#anyway bandana is really perceptive about it

[rxttenfish]

3 for Aaravi and Miranda!

3. Do they wear the other’s clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

YES YES YES MIRANDA IS A CHRONIC CLOTHING-STEALER AND IT'S SO FUCKING RUDE.

however, the whole... difference in their respective body plans. makes it a little hard to wear each other's clothes so readily. there's a reason miranda singles out aaravi's cape so much, alongside any and all jackets of aaravi's. they're easy to drape over herself, and she doesn't have to worry so much about fitting herself into something that doesn't even have the arm holes in the right places.

there are some oversized shirts that aaravi has (mostly sleep shirts, the goofy kind) that miranda will also relentlessly steal, and in being oversized for the both of them, they aren't too hard for miranda to fit into.

(jewelry also OFTEN gets stolen. miranda will absolutely wear aaravi's necklaces and bracelets, and she only encourages aaravi to steal her own rings and chains and chokers. the only jewelry item that doesn't get stolen is miranda's crown, which... she wears less and less as she gets close to aaravi anyway. there's other stuff going on, there.)

aaravi... less steals miranda's clothes, and moreso miranda tries to give her clothes. like. a lot. there's a quirk of merfolk culture that the land misses out on, where the wearing of items that either are or symbolize the other person/people in highly committed relationships is one of those little expectations, derived from the unique perspective merfolk have on things like "identity". in a way, you can almost think of it like more traditional "marking", as much of a trope as that is, but it's less ownership like we think and more... representative of that shared identity. you are mine, but i am yours as well, and we are one in the same. it's a gesture and a symbol of that closeness and bond, a very physical reminder to other people that these people belong to each other, and a subtle implication to treat the separate individuals as one.

in the case of ul'kiha particularly, which is the situation miranda and aaravi have going on, they are considered literally the same person in two different bodies. hence, extra wanting to show that off to other people, since refusing to treat them as such can result in... some big merfolk customs no-nos. given miranda's title and aaravi having a pseudo-title through this relationship, doing that kind of faux pas is... a big deal. a very big deal. likewise, due to the legal protections aaravi gets through this relationship and the merkingdom's general discomfort and unhappiness with their relationship, it's just a good safety measure to ensure that no one from the merkingdom can look at aaravi and say they "didn't know" her and miranda were a Thing.

also, a funny thing about miranda is... she's oddly very generous? as in, she has a very strange perception on money and resources and physical goods, and thus what's pocket change to her and given out readily is NOT considered pocket change to everyone else around her. she doesn't even really think about giving people clothes, even very expensive and tailored clothes, because it's such a non-issue for her. she's been surrounded by royals for so much of her life. she doesn't know the worth of these things.

so she will look at aaravi wearing out a shirt or a pair of pants and not even have a second thought when she offers to get her another, often more expensive, piece to replace them.

(and aaravi very much does turn her down on this most of the time - she'll get a few nice items that she REALLY needed and feel more like gifts from her wife, but it's a pride thing. she doesn't just want to come off as entirely relying on miranda and her money, and she wants to feel like she's earned and worked hard for what she has. anything else is guilt and shame and discomfort that leaves her unable to even really look at it. miranda... doesn't really understand this, like i said, she has no idea the worth of things and she's already considering that everything that she has is aaravi's too due to how identity is constructed by merfolk, but she's trying to understand, and respects aaravi's wishes. hence why she offers, and listens if she's turned down. trying to navigate being a person for the first time in her life has some bumps in the road, but they can live with it.)

(and, to be fair, there are some of miranda's clothes that aaravi can wear, but she's less of a blatant thief than miranda. partially because this closeness still feels strange, still feels bizarre, that she still has a persistent worry and fear that she's not wanted, that this would be a step too far, that it would upset miranda or make her angry, and that's enough to turn aaravi off the idea, and partially because she really does just prefer her own style, her own clothes, something she's already used to.

she's not opposed to miranda laying her cloak over her shoulders and kissing her hands, just as expected from a princess, but it has to be bestowed. if it doesn't make her lift her head up all the higher, if it doesn't bring a swagger to her walk, if she can't get miranda all flustered over it, if it's not like miranda bestowing a favor onto her most beloved and most adored knight, then... it's not really the same, to her. as it is, having miranda fasten it around her shoulders or fall over herself blushing and flustered, also helps deal with the lingering trauma and unwanted feeling. there's some things in her closet that miranda gave to her one night, because it was cold or she needed some cover, and aaravi hasn't worn them since, but miranda is far from asking for them back.

and that's not even mentioning what miranda brings out when they're actually getting dressed up for something. just something to match for the two of them. something for people to look at aaravi, almost playing up the body guard and the knight and the muscle to protect miranda, and see her with a delicate fur shroud or scarf across her shoulders, blatantly belonging to the princess beside her.

it's a very similar feeling to what she gets when other merfolk look at her, and see the two earrings, carved out of miranda's own teeth, that she's wearing. or, when they look down and see miranda herself is wearing aaravi's jacket, wrapping herself up in it and beaming up at her, knowing she's safe beside aaravi and they don't stand a chance. absolutely fucking fantastic.)

