Meadow and Zephyr are distinct, that doesn’t really mean they’re good characters, yea? Honestly, they’re pretty much the only ones who get any type of development and the only ones who can, paradoxically, turn off their edge and just be normal people every now and then.

Meadow is supposedly this Strong Femail Charactor who does Bad Things for Good Reasons. And … I mean, yeah? Like, I don’t remember ever feeling like she obsessed over a man, and her motivations were always either keeping her little sister safe or surviving or figuring out the mystery around their society and how it ties into her own family. As far as YA heroines go, Meadow isn’t terrible. But she’s not exactly interesting, either. She’s always collected and rarely loses her cool, she displays few emotions outside of anger, and is generally cold and downplayed to the point of having barely any personality traits. I guess it’s sort of on purpose? But there are ways of making a character subtle and still interesting, and Meadow just feels like somebody packaged a Strong Femail Charactor right out of the factory without slapping some paint on her first. Idk, I guess if this is what Lindsay was going for then she did a good job, but personally I prefer my protags to be a bit more … more.

I will apologize to Meadow for calling her Andi, though. Andi is a lot more smug and obnoxious and has fewer reasons to be.

Zephyr is a harder to define because I’m pretty sure he’s intended to be more colorful than Meadow, but he comes off as even more generic than her. He’s a convincing enough teenage boy at times, because he lusts after Meadow like a puppy and thinks in super dramatic and poetic prose about how perfect and beautiful she is. But outside of that, he just sort of exists and the plot happens to him? He has no consistent personality traits and no flaws that he has control over. He’s partially brainwashed to murder on command and he’s like, sad about it, for a second, but accepts it pretty quickly and swears to help Meadow out for … reasons? Idk I guess he’s in love with her or whatever. The blurb implies he wants to keep her from discovering the truth but he pretty much helps her from the start.

He’s perfectly non-threatening — a boy next door type if next door was a war zone. Most of the time I wonder how many hands he needs to count all his braincells. One? Or mayhaps two? Whatever happens he just sort of rolls with after a chapter or two of angst and he ends up feeling like he’s a crutch for Meadow, a non-character there to fill the role of the snarky sidekick whose personal conflict is a minor subplot, which is admittedly fairly unusual in YA, but for a co-protagonist isn’t ideal, as one might imagine.

Koi is Meadow’s overprotective older brother who wants to beat up Zephyr for reasons and refuses to chill. And yes, that’s his name.

Periwinkle/Peri is Meadow’s younger sister and Meadow’s Moality Pet. And yes, that’s her name.

Meadow’s dad is an abusive asshole dad who is Too Hard On His Children but whose lessons Turn Out To Be Helpful in the end. No, it’s not his name but I can’t remember what it is and can’t be assed to look it up because he’s just Meadow’s dad. Oh and he likes torture? While Meadow acknowledges her dad is fucked up he’s still treated as this wise authority figure who gives good advice and is only a result of his environment. Society is evil, so that’s why he treats his children like shit and teaches them how to murder good. It’s to protect them, see?

Talan is Zephyr’s best friend and teenage sex worker who lost her child and now is vaguely suicidal but it’s supposed to be charming and quirky??? Talan is the only major character to die brutally for shock value and she seems to welcome it. Tbh she was the only interesting character in the whole book so I actually felt bad when she was killed off like that.

And then there’s a bunch of other characters but what’s the point of me telling you about them since they’re all generic as hell and only exist to spout exposition at Meadow and her boy toy.

There was another character I liked well enough, but only because she was the only PoC and her name was Sketch, which is a pretty neat name, but she didn’t have much of a personality except “snarky hardass” and was basically a Deluxe Edition of an existing “snarky hardass” character. She appears only in the late chapters of the book and is there to get brutalized for the sake of our two white protags. She didn’t die though, so there’s that?

The Plot

Alright, alright, I guess I have to write something.

I honestly have no fucking idea what the plot was. The blurb pretty much tells it all: Meadow meets Zephyr, they fall in love (?), Zephyr goes all Terminator on her ass and she’s like ??? and then uh … turns out Meadow’s family/dead mom are involved in the Murder Complex, which is the thing that’s making Zephyr and other random people kill others when remotely “activated” and so now they gotta find out what the heckity heck is going on, I guess?

It’s a clear enough plot but the motivations are a little weak, especially on Zephyr’s side. One would think he’d like to get rid of the whole “murder on command” thing in his brain but he seems to be able to fight it off easily once he meets Meadow and he’s more focused on helping her for reasons.

Yeah, I’m … I’ve already forgotten large chunks of the story so that should tell you something.

The “Worldbuilding”

O SHIT HERE COMES THE JUICY PART OF THE REVIEW.

*clears throat* Here we go:

The Shallows, Night Siren, the Initiative, Catalogue Number, Commandments of the Shallows, Creds, the Perimeter, the Silent Hour, Before, Rations Department, Pirates, the Dark Time, the Pulse, the Pin, the Red train, the Blue train, Wards, the Leeches, the Graveyard, the Survivors, Rations Hall, Initiative Headquarters, Wards of the State, the Gravers, NoteScreen, Evaluator, the Catalogue Dome, the Pit, Cred Orb, the Furnace Room, the Library, Sellout, the Hospital, the Believers …

Holy shit I don’t think I’ve gotten all of the Important Names yet and I’m already tired.

Y’all. This is the worst case of worldbuilding laziness I’ve seen in a while, and I’m someone who absolutely hates worldbuilding and will let authors get away with minimal effort. This? This is awful. And the thing is? I get it. I might’ve forgiven this because coming up with names is HARD and we humans usually go for the obvious anyway so this makes some amount of sense.

The problem is the fact that there are some words and concepts that are PERFECTLY REGULAR (i.e. the Hospital is literally just a fucking hospital) but still capitalized for no goddamn reason other than it being an attempt at sounding all sci-fi and dystopian without any actual effort. Everything blends together and the concepts are so generic and so MANY that it just becomes noise and you’re forced to simply roll with it and stop trying to actually imagine what anything looks like or where it’s located or how it works.

*takes deeep breath*

Speaking of how it works, let me tell you about the main premise. Basically, there was a war, a big war that tore the US apart like Lisa tears apart Johnny. Those who survived the war were infected with a plague, creatively named the Plague, that threatened to wipe out the population. One 20-year-old scientist cured the Plague, along with literally everything else, including death. Thanks to “nanites”, humans can no longer die of natural causes. This leads to overpopulation, and to stop this, the person who invented this all-cure comes up with another absolutely brilliant idea: let’s make MORE humans, but these humans have brains that are programmed to kill on command. Who gets murdered is chosen at random each and every night in a lottery, and survivors have to clean up dozens of new corpses every morning. (Meadow mentions the death rate is now 300 people per month.)

Yeah. I know. The same brilliant scientist who CURED DEATH not only fails to reverse the effects of their own invention, but decides that factory printing brainwashed humans who are then released into the world to also consume resources along with their victims is the best course of action?

Also, there are old people in this book. How are they still aging? How do you cure death but keep the aging? Why do you kill random people for shits and giggles instead of offing the semi-sentient sacks of flesh that the old people are bound to become as their bodies grow and decline but refuse to die? Surely you need young people to work in your factories? If resources are scarce, why keep old people alive past the point where they can contribute to society? If you have the technology to make remote controlled brains, why can’t you yank those bad boys out and just put them into robot bodies?

Why did nobody consider sterilization? I know this is a dangerous and sensitive topic that a white author probably shouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, but if you’re ok with writing indiscriminate murder and pretend that shit wouldn’t become very racist very fast, then you could do the same with sterilization. You can’t tell me that the nanites are so good they could grow you a new uterus. Evidently they’re not good enough to heal bullet wounds or stab wounds or else your little “murder complex” wouldn’t fucking work, would it?

I’m not saying these are “better” options than murder lottery, because these are all terrible things, but I am saying that they’re definitely more logical and profitable if you’re an evil government. Compared to making new people from scratch to kill your already existing people, anyway.

There are also implications of this all being a lie to control the population so that the “Initiative” can remain in control, along with the usual shitty YA dystopia thing where it’s implied that Earth is fucked and we’re out of resources.

This whole thing is a mess of half-assed concepts that are never explored but just sort of jammed together into an incoherent mess. There’s a big war, there’s a big plague, there’s senseless murder, there’s an evil government, there’s child soldiers, there’s brainwashing, there’s a rebel Resistance, there’s climate change … There’s even an Aptitude Test or whatever that never comes back despite being very angsted and exposited about in the opening chapters. It’s like Lindsay read all the YA dystopias that came before and couldn’t pick a gimmick and just went for all of them.

Oh I haven’t even mentioned the funniest part of all this: the swearing. As with Zenith, Lindsay has no problem describing gory murder and calling female characters “sluts”, but actual human curse words like shit and fuck? Don’t be silly. This is CHILD AND PUBLISHER FRIENDLY. Shit is now “skitz”, “fuck” is now “flux”. Can you imagine reading this fluxing bullskitz? WE NEVER EVEN FIND OUT WHAT THESE WORDS MEAN OR WHY THEY WERE REPLACED, SINCE THIS TAKES PLACE RECENT ENOUGH THAT MEADOW REMEMBERS GOING TO BASEBALL GAMES.

Oh and there’s also ChumHead, which, you guessed it, is never explained.

I guess now we know who to blame for “fike” and “starshined”. Oh and there are swears related to the stars in this book as well. I think Lindsay needs to get off that SJM juice.

The Edgy

Allow me to feed quotes into your gaping brain mouths. Not a lot of them because most of my notes are just me going WHAT at the concepts and the names more than the phrasing.

Every night, I stay awake for as long as I can to keep my nightmares at bay.

Scars are trophies in the Shallows. They show we know how to cheat death.

In a paragraph before this one, Meadow mentions that nanites heal everything but leave scars behind for reasons, and it happens to everyone. So why would they be a status symbol?