likewise, more than anything, they make each other clothes. aaravi especially - she's grown up VERY rarely buying clothes for herself, either getting everything secondhand or making it herself. it's part of the reason she takes so MUCH from her kills, as she knows how to tan her own leather and carve her own bone buttons and create her own needles and thread and spin her own yarn to knit with. she's had to figure out how to repair her own clothes, and likewise, how to make her own patterns. (and having something to do with her hands that's tedious and slow and creative is good for her mental health too.)

it's been a challenge to figure out how patterns that will work with miranda's anatomy and fit her, but she's done it several times! and you will KNOW which items they are too, because miranda just. CONSTANTLY wears them. she takes good care of them, yes! but the physical reminder that aaravi is there, that she does have someone who loves her, that it wasn't just a dream and it's not going to go away when miranda has to step away for a while, that aaravi loves her enough to be compelled to create for her - it does a lot of good for miranda too.

especially because there's a LOT about landfolk clothes that... are not made with merfolk in mind. mostly in the sense that they don't understand the range of motion that any given merfolk has and how to NOT accidentally stick their arms to their sides, but also in terms of... they need something that can get wet over and over again and will tolerate salt water. they also cannot thermoregulate like warmblooded animals, mostly relying on their size, the fairly consistent temperature of the ocean, and some anatomical tricks to warm cold blood and cool hot blood in their bodies, so weather is also a HUGE issue and make overheating and freezing real risks. merfolk, especially abyssals like miranda, are more used to a lot of pressure spread out consistently over their bodies, and thus having clothes that are very light and flowy can exacerbate the anxiety and nervousness that they can get over feeling so weirdly disconnected and weighed down by the world at the same time. and, of course, certain materials around her fins and gills can REALLY irritate them and even injure miranda if they aren't careful.

it's a major point of frustration for miranda, a reminder of exactly how alien and very nearly unwelcome she is on land. she's having a horrible fish out of water experience, and the constant feeling like special exceptions have to be made so SHE doesn't have to get hurt or can even just exist within the same space as everyone else is... kind of really upsetting to her. especially when the accommodations for her all have to be shipped from the merkingdom, since the land doesn't know anything about and cannot provide them for her. it's a subtle reminder that she doesn't belong. a reminder that she's still reliant on the merkingdom and can't leave.

so this finding a neutral ground, trying to meet miranda where she is and make her feel accepted, means SO MUCH to her. it's them trying to make it work. they are caught between duality, and it's not enough to just refuse to engage with one for the benefit of the other. miranda is trying to use her title for the mundane things, the good things, trying to show that she isn't just the title she was born into and that she will step away from it and discard it and use it for aaravi's benefit so they can share a life together. and aaravi is using her knowledge of her hands to shape a space in her life that miranda can occupy without hurting herself, the first home that's ever felt like home to her, that she can create without it being used to harm, that they are not just doomed to be a beacon of death and destruction to be pointed in a direction and used by someone else. they can do this together. they can create something that is entirely theirs together. they can make flowers bloom out of the ashes of themselves, and they're working hard on doing it.

#all the care guide says is 'biomass' #miravi.txt #asks #chloes moth dimension #this is so much but i started typing and i could not stop #enjoy this mess of a train of thought-

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Day 19: Vines

When Steve dropped into the Upside Down, he took a minute to look around in disbelief. 

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself. He wasn’t looking at a dark, burned out version of Hawkins, with the familiar moving vines and ash floating in the air. Instead, he was staring out at a set of rolling hills, covered in vibrant green grass. Off in the distance, he could see the highest tower of a castle. There was a dark haze around it. 

“Steve, do you copy?” The radio in his hand crackled to life. 

“Yeah, I copy. You guys aren’t going to believe this.” He explained what he was seeing and the nerds insisted that he stay put while they had a quick emergency meeting to talk it out. He walked a little further out of the tunnel he was in to get a better look around. A dark line of forest was visible off to his right, and he thought he heard the sound of waves off in the distance to his left. He had no idea what to make of it. 

“Ok, are you there? Steve?” Dustin’s voice was anxious when Steve didn’t respond immediately. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” 

“Ok, so our working hypothesis is that the Mindflayer is affecting your perception in some way. Have you touched anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Ok, so close your eyes, and then reach down and see what you feel.” Steve closed his eyes and reached tentatively for the ground. He felt the vines he had expected to see slithering away from him. The ground was cold. When he opened his eyes, he saw only grass. The disconnect started to give him a headache, but it disappeared as soon as he straightened up.

“What,” he whispered. 

“Did it work? What happened?” Dustin’s voice demanded. 

“Yeah, it worked. It’s definitely still the Upside Down.”

“Ok, so it’s messing with your head.”

“How?” Steve asked. “I’m not possessed. Right?” He was suddenly nervous about it. 

“No. Well, probably not. It’s just stronger there, so it can affect you without possessing you first.”

“Ok, but why bother?” There was a long silence. 

“We’re working on it. In the meantime, be really careful, and tell us everything that you see.” Steve nodded and then remembered that they couldn’t see him. 

“Got it.” He tucked the radio back into his pocket and left the goggles and bandana on. No need to take unnecessary risks. He took a deep breath and walked out into the expanse of grass. 

He headed for the castle, since it was the only actual landmark that he could see. As he got closer,  the haze around the castle resolved into thick, twining vines covered in thorns. Steve shook his head and got the radio out. 

“Hey guys?” he asked. 

“What’s up, buddy?” Dustin asked after a brief pause. 

“I’m looking at a castle surrounded by vines.” There was a pause. 

“Are there thorns on the vines?” 

“Yes?” Steve said. “I’m not sure why that’s relevant.” There was a longer pause. “Dustin?” Steve finally asked. 

“Yeah, we’re here. Uh. Ok, so this is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out—we think you’re in Sleeping Beauty.” Steve stared at the radio, where he could hear Max hissing something in the background. 

“Run that by me one more time,” he said. 

“Ok, so apparently the Mindflayer is trying to prevent us from rescuing Billy, and our hypothesis is that it wanted to try something new since we got Will back last time, and…” Dustin cut off and Steve heard another short, whispered conversation. “And so it’s using Billy’s memories to keep us away from him, and Billy’s favorite book is—seriously?” Dustin said to someone else, and then he was talking into the radio again. “His favorite book is The Complete Grimm’s Fairy Tales, apparently.” Steve raised an eyebrow, and then a thought occurred to him. 

“Isn’t there a fucking dragon in Sleeping Beauty?” he asked, looking around uneasily.   

“Uh,” Dustin said, and then there was a pause and a thump. When the radio crackled to life again, Steve heard Max’s voice. 

“Steve?” she asked.

“What’s up, Max?” She sighed heavily, and Steve could picture the accompanying eye roll perfectly. 

“You’re probably not in the Disney version,” she said, “so no dragon. Billy likes the original fairy tales, so this is much more of a Briar Rose situation.” Steve paused for a long moment. 

“I have no idea what that means, Max.” She sighed again. 

“It’s the original. It’s different. I have to go home and get the book so we can figure out exactly what we’re working with, but I seem to recall it being less dramatic than the Disney version.” 

“Ok,” Steve said. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Dustin says go ahead and approach the castle, but be careful. Also,” Max lowered her voice, “Billy’s kind of sensitive about the liking fairy tales thing, so when you find him, just…be cool about it?”

“I wasn’t going to be a dick about it, Max,” Steve said a little defensively, and it was mostly true. He hadn’t been planning to make fun of Billy for it. Not much, anyway. 

“Ok. Well, be careful,” she replied.  

“Will do.” Steve stowed the radio and kept walking. He arrived at the castle faster than it seemed like he should have. He stared up at the impenetrable forest of thorns ahead of him and wondered what to do next. He settled on making a circuit around the castle, just to see if there was any break in the wall of thorns. There wasn’t, though Steve did discover that the vines started moving threateningly if he got close enough to touch them, and he barely avoided being impaled by one of the massive thorns at one point. He kept his distance after that. 

By the time he finished his circuit, the radio was crackling to life again. 

“Hey buddy, you there?” Dustin asked. 

“Yeah. It’s not going well. There doesn’t seem to be any way to get past the vines.”

“About that,” Dustin said, and Steve didn’t like his tone. “There’s good news and bad news.” Steve sighed. 

“Hit me with it,” he said. 

“No dragon, so that’s good. Briar Rose is kind of surprisingly anticlimactic, so you probably don’t have to fight anything.” 

“What’s the bad news?”

“The vines open by themselves…after a hundred years have passed.” Steve let out a long breath. 

“What the fuck?” he said, before he could stop himself. 

“It’s kind of genius, if you think about it—“

“Dustin, I do not need to hear about how genius the Mindflayer is right at this moment, ok?” Dustin’s voice was quiet when he responded. 

“Sure, yeah. Sorry.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Steve eventually asked. “I assume it’s something crazy.”

“I don’t…we don’t really have a plan, Steve. I don’t know that there’s anything we can do.” Steve took that in, and then he thought about Max’s face when Billy had fallen at Starcourt. He thought about the terrible, burning hope in her eyes when El had called to say that someone was trapped in the Upside Down. They knew, by then, that it wasn’t Hopper. Steve wondered what Max’s face looked like right now, as she listened. He stood up and straightened his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was firm.  

“Ok, well, I’ll wait here until you make a plan, because we’re not leaving Billy here.”

“Steve, he’s—“

“Dustin, I don’t care how that sentence ends. He’s Max’s brother, and he saved El, and we’re not leaving him here.”

“But—“

“You guys are smart—figure it out.” Steve’s tone left no room for argument. There was a long silence. Finally, the radio crackled again. 

“We’ll get back to you,” Max said a little breathlessly. “Thanks, Steve,” she added, in a softer voice. 

Steve went back to pacing around the castle, the thorns just as impenetrable as they had been before. Steve poked at some of them, and then lunged backwards as the thorns poked back.

“Fuck you,” he muttered at them the third or fourth time it happened. “You don’t get to win.” It took a long time for the kids to get back to him, and when they did, Dustin didn’t sound happy. 

“Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” Dustin sighed. 

“I want it stated at the outset that I hate this plan,” he said. 

“Understood.”

“Ok, so we talked to El and Will. The Mindflayer is messing with your perception, which means it’s kind of messing with reality. Which means that reality is a little flexible there, right now. Does that make sense?”

“Nope. But keep going.” 

“Time is one aspect of reality, which means that time is also potentially flexible.”

“Ok,” Steve said, “but I can’t do anything about that, right?”

“Right,” Dustin said, “but El could.”

“Dustin, El’s not even in Hawkins. And there’s no way in hell that either Joyce or Hopper is going to sign off on sending her back into the Upside Down.” Steve said. “It’s way too dangerous.”

“You’re down there,” Dustin pointed out. 

“That’s different?” Steve said, but it came out as a question. “Anyway, it’s not an option.” 

“Yeah, we know,” Dustin said slowly. “That’s not the plan.” He sighed. “El’s going to look for you and get inside your head. Then she’s going to help you try to push back on the Mindflayer’s version of reality. It’s possible that the two of you together can reshape that reality so that we meet the time limit.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly.

“All you really have to do is believe, very firmly, that time is a construct,” Dustin said. 

“Got it,” said Steve, though he didn’t, really. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“No, Steve! That does not sound like a good plan!” Dustin replied. 

“Why not?” Steve asked. 

“Because you’re taking all the risks! Trying to manipulate reality in there makes you vulnerable to the Mindflayer. It can’t get to El through you, but it can get to you.”

“And do what?” Steve asked after a pause. 

“I don’t know, melt your brain?”

“Wait, really?”

“I mean, yeah, maybe. We call it the Mindflayer for a reason.” Steve thought about it. 

“I’m assuming there’s not a backup plan,” he finally said. Dustin didn’t reply immediately, and then he sighed heavily. 

“There is not.”

“Ok, then we’re doing it,” Steve said decisively. There was no response. “Dustin?”

“Don’t die, ok?” Dustin finally said. 

“I’ll do my best, buddy.” 

“Ok. El’s going to reach out to you. Be careful.”

“Always.” Steve sat down to wait. He felt it when El made contact, like a tingle at the back of his mind. He felt hazy, like he couldn’t quite tune in to what was happening in his head or what was happening in front of him, but after a few minutes, it started to clear. He found that he knew exactly what it was that he was supposed to do, and he felt the power to do it, the potential, shimmering through him. 

“Okay, kiddo,” he said, “let’s give it a shot.” There was no direct response, but Steve felt something like amusement from the back of his mind. He approached the wall of thorns and stopped a safe distance away. Then he closed his eyes and pushed on the reality around him. He could feel how thin it was, how artificial. It wasn’t real, and he could work with that. 

He was so absorbed in his task, painstakingly rewriting reality to conform to his needs, that he almost didn’t notice when the Mindflayer lashed out. The world simply changed around him, and he opened his eyes to find that he was back in the Upside Down that he had initially expected. 

“Nope,” he said, and reached out for the reality he had just left. He could feel it bleeding back in around the edges, the grass and the castle solidifying in front of him. “Come on,” he said through gritted teeth, “come ON.” He gripped harder and felt an oppressive darkness pushing back at him. He shoved back as hard as he could, clinging to an absolute conviction that the world was what he wanted it to be. He took a step closer to the vines around the castle, and one lashed out. He ignored the stabbing pain in his arm and slapped a hand to the vines. He gathered all of his strength for a final push and shoved all of his conviction out in front of him. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then reality rippled around him, starting from where his hand was pressed to the vines. The thorns vanished, replaced by blooming flowers. A path opened up in front of him, leading straight to the front door of the castle. Steve felt a surge of victory, and then he felt the presence at the back of his mind disappear. All of his strength suddenly deserted him. He tried to cling to consciousness, but he dropped to his knees as he felt it slip away from him. 

When Steve came to, he was laid out on the grass a little ways from the castle. He wasn’t wearing his goggles or his bandana. He sat up with a jerk and looked around a little frantically. He was startled to see Billy stretched out next to him, leaning back on his elbows and looking up at the sky. Steve looked back at the castle and saw that it was now covered in flowering vines. There was no sign of the Mindflayer, inside or outside of Steve’s head. 

“So you’re alive,” Steve said to Billy, rubbing his temples, which were throbbing. 

“Looks that way,” Billy said casually, but Steve could see the relief on his face. Upon closer inspection, Billy looked rough. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he had lost weight in the time that he had been in the Upside Down. Steve saw that there was a faint tremor running through his body. 

“How do you feel about getting out of here?” Steve asked. 

“Pretty good,” Billy replied, eyes still on the sky, “but there’s something we should do first. Just in case.” Steve’s brow furrowed. He looked around. He opened his mouth to ask what they could possibly still have left to do, and was caught off guard when Billy leaned in and kissed him. Steve froze for a moment and then relaxed into it, one hand coming up to Billy’s face. Billy pulled back and looked at Steve, fear and hope written all over his face. 