It’s the moon. The moon that reminds me of the moonlit girl.

My moonlit girl. She’s the cure to my nightmares, the one thing that helps me feel safe when I can’t even trust my own dreams to harbor me.

Spoken like a real teenage boy, Zeph. Would you like some tissues with that spunk?

I hold the door open for [Talan], but she shrugs past me and opens the other one. Always independent. Never taking help from anyone.

Hi is this a Feminism?

I find two leather thigh sheathes and strap them to my legs. I slide two knives into them and stand, slinging the bow over my shoulder. […] Feeling angry. But feeling strong.

Convenient sexy makeover includes leather knife pockets and a cool but completely-impractical-due-to-the-existence-of-enemy-guns crossbow. I also want to mention that the book calls crossbow ammo “arrows”, when they’re usually referred to as bolts, but go off.

The Conclusion

The Murder Complex is a book that straddles the line between mediocre and bad. Its biggest flaw is how boring and shallow its ideas and characters are. Which basically means its biggest flaw is everything about it. I can’t say it was so bad it’s good, but I can’t exactly call it terrible because I’ve read far, far worse. It’s mediocre writing about bland characters angsting and murdering their way through a convoluted plot that’s based on worldbuilding as solid as half-eaten ham standwich found in a rainy alleyway. It’s not fun or entertaining to read and there’s nothing to get outrageously mad about.

In the end, I don’t think you should pick this up unless you’ve somehow read every other book in the world and this is the only one left. Don’t waste your time on this, not even as a joke. Don’t make my sacrifice be in vain.

#book review #repost #the murder complex #i'm pretty sure i'm the only person who's ever read this book

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frighthouseofalighthouse · 5 years

Note

I know it's a lot! But all of the 65 questions you aren't used to!! I love getting to know the blogs I follow!

Okay love! The last one was a freebie so I guess I’ll just leave that one out haha.

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

Na, usually it’s the opposite for me. I don’t feel important enough to be real.

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

Maybe a 3? I don’t mind the dark as long as my imagination isn’t getting the best of me, which it usually is. I always have my little touch-activated lamp in my room left on at the dimmest setting at night.

3. The person you would never want to meet?

Donald Trump.

4. What is your favorite word?

Drumonios. It’s an Ancient Greek epithet of Artemis, and it means “haunting the woods.” (hey, no one said English word)

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

*in Monty Python voice* THE LARCH

No, but in all seriousness, I’d be a willow. So gentle and comforting, like the tree leaning over to hug you and give you shade.

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

Yikes.

7. What shirt are you wearing?

A black shirt with images of moon phases that says “to the moon and back”

8. What do you label yourself as?

Is this a gender/sexual identity question??? Cuz if not I could label myself as anything. But genderwise I’m a cis female and orientation-wise I’m lesbian, biromantic, possibly somewhere on the ace spectrum?

9. Bright room or dark room?

Dark room. Or mostly dark. Dim with a yellowish lamp because I hate white lights.

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

Talking to my gf on the phone.

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

tbh this year, 19. My anxiety’s been better than it ever was. I haven’t been actively suicidal at all this year. I’m just in a better place all around.

12. Who told you they loved you last?

Probably my mom?

13. Your worst enemy?

Myself

14. What is your current desktop picture?

15. Do you like someone?

Romantically? My girlfriend. In general? Everyone who hasn’t crossed me.

16. The last song you listened to?

Right now I’m listening to LA Devotee by Panic! At The Disco :)

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

Donald Trump, while he’s in a cabinet meeting so it blows up everyone else there too

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Donald Trump or my ex

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

I don’t really want a slave? Kinda against the whole idea? But ig Thomas Jefferson bc he needs to know what it feels like (Hamilton pettiness coming out oops)

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

My eyes! Idk if I have a picture that shows them really well? But you can check my selfies tag. They’re deep hazel green with gold flecks.

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

I would look like historical Alexander Hamilton and I would hang out in history museums freaking people out.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

Wouldn’t be a secret if I told you. ;) But seriously, I’m not very private about my talents because I’m proud of them. I write, read, make up codes, solve puzzles, sing, do calligraphy. Sometimes my eyeshadow looks decent.

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

Most of the unique things are PTSD triggers. The rest of my fears are just normal.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

Grilled mac and cheese sandwich.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

Put it towards saving up for a Switch so I can get the new Pokemon game when it comes out this fall.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

The British Isles, where I will do historical tours and live in the Highlands for a year.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

I don’t drink, I’m pretty against it in part because my uncle’s a recovering alcoholic, but I’d say strawberry daquiris? Idk brands, man.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

Socialism and if you’re gonna mess up the process and turn it into communism then you’re off the island.

29. What is your favorite expletive?

Fuckweasel. Thanks, Raven Cycle.

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

My phone I guess?

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Nothing. As much as I hate what I’ve been through (assault by my ex, manipulation by my dad) it’s taught me so much strength and made me who I am. I know red flags. I came out of my shell. I know how to say no, how to cut out toxic family.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

Scotland.

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

FDR. We have a polio vaccine and he was my favorite president.

34. What was your last dream about?

I was doing a crossword puzzle but, like, it never ended. And the clues kept changing every time I started to write the answer. It sucked.

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]?

Nothing was inserted haha so yes. I am a good.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

Twice. Once as a baby for my open heart surgery, and once when I was 4 for severe dehydration from the flu.

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

Yes but it’s been like 13 years.

38. What is the color of your socks?

Light blue and white stripes.

39. What type of music do you like?

Pop, rock, folk, Celtic, classical, old country, like, Woodie Guthrie, and some new country like Kelsea Ballerini.

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

SUNSETS

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Cherry!

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

Um, I guess the OSU Buckeyes cuz that’s where I live and I hate pro football.

43. Do you have any scars?

I have a huge scar down my chest from my heart surgery, a few self harm scars left, and quite a few from old cat scratches. Also my left knee is covered with scars from being a clumsy child. And I have small birthmarks which correlate to past life injuries which is fun

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

A librarian/history or English teacher

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My weight.

46. Are you reliable?

Sometimes I flake on plans bc of mental illness, but yes. I am a strong shoulder to lean on, and I will always be there for you.

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Am I trying for the right things?

48. Do you hold grudges?

Not consciously. But there are certain things I haven’t been able to forgive just yet.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

Sloth dragon. Sloth with little back scales and wings who flies very slowly and breathes fire when threatened.

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

My mom and I have the funniest conversations. I couldn’t pick one. Every day between us is just hysterical.

51. Are you a good liar?

Yes. But I don’t lie anymore except when I have to.

52. How long could you go without talking?

Probably forever as long as I could write or text.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

When I was 9 I decided to get a shoulder length bob. My hair did not approve. Constant white-fro. I don’t have a picture of it full glory, but this is after having it styled, at age 11, as flat as it would go.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

Noooo I suck at baking. I’ve made cookies though.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

British, I guess? I do a good Hermione.

56. What do you like on your toast?

Butter lmao I’m classic

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

Uhhh I sketched a flower on my church bulletin last week? Nothing fancy. I don’t draw.

58. What would be you dream car?

‘67 Impala baby.

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

I, uh give political speeches to the showerhead? It’s the Hamilton mood.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

I definitely believe we can’t live in a universe infinitely big all by ourselves.

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

I don’t read my actual horoscope, but I look at those zodiac posts a lot, and I know my full birth chart.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

A and S.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Both. Dinsoaurs could have been dragons, we don’t know.

64. What do you think about babies?

They’re okay til they cry or poop or throw up lmao.

Thanks bb!

#a series of essays anonymously published

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the-lupine-sojourner · 5 years

Text

Takara Yamada’s Hero Academia Episode 6 [Eijiro Kirishima/OC] [Female!Aizawa/Hizashi]

Hey! So...I guess I went from the last bit of five into six? I am so confused, but I guess that’s just cus it’s 1:00 in the morning and I’m tired. Anyway, here’s the next episode for you all.

Edit: Nevermind! Hardygal helped me figure it out. Now I’ve had some sleep, it was obvious (just some mislabeling), but anyway...

I went back and added a sketch I posted that’s supposed to be the actual design Takara submitted for her Kitsune outfit, if y’all want to look at it before/during/after you read my description. Look for the linked word shortly before the description.

Now for Takara’s Masterlist

I’m gonna tag the usual people: @dailyojiromashirao and @elite-guard-hardygal, but anyone can join, too.

Also, I would love to read Asks with your predictions of what’s to come! Please send em in and I’ll tell you ‘Hot’ or ‘Cold’. Deal? XD

But in all seriousness, please send theories and predictions. I’d really like to hear them!

Now, onto the episode! Hope you all like it!

God Bless and Good day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

“No matter what your intentions are, you would be nothing more than a liability in battle.” Mom growls in a terrified Izuku’s face. “I’m sorry, Midoryia, but with your power, there’s no way someone like you can become a hero.” That does it. Student or no student, I had to do something.

“Mom, enough!” I bark, and it takes several seconds before I realize what I’d called her. Shit.

Guess the cat’s out of the bag now…

Unsurprisingly, everyone was shocked. I sigh, then give Mom an apologetic look. Mom glances at me before turning back to Izuku. “You have the same reckless passion as another overzealous hero I know; one who saved a thousand people by himself and became a legend. But, even with that drive, you’re useless if you can only throw a single punch before breaking down.” She continues. I guess Teacher!Mom really is different.

“Mom!” I snap. “You said yourself; it’s not the Quirk that defines you, it’s how you use it.” I point out. Mom tsks and releases him.

“I’ve returned your impractical Quirk. Take your throw.” She says. “And, Takara, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t act as my daughter in class from here on, alright?” I nod.

“I know. It just slipped out.” I murmur meekly. “Sorry.” She pats my shoulder.