“So that’s how the fairy tale ends?” Steve asked, and Billy nodded. He glanced over at the castle. 

“The castle looks the way I always pictured it. I don’t know why the fuck it’s here, but I do know how the story goes.”

“We should probably be absolutely sure,” Steve said slowly, and leaned back in. Billy smiled into the kiss. It was only Steve’s radio crackling to life, and the frantic yelling coming from it that finally drove them apart. 

“Time to go,” Steve said, and hauled Billy to his feet, “but we’re circling back to that once we get out of here.” Billy sagged a little in his grip, struggling to make his limbs cooperate, but his grin was the same predatory one that had always made Steve a little too warm.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he said.

“Pretty sure you’re the princess in this scenario,” Steve pointed out, as they made their slow way toward the exit. Billy scoffed, but he didn’t argue. He did, however, blush a delightful shade of pink.  

#Harringrove April Challenge #my writing #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #who's the princess now?

[havertzgalaxy]

Deep Orange - Kai Havertz fanfiction (Chapter One)

A/N: First part of a series I hope to continue. Title is still uncertain for me so this is kind of a place holder. This is a little bit of a dark tale, but I love the idea of Kai in a darker role. If you enjoyed it please give it a like or anything so I know to keep writing! I have a lot more to say about this story :) 

Warnings: Alcohol, drug use, swearing, sexual references 

Summary: Kai Havertz, a rising star in the football world, has just moved to London and he's off to a rocky start. After agreeing to go to a party with one of his old friends from high school, he meets Katrin Hummels, a mysterious, German musician who has lived in the UK for over a decade. Katrin flirts with Kai at this party, and he reveals that he is in a committed relationship. Nevertheless, Kai is heavily intrigued by her and the two quickly become friends. As Kai balances his career and his relationship, Katrin invites him out constantly to parties and clubs, which distract him from his important life goals. Soon, Kai finds himself on a downwards, drunken spiral of addiction and on a collision course with Katrin.

Available here on Tumblr, but here is the link for the fic on wattpad incase anyone prefers to read stories there: https://www.wattpad.com/1094322435-deep-orange-chapter-one 

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Chapter 1 

Let me start with the night I first met Katrin. Now, it seems odd to even think about a time before Katrin had a poisonous grip on my life, and there really isn’t anything in my life worth reciting before her. It was a quiet week in between matches in the Premier League and I had off for seven days, which was rare. I was invited to an evening out with a friend from high school who was studying in London at the time. Hesitantly, I accepted, but made it clear to myself that this was not a friend I would like to hang out with regularly. I mostly accepted to please my mother who had been pressing me to find friends from my previous life so I would eventually return home. So I called up my mother and told her I was finally meeting Leo Sauer. The most German German I had ever known moved to London. And I was meeting with him. 

I had never thought of Leo as a wild card. He pretty much stuck to the rules. A good German boy got good grades and excelled in athletics, but this German boy had blossomed out of the rulebook. Suddenly Leo was a stoner philosophy student with connections to an underground intelligentsia-creative scene, a world woefully unfamiliar to myself. I have had so few nights out in my life, due to the demands of my rigorous football schedule, but I always accepted that absence in my life as a necessary sacrifice. It was not something I ever thought I would miss as I aged, especially if I had a World Cup in my hands. But my first memories of regret started as I took a cab out to the party. I noticed the way the signs on the businesses had a fading and mesmerizing glow, like there was a specific quality of the night that was turning everything neon forever. The air was orange, then it turned red. I thought to myself how odd it felt to go out to a place where I was specifically going to socialize. 

And these feelings worsened when I arrived at the party. I was way out of my element.  I began contemplating my own death as I walked through the doorway at a frustratingly overpriced two story flat in South London. I wondered what such an eccentric party was doing in a rather lame neighborhood, and why it was heavily decorated with memorabilia from India. As I turned each corner I passed another Ganesh, another Vishnu, Brama, until I was greeted with an overwhelming scent of incense and marijuana. The house was very dimly lit and seemed to be decorated in a frantic rush for a party, with multicolored christmas lights sufficing as lighting in long and dark stretches of the house. In one corner there was a red lamp without a lamp shade that provided an intense source of light that you couldn’t look at for two long. The entire house was pulsating to a dull bass line that rather confused me and as I breathed in the display of punk, artistic, and heavily braided London set, I quickly scanned the room for Leo and immediately joined forces with him, promising to myself that I would not to leave his side for the rest of the night. 

“King Kai!” Leo gasped. He reached out his hand and pulled me in for a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it, man!” 

I switched to German, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable for the moment in English. “Leo, bro, you look great.” I shuddered at my own words, did I usually sound this stupid? I never have this lack of confidence, what was going on with me? 

“Jasmine, this is my friend Kai.” Leo turned to a beautiful girl sitting beside him. She had her hair fixed behind a vintage bandana and wore large and thick gold hoop earrings. “Kai, this is Jasmine. Her parents usually live with her, but she’s had a free house since last Tuesday. She studies philosophy as well with me at UCL.” 

“Nice one! I’m Kai,” I extended my hand to her, suddenly overly aware of my accent. 