“Try not to let it slip out again and we’re good.” She says, resuming her place observing the others, putting in eye drops as she waits for Izuku to throw the ball. I drag my feet back to the others as Izuku retrieves the ball. Mom hadn’t counted his first throw to prove a point. Now, it would factor into his placement on this overall test. He needs a good score!

“You didn’t tell me both your parents were teachers.” Eijiro mutters. I deflate, wanting to sink into the ground and disappear.

“You didn’t ask.” I mumble. It was a classic excuse, but it was accurate. He hadn’t outright asked, and I didn’t want his impression (and the impressions of my classmates) framed by my parents. I wanted to make my own impression and let them decide who I really was.

“Oh. Sorry.” He says, apparently seeing my discomfort. “I think it’s cool, Takara. Really.” I smile.

“Thanks.” Izuku then takes a step back, holding the ball ready. I turn my head and watch as he launches it, a strange glow in his arm. I swallow. What was he doing?

“Smmaaaash!” Izuku roars, and the ball goes flying, just like with Katsuki.

705.3 meters the robot recited. I blink. Holy shit! He used just his finger to power the ball so he could still compete! “It’s just like your daughter said, Mrs. Aizawa; it’s how you use your Quirk, not what the Quirk is.” He says. “And, well...I’m still standing!” I laugh, unable to resist clapping. It seems everyone is thoroughly distracted from my slip-up and I’m fine with that.

“He threw it over 700 meters?!” The blonde-black streak boy exclaims.

“Dude, why are you surprised? You heard he took out the 0-pointer all by himself, right?” I point out. He blinks.

“Oh, yeah! Guess you’re right.” He admits, grinning.

“Nice!” Ochaco cheers. “He’s finally showing us his true power!”

“But his finger appears to be broken.” Tenya counters. “Just like in the exam. His Quirk is very odd.” I shrug. I knew what the deal was, but couldn’t say it aloud.

“Well, most Quirks have a drawback, right? This is just his drawback.” I muse instead.

“I suppose.” He replies thoughtfully, holding his chin. He then turns to me. “By the way, I can see why you didn’t tell anyone Mrs. Yamada and her husband were your parents. It can change people’s perceptions of you.” I wasn’t sure why he chose to say that now of all times, but I smile, happy he understood and wasn’t upset.

“Yeah...sorry. I just never really said anything unless directly asked. I didn’t mean to call her ‘mom’.” I reply. Before Tenya can respond, Katsuki tears forward, roaring angrily.

“Hey! Deku, you bastard! Tell me how you did that or you’re dead!” I sprint forward, stopping at Mom’s outstretched hand. Izuku can only scream in terror as Mom’s capture weapon lurches forward, snapping around Katsuki’s chest and forehead. “What the- -why the hell is your damn scarf...so strong?!” He growls, struggling to get away and reach Izuku.

“Because it’s a capture weapon made out of carbon fiber and a special metal alloy.” Mom replies easily, keeping Katsuki still, glaring at him. “Stand down!” She barks, furious. “It’d be wise to avoid making me use my Quirk so much;” She continues, “it gives me serious dry eye!” When Katsuki appears to obey, Mom releases him, sighing as her hair flops back down over her eyes. “You’re wasting my time now. Whoever’s next can step up.” Izuku walks timidly past Katsuki, who simply stands there, shaking (with what, I can’t tell. Rage? Confusion?), and rejoins us.

“Is your finger okay?” Ochaco asks when Izuku arrives.

“Sure.” He replies. “Fine.” Mom snaps at us and we continue the throwing test. Soon enough, it’s on to sit-ups. As many as we could do in 5 minutes.

Eijiro asked if I’d be his partner and I agreed. It seemed to take forever, but I ended up with a good score. 213, thanks to using the water as a springboard. Then, it was Eijiro’s turn. He got about 170 in, and seemed deflated, so I grin.

“Awesome job!” He sighs.

“But you got almost 50 more situps in then I did.” I shrug.

“Eijiro, you still did really good! This is a test not a lot of Quirks will help with. Mine only got me a little extra spring. That’s all. Your score is really impressive!” I assure him. He nods.

“If you say so.” It was a common response of his when he felt I did a lot better than him at something and I tried to tell him he did amazing, too. I wondered just what made him so certain he wasn’t that great, but I was determined to prove him wrong.

“I do say so, so you better believe it!” I reply before Mom calls out that we’re moving on to the Seated Toe Touch test.

There wasn’t much my Quirk could do to help, so I got a fairly average score. In fact, hardly anyone’s Quirks were suited for simply stretching over and trying to touch your toes.

Once we were all done, Mom led us to the large recreational area where we’d done the ball throw. The next test was the Long Distance Run, Mom announced. I smirk confidently.

Naturally, Tenya would most likely get first, but I could get a good placing, I just know it! It was a mile race, and I ended up in fifth place! Eijiro wasn’t far behind me, coming in seventh, a blonde-haired boy with a tail between us. I bent over, panting, before the boy came over. “Nice race!” He says, smiling. I straighten and shake his hand.

“Thanks.”

“I’m Ojiro Mashairo.” He introduces.

“I’m guessing you already know my name, huh?” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. He nods.

“Yeah, and I get why you didn’t want to tell us just yet.” I smile.

“Thanks. I probably should have just told you my last name at first, then let you all figure it out, but I decided I wanted to have my first impression be as Takara, not Present Mic and Eraserhead’s kid.” I explain. Ojiro nods.

“I get that.” I grin, then Mom calls us together.

“Alright, time to give you your results. I’ve ranked you all from best to worst. You should probably have a good idea of your standing already. I’ll just pull up the whole list; it’s not worth going over each individual score.” And so she does; I find my name in the 9th slot, between Eijiro and Mina, and grimace. Not as good as I wanted, but not bad, either, I guess. Mom glances at me, a tiny smirk on her face and I feel better. She thought I did good. That was enough. I then continue reading the list and- -shit! Izuku’s in last place! I look over and he’s shaking, devastated. I bite my lip. There wasn’t anything I could do. He’d be sent home. He’d be expelled. He looked down, gripping his wrist like it would keep him together and prevent him from breaking down. Just as I begin pivoting to walk over, the scores are retracted and Mom chuckles. “And I was lying; no one’s going home.” My heart skips a beat. Wait, what?! “That was just a rational deception to make sure you gave it your all in the tests.” She explains. She’d never done that with me! It was totally new!

“I’m surprised the rest of you didn’t figure that out.” A girl with long black hair muses. “I’m sorry; guess I probably should have said something.” We all look at her in various degrees of ‘duh’.

“How would we have figured that out?” I grumble under my breath. The straight-black-haired boy turns to Eijiro.

“That was pretty nerve-wracking, huh?” He muses.

“Nah. I’ll always down for a challenge!” Eijiro replies, eyes glinting and fist clenched in determination.

“That’s it for today.” Mom says. “Pick up a syllabus in the classroom, read it over before tomorrow. Midoriya,” She hands him a note. “take this and have the old lady look you over. Things‘ll be more difficult once your actual training begins.” She warns, then puts a hand on my shoulder. “Make sure you’re prepared. Come on, Takara. We have to find Hizashi.” I nod, waving goodbye and following Mom. “It was interesting that you didn’t tell people who you are right off the bat.” She muses. I gulp. Would she be upset? Today, Mom had acted so different than she normally did, I can’t tell how she’d react anymore.

“We-well, I wanted to make the first impression of myself as Takara, not as Present Mic and Eraserhead’s daughter.” I mumble, fiddling with my fingers nervously.

“Huh.” She replies vaguely, expression unreadable. “So it’s a mix, then, of both of us.” She muses, but before I can respond to that, I spot Toshin-Oji standing there like he’d been looking in on us for a while.

“Aizawa, that was a rotten move.” He grumbles. So he had been watching. Why? To see what Izuku would do?

“All Might.” Mom replies casually. “So, you were watching. No talk shows today?”

“Mom, he doesn’t do that many talk shows.” I point out.

“That’s beside the point.” Toshin-Oji replies, eyes never leaving Mom. “A ‘rational deception’? That’s cute, but you’re not exactly known for being light-hearted.” I raise a brow. Why was he so mad? Because Izuku could have been expelled? “I read your file; last year, you expelled an entire class of freshman students. You have no problem kicking students out; anyone you deem unworthy.” I blink several times. Guess there was a reason Mom didn’t take work home. She was so different at UA versus at home, I almost don’t recognize her. “You were planning to send last place home.” I swallow. Mom wouldn’t really do that...would she? “So, that must mean you see the same potential in young Midoriya that I do!” Mom raises a brow, then turns to All Might.

“What’s this about?” She asks. “It almost sounds like you’ve been in his corner the whole time. And Takara, as well, though I suppose that’s because she was with him during the sludge villain attack.” Toshin-Oji flinches, but doesn’t reply.

“Mom, please.” I mumble.

“Regardless, isn’t it a little early for you to be playing favorites?” Mom asks coyly, like I hadn’t said anything. She then starts walking again. “Midoriya doesn’t have zero potential, I admit.” She adds. “If that were the case, I would have sent him home after class without hesitation.” I swallow. Would she really? She sighs. “It’s cruel to let a kid keep dreaming of something that will never come true.” I frown, but wave goodbye to Toshin-Oji and jog back to Mom.

“Mom, Izuku’s gonna become a hero. He won’t give up.” She smiles.

“I don’t expect him to, Takara. But I won’t make it easier for him, either. I’ll treat him like I would any other student. Everyone was under the same pressure in those tests and they all showed their potential today. I didn’t see any reasons for expulsion.” I nod and smile. This was closer to the Mom I knew at home. We walk to the teacher’s lounge and find Dad sleeping on a table. I chuckle and run my fingers up his ribs.

“Dad, there’s a spider!” I exclaim. He leaps up, screaming and patting himself down, but then notices that I’m laughing and calms.

“That’s not funny, TIk-Tik. Hey, Shota.” He says, yawning and kissing Mom. “Running the orientation was no easy task.” He muses, rubbing his eyes. Mom chuckles.

“I bet. Nor was managing 21 kids. How about we grab coffee on the way home?” Dad instantly perks up.

“That sounds awesome!” He says. I find myself craving coffee, too. I’d used my Quirk a lot. It took its toll. But maybe I just need food. After all, there wasn’t much time for lunch while the tests were underway, for me at least. I yawn and Mom frowns.

“We need to get you food, too. You’re ready to pass out.” She muses, smiling at me and offering support. I nod, rubbing my eyes and leaning on her.

The true downside of my Quirk, we’d discovered, was that it took blood sugar to activate my mental control of water and earth, and since earth was stubborn and hard, it cost a lot more. “You know, your classmates are pretty cool, from what I saw.” Dad points out, yawning and leading the way to the cafeteria, labeled Lunch Rush (like the hero? Cool!). “If you want to invite them over sometime, I wouldn’t say no.” I pause, mulling it over. I didn’t know them yet. But maybe after getting to know them, I would.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” I reply, side-hugging Dad as we walk to the cafeteria.

=#=#=#=#=

“Alright, alright, alright!” Dad exclaims, seeing everyone seated and ready for the English lesson. “Before we get started, listeners, I have a special shout-out to give.” I pale, freezing in terror. He wouldn’t...

Would he? “Most of you know my amazing daughter already from yesterday’s performance for the Quirk Assessment Test, but I wanna formally introduce her! Tik-Tak, c’mon up here!” I am so red and flustered, I can only shake my head, slumping onto the desk as several chuckles ring the room. I hide my face in my arms. “Ah, well, she’s shy.” Dad acknowledges a moment later, and I swear his voice has a twinge of regret before he seems to revert to his normal self. “So, let’s move along to the rockin’ lesson I have for you all!”

Thankfully, the other teachers didn’t seem intent on embarrassing me in front of my class, and before I know it, it was finally time for Hero Basic Training. “I hear Hizashi felt the need for a ‘shout out’ in his class.” Toshin-Oji muses, in his thin form. I’d arrived early, sulking at Mom’s desk until he spoke.

“Yeah. He even called me Tik-Tak!” I grumble.

“He loves you and probably couldn’t contain himself.” I sigh, deflating.

“I know, but...I just don’t like being put on the spot like that. Everyone laughed at me!”

“Not everyone’s nickname is a candy.” Toshin-Oji retorts wryly. I swat at his arm.

“Not helping!” I protest. Eijiro then walks in.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, setting his bag down and walking over. I sigh.

“Just Dad’s ‘shout out’ in English.” Eijiro smiles.

“Well, I think it was pretty typical of a dad to brag about their kid.” I sigh.

“I guess you’re right.” I turn to Toshin-Oji. “Do you have to get back to work, Toshin-Oji?” I ask as Katsuki sulks in, glaring at us as he claims the desk he’s used since yesterday. Like anyone was stupid enough to confuse his desk for theirs.

Toshin-Oji smiles gratefully for my excuse for his exit to change and become All Might (Dad told me Mom was letting my uncle sub for her class today as something came up at her agency). “Ah, yes. Thank you. I’ll see you later, Takara.” He says, waving from the door. I wave back as he leaves and more of my classmates arrive.

“Afternoon, Yamada.” Tenya says, seating himself and waiting for class to start. I nod, smiling.

“Hey, what’s with the last name?” I tease. “Told yah to call me Takara.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.” I shrug.

“S’all good.” Soon enough, we’re all seated and waiting for All Might. He arrives moments later.

“I am...here! Coming through the door like a hero!” He exclaims, in a kinda weird pose, grinning and in general being overdramatic. He strides to the podium as we all chatter excitedly.

“So he is a teacher!” Eijiro exclaims. “This year is gonna be totally awesome!”

I grin. “Right?!” A girl with dark green hair behind Eijiro looks at his costume.

“Is that his silver age costume?” She asks. I tilt my head.

“I think so.” I reply.

“I’m getting goosebumps! It’s so retro!” The boy with a tail (Oshio? Maybe?) murmurs.

“Welcome to the most important class at UA High; think of it as Hero-ing 101!” All Might begins. “Here, you will learn the basics of being a pro, and what it means to fight in the name of good!” He strikes a pose and reveals a card that says ‘Battle’. “Let’s get to it! Today’s lesson will pull no punches!” I flinch. Were they serious? Were we really gonna fight each other?

“Fight training!” Katsuki exclaims, an unusual amount of glee in his voice.

“Real combat?” Izuku mumbles nervously, and I find that a much more realistic and appropriate reaction.

“No way...” I whimper.

“And one of the keys of being a hero iiisss...looking good!” Toshin-Oji calls like we hadn’t said anything and points to the back wall. There were rectangular slots that opened up and out came racks of numbered cases. “These were designed for you based on your Quirk Registration Forms and the request you sent in before school started.” All Might explains. Everyone cheers excitedly. I wondered how they’d react to my choice of a fox-themed outfit. For some reason, that was all I could think of when I sat down to design a hero outfit. I’d even thought of my hero name to go with the outfit; The Elemental Heroine, Kitsune! It was what I wanted, and Mom and Dad were fine with it, so I submitted the Kitsune design and didn’t regret it. I move and grab the case with the number of my desk and follow All Might’s instruction to ‘get suited up’ in the changing room.

I open it and pull out the black bodysuit first. I go to a curtained room and get changed into it. It was almost skin-tight, but not quite, like I asked. I was surprised at how breathable and light the fabric was, but it also felt sturdy and reliable. I then pull out the orange half-sleeved overcoat. It covered from my chest to my hips, dropping behind me in a kind of tail, with a Mandarin neckline and zipper down my chest. I clipped my slate grey belt (with spaces for water or snacks to boost my blood sugar on the go) on and it fits perfectly. I then put my boots on. They were a sunset orange, like the overcoat, almost knee-high, and came with knee pads tucked into them to save space. The soles of the boots weren’t overly thick and heavy, with small spikes to provide traction. With the boots on, all that was left was my headgear and gloves. The headgear was tied at the back of my head, and was also sunset orange, with orange fox ears coming off the sides of my head, fading to black at the tips. The gloves’ fingers were black, and the rest was the orange of the rest of my suit. I tried a few poses, and it felt great!

“Wow!” I hear Mina exclaim from behind me. “That looks great on you, girl, but...I thought your Quirk was water?” I grin.

“Water and earth, actually. Earth’s just a lot harder to control, so I use it to track vibrations. Also, I really like foxes and wolves, so I crafted an outfit to match.” I explain. Ochaco grins. She has a black bodysuit, too, but it looks tighter than mine. She has a cute pink and white belt and a simple white design over her chest. There were bracelets over her wrists and her boots had a rounded, almost balloon-look to them, going all the way to her knee with a bit of heel. It was a simple costume and she had a visor to protect her face. All in all, a great outfit.

“That looks so cool, Yamada!” She says, then scratches the back of her neck. “I didn’t mean to ask for something skin-tight. I normally wear looser stuff…”

“I do, too!” I reply, trying to help her feel better. “Call me Takara, by the way, and, with everything else, it looks great. I like your suit, too!” I then look over and am a little shocked at the girl with long black-hair’s costume. It was red, looking kinda like Oba Nemuri’s...but… “Wow...um...that’s an interesting costume…” I mumble, blushing a little. She showed a lot of skin.

“My Quirk is Creation, and the creations come out of my skin, so I had to have something that works with that.” I nod.

“Yeah.” I reply. “Makes sense. Sorry.” She smiles.

“My name is Momo Yaoyorozu. I know it’s a bit revealing, but I have to dress like this, with my Quirk. I apologize if it makes you uncomfortable.” I smile.

“Oh, no! I just...it took my a little by surprise, is all. I didn’t know what your Quirk was.” I explain as we walk out.

“Okay.” She says and we drop the conversation.

I then see the boys and- -holy- -whoa! Eijiro! His hero outfit, like Momo’s, catered to his Quirk, but...did he have to just not wear any shirt?! “N-nice outfit, Eijiro…” I mumble, blushing scarlet. He was jacked! He had a defined six-pack and those arms were too jacked. He had a jawguard on that looked almost like a muzzle, with cog-wheel looking things over his shoulders and a half-skirt tucked into his belt, which had a stylized ‘R’ on the buckle. His pants were baggy dark grey cargo pants and he wore a pair of red mid-shin high boots.

“Thanks! You look...you look amazing, too!” He replies, chuckling.

I move automatically with everyone else, but I can’t stop glancing over at Kiri. He’d been wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants at the entrance exam and the uniform after that, so I was completely caught off guard. How was he so ripped?! Finally, we arrive at Training Ground Beta and head down the tunnel. “They say that ‘clothes make the pros’, young ladies and gentlemen, and behold, you are the proof! Take this to heart; from now on, you’re all Heroes in Training!” Toshin-Oji all but squeals when we arrive. “It’s getting me all ramped up! You look so cool!” He calms a little, clearing his throat, “Now, shall we get started, you bunch of newbies?” Izuku, having taken a little while longer to get dressed, finally arrived.

At first, I thought his costume was modeled after a rabbit, then I remembered his favorite hero and shake with the effort to contain laughter. It was super obvious! “Nice costume, Izuku!” I greet.

“Yeah! Not too flashy, Deku! I like it!” Ochaco chimes in, and Izuku is startled when he takes in his friend’s costume, cheeks flaring under his face mask. “I should have been more specific about what I wanted; this bodysuit is skin-tight. Not really my style…”

“Now that you’re ready,” Toshin-Oji calls as he takes all of our costumes in. “it’s time for combat training!” Tenya (or I think it’s Tenya; no one else’s calves are that thick) immediately raises a hand.

“Sir, this is the city from the entrance exam. Does this mean we’ll be conducting urban battles again?”