“So great to meet you, Kai. Leo’s been mentioning how he has another friend in London. What are you doing here?” Jasmine revealed a thick London accent, or what I presumed to be one. 

I was puzzled as to why she did not know what I was doing in London, but I responded quickly, “I play with Chelsea Football Club. Sort of recently moved to London, it’s been about three weeks so far.” 

“You’re fucking with me!” Jasmine threw her head back in laughter. 

“No, no. He’s actually totally serious.” Leo replied coldly. 

“Oh no way! That’s wicked, man. I don’t think I ever met anyone on my sixth form’s football team, let alone Chelsea. I don’t give a fuck about football, but I hope your team does well now.” Jasmine cackled some more and Leo cracked open a beer quietly. “I actually don’t think you’re gonna meet anyone at this party who cares about football.” 

Leo looked around and tensed his face awkwardly. 

I smiled and retorted, “I think that’s a good thing!” 

Jasmine darted up from her seat to reconnect with a girl who had arrived apparently called “Therese.” And suddenly Leo and I were momentarily alone. After an awkward silence between us Leo pressed me about my life. I asked him about his, and we spoke on and off about our past life back in Germany. 

For the next thirty minutes, Leo continued to introduce me to a staggering amount of substance-abusing artists, unemployed twenty-two year olds, or trust-funded humanities students. Thinking quickly, I introduced myself as another philosophy student from Germany. I didn’t want to repeat the same conversation I had with Jasmine again. Although they questioned why I couldn’t have a bump of ket or a hit off a joint. After pretending to be someone I was not, I felt nervous. My palms were sweaty and my shirt felt tight. I wondered whether I actually passed off as someone from this corner of society, or if I looked like an outsider. 

“Leo,” I turned to my only friend at this party. “I think I should go before someone takes a picture of this and sends this to my manager. I shouldn’t be at a party with anything illegal.” 

“Kai, if someone takes a picture of you at this party and does something like that they’d never be invited to anything ever again.” Leo explained, “This is a very moral group of people. They’ve certainly had more than enough time to think about their values.” Leo responded with a quick joke. “Just let loose. Tonight might be your last night of this kind of freedom.” 

So I ran across the street with a mask on in an anonymous pursuit of a Best-One and bought as many beers as I possibly could, deciding to get rip-roaring drunk. Something I had not really experienced properly in my life before that night. I returned to hide my beers in a bookshelf upstairs, downed three beers in a row with Leo, and talked to as many people as possible claiming I was this philosophy student of German philosophers. When they tried to talk to me about philosophy I just bullshitted my way through the conversation and we all laughed together. They were too high, I was too drunk. Nothing mattered. None of us were on the same page anyway. The alcohol hit me like a bullet train and I laughed and laughed at the fact that I was finally wasted. Everything felt like a dream. 

In my drunken stupor I could hardly recognize the couch from the floor, although I delicately found the last available place on a couch in the upstairs hallway of the flat. I don’t remember properly reflecting on why there was a couch in a hallway, there just was and I accepted that. Upstairs, the music was slightly softer, and it sounded like it was made years ago and was playing out of an old stereo. Although the upstairs music was struggling to make itself heard over the louder computer-made music coming from downstairs. Deep in my philosophical contemplation over the music, I forgot how my legs and depth perception worked, and I stumbled onto the couch, nearly spilling over my beer onto a girl on my way down. 

“Entschuldig-” I began in German, quickly correcting myself and forgetting how to speak English under the influence, “ah, fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Short dark brown hair, a fading tan, big brown eyes with heavy eye makeup, and slightly crooked teeth turned to me at once declaring back in German, “You’re very drunk.” She locked eyes with me deeply. She was direct. Holy shit. “I don’t think we’ve met.” 

“Wow, you speak German as well?” I held her gaze for moments more before feeling something too intense. “I mean,” I stuttered, “I’m Kai. I just moved here a few weeks back.” 

“I’m Katrin.” She smiled wide and took a long sip of her drink. “Of course I speak German.” 

“Of course you speak German? Not every random stranger speaks German.” I teased, leaning my head back against the wall to stop the room from spinning out of control. 

“I’m not every random stranger.” She smacked her lips and leaned back. She had a low, husky voice. A voice that had clearly been weathered by smoking and yelling. Even if her lifestyle choices were made apparent through her voice there was something about this woman that was puzzling me in a wonderful way. She had long intense stares and big brown eyes that powered them. She spoke sharply and lit a joint. I drunkenly inhaled her smoke. “I think I recognize your face. I think you play for Chelsea.” 

Something inside me broke. I freaked out that she had some kind of power over me, as if she was threatening to blow my cover. She stared deeply at me as my lips fumbled to create a response. I raised my eyebrows in shock. Slowly I slurred a response. “Do you watch football?” 

“Not if I don’t have to.” Katrin laughed, she quickly changed expression and replied. “Sorry, I don’t mean to insult.” 

“Nah, I’m not insulted. I think the majority of the world would agree with me that it’s a sport worth watching.” I retorted fast, feeling my breath hot in my throat suddenly. In the other room I could hear some large bouts of laughter and the music changing at irregular intervals. Someone must have been skipping through songs. 