“Not quite!” Toshin-Oji replies. “I’m gonna move you two steps ahead! Most of the villain attacks you see on the news happen outside. However, statistically, run-ins with the more dastardly villains happen indoors. Think about it; back room deals, home invasions, secret underground lairs. Truly intelligent criminals remain in the shadows. For this training exercise, I’ll be splitting you into teams of two; good guys and bad guys, fighting two-on-two teams!”

“Isn’t this a little advanced?” That girl with dark green hair asks, tilting her head. She wears a green bodysuit with dulled yellow goggles.

“The best training is what you get on the battlefield.” Toshin-Oji points out. “But remember; you can’t just punch a robot this time; you’re dealing with actual people now.” Questions flew thick a fast, things like ‘how will you split us up?’, ‘how bad can we hurt the other team?’ (from Bakugo, unsurprisingly), and a lot of others.

“I wasn’t finished speaking!” Toshin-Oji exclaims. He then clears his throat and draws out a small notebook. “The situation is this; the villains have hidden a nuclear weapon somewhere in the building. The heroes must either retrieve the weapon or capture the villains to win. But, time is limited! Teams will be decided by drawing lots!”

“Isn’t there a better way?” Tenya asks.

“Think about it.” Izuku counters. “Heroes have to team up with heroes from other agencies on the spot, so maybe that’s the reason we’re seeing that here.”

Tenya nods. “Ah, I see. Life is a random series of events.” He replies. “Excuse my rudeness!”

“No sweat!” Toshin-Oji cheers, “Let’s draw!” In everyone’s rush to draw, I’m left a bit behind, and can’t get through til almost everyone has drawn. When I reach my hand in, however, I find there’s only one ball left and I wander around, trying to find the other person with a ‘K’ on their ball. Toshin-Oji flinches when I can’t find anyone. “Ah, young Yamada! I should have considered that the class is unevenly numbered. Hmm...it wouldn’t be right to leave you solo...hmm...Well, I’m sorry, but for now, just watch and we’ll see how we can get you into a battle. Sound okay?” I nod awkwardly.

“Yeah.” All Might gives me an apologetic look before he clears his throat and moved to two boxes labelled ‘Heroes’ and ‘Villains’.

“I declare that the first two teams to fight will be…” He draws a ball from each and holds them up. ‘D’ and ‘A’. “These guys!” I gulp.

‘D’ was Katsuki and Tenya. ‘A’ was Ochaco and Izuku.

Katsuki hated Izuku. This was so not going to end well.

#Fanfiction #My Hero Academia OC #BNHA OC #MHA OC #Original Character #Original Female Character #OFC #OC #MHA #BNHA #Eijiro Kirshima #Eijiro Kirishima X OC #OC Insertion Series #Takara Yamada #Eijiro Kirishima X Takara Yamada #BNHA Kirishima

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softpeetabread · 6 years

Text

University Life part 3

I’m so flattered by the positive reception to this au and the comments I received have encouraged me to continue. Thank you to everyone that’s taken the time to read this little tale. I have more in store and here is but a piece, which I hope can suffice until my next update. Enjoy!

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Katniss had to give Peeta credit for making it till the end of the day to crash and fall asleep, or at least until they made it back to his apartment. He didn’t even reach his bed and opted for the living room couch, even if it was probably uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she found a blanket in his room and covered him with it.

She had been at his apartment plenty of times to know where to find things. She prepared a mug with a teabag for when he’d wake up and started on dinner for them. They usually worked together to make meals, but Peeta needed his sleep and she would not disturb him just so they could cook.

Finnick came into the apartment some time later, a tired expression on his face. He’d probably had a long day as well.

“Did you replace my roommate?” Despite his exhaustion, he still managed to give her a mischievous smile.

“Please, you would be the one Peeta would replace,” she answered, her own playful smile on her lips.

“You’re like his mother. Look at you: making him food while he sleeps.”

Katniss shrugged. “Don’t be jealous just because this isn’t for you.”

After spending so much time with Finnick and Johanna thanks to Peeta, she had gotten up to speed with their jokes and jabs. Had she been a new friend and used that response she would have felt like she was being unnecessarily mean and biting. However, she knew her answer wouldn’t hurt Finnick since they tended to say worse things to one another. Katniss had simply adjusted and learnt from them all. Sometimes, harsh comments would get thrown around and Peeta would step in to defend her from his friends, but she wasn’t bothered because she knew she could hurt them with her words if she wanted to. There was a difference between being defensive and playing along.

By the time she finished cooking, Finnick had left to meet Annie at her apartment, leaving Peeta and Katniss alone once again. She heard Peeta yawn as he sat up.

“What a coincidence that you wake up just as I’m about to serve us dinner,” she said with a smirk.

“My stomach can sense quality food from a mile away,” Peeta answered, stretching his back. “What’d you make?”

“Your favorite: stew.” Katniss brought the pot to the table carefully, setting it on the center where the heat mat rested.

“I think you mean that’s your favorite,” he chuckled and got up to help Katniss set the table. “I’ll eat anything you make, though.”

“It’s not like you have a choice.”

Peeta pretended to be pensive about it. “Well, I could order something, but then I’d be wasting some good stew. And then, I’d get a long lecture from you about how awful it is to waste food. And then, you’d remind me of how long it took you to make it. I’ll save myself all that trouble.”

Katniss couldn’t help but laugh. Was she that predictable? “You are not only smart, but you are a wise man, Peeta.”

“I’ve learnt that I have to keep a woman happy or else I’d be facing her wrath,” Peeta shrugged.

“Don’t tell me your priority is to keep me happy,” Katniss said with mock sarcasm.

“Then, I won’t tell you.” He brought the plates to the table and Katniss served them dinner. “I do admit I have my priorities straight. It just so happens that one of them is to make someone happy.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that as she wasn’t sure who he was really referring to. “That person is very lucky… Now hurry up and eat your stew while it’s hot.”

“I could just heat it up!”

“It won’t taste the same!”

Peeta rested his face on his hand as he looked at her, laughing with amusement at their exchange. “There’s no winning with you.”

“You should know that by now.”

Putting his wisdom to use, Peeta kept quiet save for the chuckles he couldn’t help holding back, which made Katniss look away from him else she risked choking on her food. She had never laughed so much in her life, from what she remembered, until she got to know Peeta and now she couldn’t stop. The real winner was him because he got the last laugh out of her.

Gray eyes scanned the bottom of the pool until they located the colorful rings that had been arrayed in a line, each far enough for a challenge. There was a liberating feeling about swimming that Katniss loved and when she found out the gym had a pool—a bigger one than the one at the apartment complex—she was thrilled and couldn’t wait to jump in. She was practicing on reaching the bottom, which was the one skill she struggled with. Her dives were decent, her speed allowed her to reach the other end of the pool in about four breaths, and her strokes let her gracefully swim across without stopping. After doing this for years, it felt like a reward rather than a work out. It definitely felt like a cool down what with her being in the water, but her muscles still ached and she was more than sure that she would be sore the following day.

Peeta and her worked out together by running and he had showed her how to work some of the machines that appealed to her, but there were exercises in which they did alone. He did weights and boxing while she swam. If one of them finished early, they would wait for the other until they were done so they could leave together. She thought it was a good thing they didn’t depend on each other for all of their exercise routines and gave each other some space, too. Peeta had mentioned he only knew the basics for swimming like floating and not drowning, so Katniss didn’t insist on him to join her. She did offer to teach him and he agreed to it when their exams week would pass.

Katniss pushed through the water to swim downward and reached for a ring, lacing it around her arm as she reached for the next one. She managed to take three from the floor before she floated back up and took a deep breath, feeling how her chest ached and her lungs screamed. They didn’t look like much but pushing herself on the deep end of the pool took the most energy from her. Taking the rings was the easy part. She went back to get the remaining three after taking a few breaths and decided to call it a day.

She spotted Peeta sitting next to her things with a sketch book in hand. Katniss wondered how he had the ability to draw without difficulty, and it made sense to her why he would choose a career like architecture. Although, he could have also succeeded as a painter. She had been in awe at the canvases he showed her that were in his room, full of vivid colors and beautiful scenery. She walked towards him, wondering what it was that he was doodling.

“Drawing people swimming?” she asked raising an eyebrow.

“More or less,” Peeta answered with a shrug before putting his pencil down and closing his sketchbook. Only he found a way to carry that in his gym bag. ‘In case I felt inspired’, he had said to her once.

“May I see it when you finish?”

“I can show you right now, if you want.”

It must please Peeta that Katniss showed interest in his sketches, or at least that’s what it looked like to her. Not that there was anything wrong with that. If anything, she gave him encouragement and she admitted he looked adorable when he got enthusiastic. He flipped to the current page he was working on as she sat beside him, a towel wrapped around her to keep from getting water everywhere.

It was a rough sketch, but she could make out the figure of a girl standing along the edge of the pool and what looked like a braid that swayed to the side, as if she had shaken her head to get water off her hair. Her mouth hung open slightly as she realized Peeta had started to sketch her.

“I think your drawing looks way better than I do in real life,” she said, a playful smile on her lips.

“Hardly. I’m afraid about not being able to do you justice.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, even if it was flattering to be Peeta’s muse for one sketch.

“You could draw me as a fish and it wouldn’t make a difference.”

It was Peeta’s turn to raise an eyebrow at her. “I think I’ll draw your gills on your throat.”

“Don’t forget a fin on my back,” she added. “Make me look scary.”

Peeta put the notebook away as he spoke. “For me to do that, you would have to already be scary-looking, which you’re not.”

Katniss gave him a scowl, trying to prove her point that she was, in fact, as frightening as she claimed to be.

“Wow, you certainly terrified me,” Peeta said dryly.

“Good because I could be your worst nightmare.”

“Katniss, you’re as terrifying as a new born kitten.”