“Let’s just say you win that argument then.” She cooed. “But I must tell you...I’m only lying.” She giggled, “I didn’t even know what Chelsea was until my friend, Jasmine, told me about an hour ago that another German was here. She told me that you play football here or something. And then she was like, ‘no one's gonna recognize him here’ and I was like, ‘as I German maybe I will, is he famous?’ So we googled you and we were like what the fuck. This dude is famous as shit.” 

“Clearly not that famous.” I gestured around the room to the slew of preoccupied people, but quickly returned my gaze back to Katrin. I was utterly transfixed. Each word out of her mouth weighed heavy on my mind. Was she telling the truth? What was her story? She was a challenging conversation, making me nervous for no reason, “We don’t have to talk about that football shit. We don’t even have to talk in German.” I paused and burped. The room was spinning. I felt myself losing control of my reserve. “Sorry I’m quite drunk.” 

“You’re not the only one.” She smiled and lifted up her small bottle of cheap vodka. 

“I...I don’t usually drink. I’m not really allowed.” 

“Not allowed?” Katrin raised her eyebrows. “Says who?” 

“It’s part of my job. I’m not supposed to be rebellious, I’m supposed to be a role model.” I added nervously. 

“You’d be a much better role model if you broke some rules.” She poured a large amount of vodka into her cup before mixing it with a little bit of soda. “Fuck, you’d be my role model.” 

“You’re a rule breaker? That’s not very German of you.” I took a long swig of my beer after I spoke. She stayed silent so I spoke quickly, “Why are you in London anyway?” 

She put her hands in between her face and wiped her hair back, composing herself. “I was forced to move here from Bavaria when I was twelve. My dad got a job in London and the whole family moved except my older brother who seems to get out of everything. Forced to learn English when I was thirteen, forced to go to university, make my parents proud. Then I dropped out. It wasn’t for me. Now I’m what you call a ‘soundcloud musician.’” She explained, “And I’m also what you’d call a lifeguard for a leisure centre near me.” 

“That’s a lot to unpack.” I let out a loud laugh. 

Katrin did not respond right away to me and this freaked me out. I wondered if I said the wrong thing, maybe I should have responded with some compassion and sympathy. Surely she was looking for a more in depth conversation, something which she might find with the intellectual class around us, I was just merely a guy she struck up conversation with because he almost spilled cold beer all over her. Where did I put the rest of my beers, anyway? 

Before my thoughts spiralled off any further, she spoke again. “You have the most unusual face I’ve ever seen.” She touched my cheek with the tips of her fingers and my skin burned. As she moved her fingers across my face, her eyes flared and her pupils dilated. “Like you weren’t born on this planet.” 

Her words sent shivers down my whole body and penetrated deep into my soul. Why was she touching me? What did she mean by any of this? Do I look ugly to her? I felt awkward by her comments, so I laughed nervously and asked suddenly, “What kind of music do you make?” 

Before she could reply, the song had changed to something I couldn’t quite hear and she shouted out, “You fuckers! Turn this shit off!” She turned to me, grabbed two beer cans in her hands, dangling the joint in between her fingers, and did a dance, “I’m sorry, Kai, I’ve got to go make these idiots turn off my music before everyone with a brain leaves this party... But come to my show on Friday and you can see what kinda music I make.” 

“Where is it?” 

“Islington Assembly Hall. 7pm.” She leaned over, and I watched her lips grow closer to mine before she stopped, and whispered, “I wish I could stay longer and talk. I haven’t met anyone this captivating to me in a while… You’re a troubled soul and I can sense that. And God do I wanna fuck you.” 

Her words had floored me so much I could hardly reply, but I mustered, “Unfortunately I am already spoken for.” 

“That’s a shame. I think we were in love in a past life.” She winked, pulled back her intoxicating scent, walked off with a spring in her step before shouting back, “See you Friday!” 

As she left I felt time moving more slowly for the first time in my life. I felt a sense of impending doom, while simultaneously feeling an inexplicably intense ecstasy. I knew from the moment I met her, Katrin was a ticking time bomb. For the rest of the night I stayed on the couch in the upstairs hallway at a party in a forgotten corner of London, completely transfixed.

#kai havertz #kai havertz fanfiction #german nt #euro 2020 #euros #chelsea #chelsea fanfiction #fanfiction

[galacticnova3]

Thoughts on Magolor?

Unpopular opinion but I like the fact that he got a redemption arc. It certainly wasn’t handled well and still hasn’t been imo(I don’t like the way the light novels characterize him at all because it feels like they ignore everything), but I think it was a step in the right direction of not having characters either stay evil and die(Nightmare, Dark Mind, Dark Matter, Zero, Drawcia... etc, also Marx belongs here and I will not change my mind he did not deserve what he got in Star Allies at all) or suddenly become good guys/rivals after recurring long enough (Meta Knight, Dedede, Bandana Dee if you squint really hard). In essence, now there’s a lot more characters who aren’t just flat, 100% good or 100% evil, and Magolor laid the groundwork for that complexity. Now we have characters like Taranza being 100% an antagonist until you find out why he kidnapped(and eventually controlled) Dedede in the first place. Or Susie, who was by all accounts still a “bad guy” even after Robobot ended, but now we’ve been left with a small sense of hope in terms of becoming a better person because of Magolor’s redemption.