With the strap of her gym bag on her shoulder, Katniss began to walk away from the pool with Peeta beside her. “Just because I’m not as tall as you are doesn’t mean I can’t still scare the shit out of you.”

“I doubt it but keep telling yourself that.”

As she showered, she replayed Peeta’s words in her head and she somehow felt a bit bothered by the fact that he didn’t find her intimidating. She’d show him one day he should be scared of her. He may have been bigger than her in height and size, but he was an even bigger softy. She let it go after a while and breathed out, thinking about his sketch.

Why would he decide to draw her, of all people, anyway? She probably looked like a feral animal if anything, not some attractive swimmer like Annie or Finnick. Maybe Peeta would make her look pretty. He had such a talent for making even the most mundane things look amazing when his fingers created his artwork.

I admit this started off as a short story, but then it grew as I kept writing and I want to write as much as I can about the relationship between these two. I love banter, flirting, and flirtatious banter, so I hope I did something right here. Maybe this feels like these two instances aren’t related, but believe me, I’m following a sort of timeline. This matters to their story. I am open to suggestions about this au if anyone has any ideas they’d like to share with me! Whether it’s for their friendship or when they are dating (I promise, they will get together, just not today *winks*). Let me know what you think. I will update soon!

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark fanfiction #fanfiction #university life #fran writes #I'm getting attached to this now #my writing is all over the place and i've been writing in 3 different times lmfao #I hope you guys like it!!

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argylemikewheeler · 6 years

Note

i have a prompt for u: for some reason the party is led to believe that will didn’t survive the exorcism(??) in that cabin and mike just can’t deal but then they’re reunited of course

On the way back to the Byers’ house, Steve made sure to drive, not paying too much attention to the potholes he was slamming through or the fences he was nearly clipping; it wasn’t his car anyway. With Steve obeying all the rules of the road, the trip from the pumpkin farm to Will’s house felt agonizingly slower. Beside him, Dustin and Max were slumped against the back of their seats, trying to come down from the last twenty minutes of their lives. The headlights were still shining in Mike’s eyes, the smell of overturned dirt filling the car as they pulled off their gloves and bandanas. Mike took his off, but he still sat straight up in his chair, watching the road from the backseat. They were acting like they were finished. They were acting like everything was over.

“Let me out of the car!” Mike cried, pushing on Steve’s seat and trying to get him to pull his seat forward. “Steve. Now!”

“Why? Where are you going now?” He asked, turning around once he parked in front of Will’s house.

“Inside.” Mike said. “They should be back, right?”

“Who?”

“Nancy, Jonathan, Will!” Mike waved his arms out, as if everyone had forgotten the chance Will could be lost to the Upside Down forever.

Steve turned the headlights back on and scanned the yard. “I don’t see anyone, buddy. I don’t think they’re back yet.”

“Why aren’t they back! Why aren’t they back!” Mike cried, still pushing against Steve’s seat. He shoved his feet against the leather, scuffing the finishing and jostling Steve against the steering wheel. “Let me out!”

“Where are you going to go?” Lucas asked. “We don’t even know where they are!”

“Wait,” Steve said, reaching behind him to grab Mike’s legs. “Stop.”

“I want to get out–”

“How do you expect to reach them?” Steve asked. “Mike, relax. You’ve done all you can for right now–”

“Let me out!”

“Just do it so he’ll shut up!” Max yelled. “Steve, open the door!”

“Okay okay!” Steve shoved the car door open and got out of the driver’s seat. He pushed his seat forward harshly, waving out towards the house with enough bitterness to translate through his swelling nose and black eye. “There. Get out of the car.”

Mike shoved past Dustin, nearly stepping on him, and stumbling onto the Byers’ lawn. They had to be inside. Someone had to be inside. Will just had to be alive. There was no other option. He lived once before, despite his body being pulled from the water. Will could live again. He had to.

“Will?” Mike called into the house, answered only by the slamming of the front door behind him and the crumpling of Will’s drawings under his feet. “Why isn’t he here? He should be here. He should be back.”

“Mike, come on.” Dustin came through the door next, trying to place a hand on Mike’s shoulder and sit him down on the couch. “He’s okay.”

“We don’t know. I have to know.” Mike cried, shoving the hand off his shoulder. “Where’s Will’s radio?”

“What?”

“His radio? Channel Ten, right? That’s what Jonathan and the Chief are on. Channel Ten! We can ask.” Mike cried, clambering for Will’s room. It was always right beside his bed, ready for any sudden call– or if he had to call Mike with another nightmare or episode.

“It’s not going to reach, Mike. We don’t know where they are.” Dustin reasoned. “Please sit down.”

“No. We have to try!” He was already in Will’s room, pushing aside stacks of paper and crayons to find the radio hidden on his nightstand. “Channel ten… Okay. Come on.” Will fiddled with the dials, passing through static and silence. “Hello? Hello! It’s Mike! Are you there? Will? Are you there? Do you copy?”

Static.

“WILL, DO YOU COPY?” Mike screamed, hoping to scare away the static.

“Mike.” Steve had emerged from the car, standing in the doorway of Will’s room. He radiated pity.

“No.” Mike shouted. “He’ll answer.”

“Why don’t you take a second–” Steve reached for the radio. Mike jerked it away, holding it close to his ear and trying to hear a voice, a hum, a breath among the static.

“Wait!” He held a hand out to Steve, nearly hitting him in the face. “I hear something.” It could have been Eleven, but her static had been different. Hers had been empty, nothing pulsing or moving in the buzzing. There was something shuffling, moving, breathing in the hectic mess answering Mike. It was breathing. Short. Fast. Forced. Elongated. It was hyperventilation. It was crying. “No.”

“Mike.” Steve said again.

The radio slipped from Mike’s hands before Steve could even reach for it. Even as it clattered to the ground, the heaving sobs rose from the radio, spinning around Mike and making his vision begin to blur. He thought he was going blind; his tears welling so quickly and with burning heat.

“NO!” Mike screamed at the room, Steve slowly moving to sit beside Mike. “NO NO NO NO!” He wanted to rattle the house, shatter the windows, splinter the floorboards, have God hear him and give him some fucking answers.

“I’m sorry.” Steve muttered, resting a hand on Mike’s back. Resting in between his shoulders, Steve’s hand shook as his back heaved with sobs, his entire body convulsing with every cry out into the empty house. It wasn’t fair. Will had lived before. He was fine. Mike was there the whole time. How did Will slip through his fingers so quickly?

“I don’t understand.” Mike cried. “He was supposed to be okay!”

“I know.” Steve sighed, pulling Mike into his side. “I know. He was supposed to pull through… But maybe, maybe he’s doing better now?”

“How can you say that?” Mike pushed Steve away. “Get out of his room! Don’t stand here and say he’s better off dead!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Steve said firmly, pointing at Mike. He towered over Mike, trying to echo some parent figure.

God, Mike’s parents– they wouldn’t understand. They’d tell him that Will was just so sick and needed the angels company, or whatever bullshit they spit out every Sunday. They’d never understand how Mike felt about Will. They never caught their hands brushing under the dinner table. They never saw the moments in Mike’s basement after everyone had left when Will would look at Mike and smile, just smile, and make his entire world empty, ready to remember only him. His parents would never understand that Will and Mike weren’t like those “people” they scoffed about at the table or in the living room. Mike liked Will and thought he was smart and kind and talented and far too good to be his friend.

But now he was dead. Will wasn’t any of those things and Mike had to bury him for a second time.

Steve caught Mike as he began to tip forward on the bed, headed for a floor faceplant. Mike was limp, numbness consuming him. Already he could feel the stiff starched collar choking him as he stood around the hole in the ground, green tarp meant to pretty up the cut roots and freshly opened dirt. His mother would shake her head and mutter something again about how out of sorts Will’s mother looked. She’d place a hand on Mike’s shoulder and it’d feel like she was trying to push him into the ground too. Mike would throw a rose onto Will’s coffin and think of the flowers Will had drawn him, hidden under the Will the Wise sketches in his basement– Boys don’t give each other flowers. But this doesn’t count. Mike never made true on his promise of drawing one for Will in return. He always turned to the excuse that he just wasn’t good enough; good enough to draw, good enough to deserve one from Will. Now, Mike didn’t have anything. No defense. No excuse. No best friend.

He forced himself back to his feet, pushing himself out of Steve’s arms. He gripped Will’s walls for balance as he staggered to the desk. Mike eased himself into Will’s desk chair, his knees hitting the top of the desk. Will’s box of crayons tipped over, colors rolling over extra sheets of paper left behind. Mike grabbed the orange crayon closest to his hand and started drawing. He’d bury Will with his own flower. He wouldn’t let him go into the ground alone.

Will liked orange ones. Mike couldn’t remember the name, but he could remember what they looked like. It was fitting; that was the only way he was going to be able to remember Will for the rest of his life. Just in images, passing pictures, unchanged in a forever changed mind.

Mike drew a whole bouquet. He started covering the tunnels around Will’s room with flowers. Oranges ones, weird purple ones Mike was sure didn’t actually exist, red ones he thought would be roses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Steve stayed standing by the door the entire time. He watched silently, letting Mike try to apologize to the static still swarming in the room.

“Steve?” Dustin called quietly, his voice tense and fearful. “Steve!”

“Can it wait?” He answered, ducking his head into the hallway. “Oh shit.”

“What?” Mike asked, looking up from his lop-sided daisy. “What is it?”

“They’re back.” Steve muttered, slipping through the door and leaving Mike alone.

“Who is?” He chased after Steve, running to the large window by the door, nearly yanking the curtains off the wall to see the owner of the new headlights. “It’s Jonathan. Where’s Will?” He yelled, about to run to the door. Steve blocked him with a firm arm around his waist. “Let me see him! Let me see him!” Mike screamed, kicking his feet as they slowly lifted from the ground. “LET ME SEE HIM!”

“Mike! Stop! Come on! Let them in the door.” Steve begged, backing them away from the door. The other kids stood around the threshold, watching as it slowly creaked open.

“Where is he? I want to see him!” Mike pleaded. Nancy was the first to stand in the doorway. “Where’s Will?” Jonathan stood close behind Nancy, a blanket-wrapped body in his arms. “Will!”

“Mike, let them in the door.” Steve shouted, still restraining him.

“Steve, let him go.” Nancy said, placing a hand on his arm. Mike dropped to the floor immediately, Steve’s arms loosening at Nancy’s request. Funny how love could make him give up so easily. But not for Mike.

“Let me see him. I want to see him.” Mike grabbed the blankets in Jonathan arms, nearly taking it from him. He pulled part of the blanket aside to see Will’s pale, cold, still face tucked into Jonathan’s elbow. “Oh my god. Will– Will!” He grabbed Will’s face, the skin was still warm, his last memory of Will’s skin able to be somewhat human. “Will, oh my god.” He shook Will’s face, unsure how else to communicate to the dead body in his hands. “WILL WAKE UP.”

“Mike.” Nancy sounded like she was about to scold him, but someone else beat her to it.

“Why are you shaking me?” Will muttered, wincing as he opened his eyes a sliver. “Mike, please stop shaking me.”

The words were like a thousand volts of electricity shot straight through Mike’s hands. The warmth was real; he was still alive. Will was looking at Mike, he was staring at him with that same look he’d get in the dim lighting of his basement. Will was speaking to him again; he wasn’t dead. Mike didn’t have to bury him. The flowers could be cherished above ground. Mike didn’t have to put any part of himself into that coffin. He got a second chance with Will.

“You’re alive! Oh my god. You’re alive!” Mike grabbed Will from his brother’s arms and grasped him tightly against his body. Will was still weak, his arms hanging by his sides and feet dangling towards the ground, but none of it bothering him. Mike could feel Will’s breathing pressed against his chest, could feel his breath against his cheek, could feel Will’s hand loosely grab the back of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Will muttered, his words soft and only between them. “Mike?”

“I made you flowers.” He whispered, trying to hoist him up and hold him with steadier arms; Jonathan looked ready to take him again.

“Mike–”

“I drew you so many, Will. They’re all for you. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave.” He gripped Will’s sweat-slicked hospital gown, the fabric nearly tearing in his hands. “I need you.”

Will’s arm lifted from his side and rested on the back of Mike’s head. “I can’t.”

“What? No, please, Will–”

“I can’t leave. I’m always going to need you.”

ao3

#stranger things writing #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #prompts #ANGSTY byeler #this was my FAVORITE to write #byler

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houseofvans · 6 years

Photo

ART SCHOOL | Q&A with Martin Ontiveros (PDX)

The art wizardry of Portland based Martin Ontiveros has appeared in various galleries, albums, posters and has even been transformed into diabolical toys and figurines. Ontiveros’s graphic ink and brush style is meticulous and bold, transforming his horned and demonic creations into fun and bad-ass pop occultism. We’re excited to chat with this ink sorcerer in our latest Art School where we talk about technique, studio days, and what is coming up for him the rest of this year.

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? Hello, I’m Martin Ontiveros, also known as Martinheadrocks, illustrator and wizard. “Marty” to my closest friends and family. I live in Portland Oregon, I’m left-handed/ambidexterous and I have a large ginger cat/familiar named Zeus. Nice to meet you.

How do you describe your art to folks who have never seen it before? Pop-occultism? Creature Chic? What you might find inside an ancient tomb or temple from a previously unknown civilization.

Who were some of your early artistic influences that really inspired you to draw? It started with Star Wars in 1977, and Mad Magazine, especially the work of Jack Davis. Childrens book art by Jim Flora. Books and movies about UFOs, cryptids, phenomena, ghosts and black magic when I was a kid. Later it was Heavy Metal Magazine and the underground artists of the 60s and 70s, S. Clay Wilson, Greg Irons, Spain, etc. 80’s punk and metal pioneer artists like Mad Mark Rude and Pushead. Derek Riggs and his Iron Maiden covers.

Lots of rock album art. Fantasy/conceptual artists like Mike Ploog, Boris Vallejo, Frazetta, Richard Corben. That was all the stuff that built up the desire, but what really got me drawing were the indie comics of the 80s with people like Marc Hansen, Matt Wagner, the Pander Bros, David Boswell, Dori Seda, Mary Fleener. I really really wanted to make comics by the time I was 17-18. I’ve since discovered it’s not for me. Art of the Ancient World, Mesopotamian and Mesoamerican in particular. There’s more to this list, I’m an old man now and have seen a lot, but we don’t have all day.

What’s a day like in the studio for you? And take us through your artist process –from start to finish on a piece. I used to start work when it was already well into the evening and would go until after the dawn, but in the last couple years I’ve reversed that schedule. Now I usually get up around 4am. I still get the benefits of nocturnal studio time that way, at least until the sun is up—no one bothers me and it’s quiet. I’ve become a Daywalker—I have all of the vamipre’s strengths and none of the weaknesses.

A typical day is trying to stay focused while fending off my own distractions (I’m ADD) and steering around having to leave the house for anything, ha. I always start with a bit of doodling to warm up a little, then jot down a thumbnail sketch of whatever’s on the agenda that day—usually very small and rough, just to set the composition and borders.

Sometimes I’ll spend extra time fleshing out details on certain aspects of the drawing, say a helmet or insignia. Then I’ll figure out my dimensions and either draw to size or use my trusty proportion wheel to do it smaller if need be. Next is the hard pencil stage. I like using 2H or 3H lead which is rough on the paper but much less messy than a soft lead. I don’t work with a loose outline, I need a solid and tight map to work from and when I have it on lock, I’ll transfer it to my final surface.

That method goes for both a black and white ink piece or a painting. I’ll warm the brush up by laying our some strokes on scrap paper and when I feel like I got a grip on it, off I go. If it’s a painting, I lay all the color and shading out first, then put down the linework. And even if my pencils were tight, there’s always room for improvisation, a tweak or two, especially when I’m inking—some happy accidents come up now and then. I should mention that I sometimes have to chuck a drawing and start the process all over again, even if it’s close to completion because if it isn’t working, screw it. It seems wasteful and time consuming and I could probably avoid it by going digital, but I choose to do it old school.

What’s your tool of the trade medium-wise? And is there a new medium you’re looking to try in 2018? I swear by my brush and ink. Nothing gives me more satisfaction. The artists I’ve always admired most are handy with a brush line. Not to say I don’t like pens, it’s just that I’m not as steady using one and leave them for doodling. I love papier mache, it’s not a new medium to me, but I’ve yet to know how to make the time to do it more so let’s say that that is my goal for 2018. If there was any other medium that I’d choose to do over drawing, it would be that.

You’ve worked on many collaborations with bands and created some awesome cover art and posters. What has been your favorite collaboration and what would be a dream collaboration be? Oooh. That’s a toughy. I did a tour shirt for Mastodon this past year and I have to say that was likely the pinnacle so far. When I caught their show later, it was thrilling to see people buying it at the merch table and to know there’s maybe hundreds more out there wearing it. Dream collaboration…probably the Melvins. Or Alice Cooper? But with the Melvins I know I could just probably do me and not worry about whether or not I’m a good fit. I’m not what you would call “conventional”.

What are you listening to when you’re painting your various creatures and demons? Give us five bands you’re checking out at the moment. I listen to music when I sketch/conceptualize and switch to podcasts or play a favorite movie or show when I’m really into the process, it’s comforting to hear people talk during the heavy work for some reason. It’s another long list but some of my go-to bands are High On Fire, Sleep, Windhand, Black Cobra and Slayer. That’s if I want it crushing. If I’m doing something trippier, it’ll be Om, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dead Meadow, that kind of thing. Podcasts are generally true crime or comedy.

What’s been the hardest challenge being an artist? What do you tell folks who want to travel down a similar path? I don’t recall the artist’s name who said it, but to paraphrase, the quote was that art can often be a dark and lonely pursuit for us. I believe he was referring more to the fact that we spend a lot of our time working in solitude which is inherent, yet it can also weigh you down emotionally. That really speaks to me, even more so because I’ve also wrestled with depression for most of my life.

Your work can be so entwined with your sense of self-worth, so I suppose the hardest challenge for me is to not let my heart sink when something I make doesn’t receive the attention I hope to get for it. People can be fickle though. I try to remember that, and move on to the next thing. With that in mind I guess I tell folks to make sure they get out of their lairs when possible and share their frustrations with other artist friends, foster a support group of sorts because it helps to know you aren’t alone out there with all these feelings. That and maintain a regular paying job when they start out, because man…it can be tough making a living at it.

In another dimension, what would you be if you weren’t an artist? I’d be that weird old sorcerer living somewhere in the woods that the villagers speak of in whispers. Benevolent, but not to be trifled with. So, not too much different from what I am in this dimension, just with blue skin, maybe.

What are your favorite Vans? Chukka Low? Old Skool? Era? (I had to look up the actual names). Basically low padded ankle with laces, and always dark colors with a black toe because I don’t like my vision being drawn down to my feet moving under me. I honestly don’t wear any other brand of kicks. I keep a pair of Slip-Ons for doing things around the house. Vans makes good jeans too.

What’s the art scene like in your part of the woods? What do you like the most about where you’re living these days? The scene that I know here is primarily illustration, at least that’s what I keep my eyes out for. Lots of sweet, supportive people without attitude and many that are good friends. There aren’t as many galleries as there used to be but there are other venues to get your work out there. I’m now in a part of SE that I’ve never lived in before, at the edge of being outside of Portland proper but only just so. It’s mellow and quiet here and most things I need are within walking distance. I got a couple stores, a good Mexican food place, a bar, you get my drift. I do wish some of my besties lived closer by though. And a decent art supply store.

Since this feature is called Art School, can you give us your most helpful art tip? This probably won’t make me popular by saying it, but learn the difference between homage and theft. Yes, it’s fun to pay tribute to an artist’s style or someone else’s pop culture/intellectual property now and then, I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, not shaming that…but the difference is, if ALL you’re doing is copying, it comes off as creatively lazy. I don’t care how many followers you may gain from it. Come on. If you’re skilled enough to copy someone else’s shit, you’re skilled enough to make up your own content. Raise the bar, people. Don’t lower it.

What’s on the horizon for 2018? New merch in my shop, a group show in Mexico City, more band stuff, my first trip to NY ever, toy releases, designs and customs, a collaboration or two, hopefully a couple of conventions later in the warm months. I’d like get back into painting on a larger scale and figure out how to take it slower in general, make my work really level up, you know? There’s always room for improvement!

Follow Martin | Website | Instagram |

#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Art School #Martin Ontiveros #Drawing #PDX #PDX ARTIST

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miraculoussideblog · 7 years

Text

Ways to Say I’m Sorry- Chapter 3

Chapter [1][2][you are here]

[AO3]

Chapter 3-Art

Chloe checked her reflection in the mirror one more time before heading out to work. This was ridiculous, why was she so nervous? Nathaniel was at the bakery every day, why did the thought of seeing him again make her heart flutter? He was, at the moment, her only friend. She just needed to push these feelings down. Thinking about his soulful eyes and defined arm muscles was not helping.

Chloe sighed and walked down to the bakery. Today would be just like any other day, she’d man the cash register, make coffee and try not to mess up orders. Who cares if Nathaniel sat in the corner, sketching away...his hair falling into his eyes as he gets lost in his work, and smiling ever so slightly when he was proud of what he drew.

Oh boy, she got it bad.

When she got down to the bakery, Marinette stood at the cash register the place was practically empty. No Nathaniel in sight. Chloe let out a sigh of relief. Now she could mentally prepare for his arrival.

“Chloe,” Marinette turned to her. “We need to talk.”

“Sure.” This couldn’t be good. They haven’t “talked” since she moved into her old room. It was only matter of time before she kicked her out. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Marinette glanced around the shop to make sure they weren’t in earshot. “The team and I were talking, you need to start showing up to patrol or give your Miraculous back to Master Fu.”

Chloe’s face dropped. Give up her Miraculous? She loved being Queen Bee even after the shit hit the fan and she fled to London she still missed being a superhero. Keeping Pollen dormant was the toughest decision she had to make. She knew it was only a matter of time before they tried to take her back.

“Okay,” Chloe muttered. “I’ll wake up Pollen.” She had a lot of explaining to do when she did.

“All right,” Marinette nodded. “You’ll meet Alya at the Eiffel tower at eight o’clock in the evening. Don’t be late. Don’t showboat. You are there to do a job. This is your last chance to prove to us you’re part of the team.”

Alya was the most outspoken one on the team after the reveal. While Adrien and Marinette stared at each other in shock, Alya was very vocal about her long time tormentor being her partner in crime fighting. She sure as hell would tear at her for abandoning the team. Chloe did not want to face her this soon.

The bell rang, Nathaniel walked through the door. All of Chloe’s troubles seemed to melt away. He waved slightly before taking his regular seat.

“Don’t hurt him, okay,” Marinette said. “And don’t take him for granted like--”

“Don’t say it,” Chloe cut her off. There were some things she didn’t want to think about. “I won’t hurt him. I’m not even sure

“As someone who spent years pining over a the same boy, don’t waste time. If you want him, don’t play games, go get him. But be careful. He’s sensitive.”

“I know.” She frowned. “I’m just not sure if he feels the same way, you know since I treated him like shit when we were kids.”

“Chloe, he would not be spending this much time with you, if he didn’t like you. We’re not teenagers anymore. You’ve changed for the better over the past couple weeks. And I think Nathaniel is good for you. But please, don’t fall back into your old ways.”

“I’ll try.” she nodded.

Marinette handed her an espresso cup. “Go get him.”

“Thank you,”

Marinette patted her shoulder and went back to work. Chloe began making Nathaniel’s espresso determined to make it correctly. She owed him that much at least. Her hands began to sweat under the pressure. She’d never been this nervous to speak to a boy in her life. Why was he so different.

Because he didn’t want anything from her. All the boys she dated in the past were only out for her money and social status. She was just arm candy for a photo op or the invitation to the hottest parties in Paris. She never loved them, and she knew they didn’t love her. The possibility of being with someone who wanted her for her was nerve wrecking, but thrilling at the same time.

Chloe picked up the espresso and headed for Nathaniel’s table. He looked up from his sketchbook as she placed the cup on the table. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She glanced down and saw a black and white pencil sketch of her face. Nathaniel tried to close the book, but Chloe was faster. “Is that me?”

The sketch was magnificent. In the drawing, captured her essence beautifully. There was a light in her eyes that she had never seen before. She flipped through the book, at least a dozen pages were filled with sketches of her face. Some were rough, some were incredibly detailed, but all of them were beautiful. Chloe’s eyes began to water.

“I can explain--”

Chloe handed his sketch book back. “You don’t have to.”

“I know you must think I’m a crazy stalker--”

“Stop, Nathaniel, I love them.” She dropped the sketchbook on the table and embraced him. “They’re beautiful.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” Chloe nodded. “I’d love to see more, if you have any.”

“I have a few more.” Nathaniel tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically before looking up into Chloe’s eyes. “Would you like to come by my apartment and see them? I can cook you dinner.”

Chloe smiled slowly. It was time to dive in. “That sounds wonderful, when?”

“Tonight, Eight in the evening.”

Chloe’s face fell flat a little. She was supposed to meet Alya then for patrol. She couldn’t bail, there was too much at stake. “Can we do seven? I have plans at eight that I can’t cancel.”

“Shit, I’m meeting up with someone at seven.” Nathaniel pondered for a bit. “How about ten?”

“Ten works.”

“Great it’s a date.”

Chloe’s heart warmed. A date. With Nathaniel. Things were finally starting to look up again.

At seven on the dot that evening, Nathaniel sat at a bench across from Seine. A figure in a trenchcoat, fedora and sunglasses sat next to him. “Can you cool it with the theatrics Sabrina? You’re standing out.”

“Sorry,” Sabrina took off her sunglasses. “Force of habit. When you’re Chloe’s sidekick for years, you have to be creatively sneaky.”

“Why did you call me here?”

“I need an update.”

“No you don’t. She’s not starving, she adjusting to her new financial situation well and she seems to be happier. I told you this last night, why did you call me here? I thought the arrangement was to only communicate through text.”

“I thought the arrangement was for you to set Chloe up at the bakery and watch her from a distance.” Nathaniel scoffed. A few weeks ago when Sabrina approached him to help Chloe out. She’d been keeping tabs on her in London and knew she would return to Paris sooner or later. At first, Nathaniel only agreed to help her out of pity. Hanging around with her almost every day was never the plan. “You’re too close, when she finds you’re talking to me, it will not go well for the both of us.”

“I don’t understand this secrecy, what happened to you two?”

“I don’t want to talk about it okay?” Sabrina snapped. “Sorry, sorry. Chloe’s still my best friend, no matter how big the rift is between us now, and she needs me. Even if she doesn’t know it.”

“Who knows what would have happened to her if I hadn’t stepped in.”

Chloe was smart, but she refused to ask for help. She could have easily been taken advantage of or worse. Nathaniel shuttered at the thought.

“Thank you for helping her out,” Sabrina said. “But I don’t think it’s wise to go out with her at this time in her life.”

“Wha--”

“I have eyes and ears all around Paris, how do you think I did all of Chloe’s dirty work?” Sabrina sighed. “Chloe is vulnerable right now. She’s attached herself to the first person who’s paid attention to her. When she finds out that I was the one who told you to keep tabs on her, she’ll unravel.”

“I don’t plan on telling her, are you?”

“No,” Sabrina put on her sunglasses back on her face. “I don’t condone whatever relationship you’re forming with her. If I had it my way, Marinette would have this job, but she drew the line at letting her stay at the bakery. But you were around, and had no real relationship with Chloe when this arrangement was made.”

“We could just end it,” Nathaniel scoffed. This was getting too far out of hand. “You can find someone else to keep tabs on her, and I’m free to do whatever I want.”

“Of course,” Sabrina said in a chipper voice. “We end things, and I’ll tell Chloe everything. How long do you think she’ll spiral before she hits rock bottom again?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Nathaniel stared her down, Sabrina remained still, not giving up any power. “You care about her too much.”

“You do too.” She cocked an eyebrow. “So don’t test me. We’re in this together now whether or like it or not.” Sabrina stood up and patted Nathaniel’s head. “Enjoy your date.” She said before sauntering off.

“How did you--”

“Eyes and ears everywhere Klutzburg,” she called out.

Nathaniel sunk down on the bench. Sabrina was right, Chloe would freak if she discovered he was told to help her by Sabrina and not by the goodness of his heart. Sure, the shopping trip and the daily bakery visits were of his own volition. But she would be too stubborn to believe him. Their relationship was a ticking time bomb.

Nathaniel sighed and looked at his watch. He had some time to kill before his date. He needed to clear his head. He pulled out his tablet and tried to work on his comic. His thoughts always shifted back to Chloe. Her laugh, her smiles, every little quality that made her unique.

Fuck.

Nathaniel shoved his tablet in his backpack. So much for clearing his head. Nathaniel leaned back on the bench and shut his eyes. Seconds later he felt the weight of his backpack disappear from against his leg. His eyes snapped open.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a teenager sprinting down the street with his backpack in tow.

“Stop Thief!”

#miraculous ladybug #chlonath #chlonathweek2k17.#ml fic #this is like super late but whatever #i will probably update my other fics before chapter 4 #sorry

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