I think a big part of why Magolor’s redemption worked for me is that it didn’t happen years after he was introduced, and therefore could fit logically with the ending of his game. When he “dies” you only see the Master Crown actually get destroyed, whereas Magolor just kinda... disappears. Which I also have a lot to say about alone but I won’t here because that’s a tangent. Anyways, that manner of disappearance means it makes sense that he was just warped somewhere to think about his actions and make the decision to be better, as was explained later, versus Marx who died TWICE (3 times if you count KSS and KSSU separately) and has no explanation for how he’s back at all.

I think a lot of the kickback his redemption gets is based entirely on misunderstanding. Redemption doesn’t mean everything a character(or person) did no longer matters, or that they have to be forgiven by others. It just means that they want to be better than they were, and are being given that opportunity. Also, in general, to base the idea of redemption on who is deserving or not is... not good, imo. If you apply that in real life you get situations where people aren’t going to try to be better at all, because no matter what they do they’re always going to be treated as evil. Kinda like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

A lot of how I look at it comes from the opposite side of that; I really try to give second chances (when it’s appropriate). Obviously you can’t give someone a second chance if they’re still being shitty, because at that point they’re still busy fucking up their first chance. But if they stop and make an effort to be better, why deny them that? Giving a second chance doesn’t equal giving forgiveness; if someone hurt you you don’t have to ignore that in your perceptions. Giving a second chance just means “you can try to change and I’m not going to stop you by constantly reminding you of what you did wrong.” Forgiveness is “you wronged me but I am not going to resent you anymore”. You can give someone a second chance without forgiving them.

In other words, Magolor hasn’t been forgiven, he’s been given a second chance, which is something that I think is good and makes for an interesting story, and the fandom is just boring and missing out on a great opportunity because they’re still mad that they were bamboozled by a catboy.

No I am not biased for any Lor related reasons at all.

#asks #ask meme #rambling #magolor #<-me swinging bat at hornet nest right there #also yes I am still mad about Marx no the other post didn’t get it out of my system

[junkyardromeo]

me making my newest oc 😌

i know no one cares but under the cut is some stuff about him :)

First name?

lani

Surname?

sparks

Middle names?

jonathan

Nicknames?

family calls him sparky

Date of birth?

january 1st, 1966

Height?

5’11”

Weight?

120–he’s too skinny

Build?

slim but strong

Hair colour?

blonde

Hair style?

long and messy

Eye colour?

blue

Distinguishing facial features?

slightly crooked teeth with a gap between the two front ones

Which facial feature is most prominent?

mouth

Which bodily feature is most prominent?

dick probably his hair tbh

Other distinguishing features?

voice!!

Skin?

pale, freckles on his shoulders

Hands?

ratty nail polish, worn and rough from farm work

Make up?

eyeliner!!

Scars?

he has one going across his left hand from a farming accident when he was a kid

Birthmarks?

none

Tattoos?

none, yet

Physical handicaps?

none

Type of clothes?

even back home in virginia, he always dressed like a dirt-poor, punk version of michael monroe

How do they wear their clothes?

he doesn’t wash them much and they’re pretty worn and ratty

What are their feet like? (type of shoes, state of shoes, socks, feet, pristine, dirty, worn, etc)

he only owns two pairs of shoes: old black converse high tops and his beloved cowboy boots, which he adorned with bandanas and chains

Race / Ethnicity?

white

Mannerisms?

chews gum a lot, says “uhh” a lot, chainsmokes, drinks a lot

What words or phrases do they overuse?

dude and you guys. he’s been using them since he was a teenager, trying to kick his southern accent

Do they have a catchphrase?

no

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic?

he’s so optimistic it hurts

Are they introverted or extroverted?

a little bit of both

Do they ever put on airs?

no, what you see is what you get

What bad habits do they have?

smoking, nail biting, laughing at inappropriate times

What makes them laugh out loud?

he’s a fifth grader at heart and still laughs at 69 and penis jokes

How do they display affection?

he’s really into physical affection, and loves to lean on his friends

Mental handicaps?

he has generalized anxiety and adhd

How competitive are they?

not too competitive

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider?

snap judgements

How do they react to praise?

well. he loves being in the spotlight

How do they react to criticism?

not so well. he gets defensive

What is their greatest fear?

failure and being forgotten

What are their biggest secrets?

no one in his new home knows where he’s from, or any of his backstory

What is their philosophy of life?

live fast, die young, and faith in yourself will get you anything.

When was the last time they cried?

today, probably.

What haunts them?

the past

What are their political views?

he doesn’t care, as long as gas is cheap

What will they stand up for?

his beliefs and rock n’ roll

Who do they quote?

the bands he loves

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy?

both

What is their sinful little habit?

he’s kind of a sex addict, though he’d never admit it

What sense do they most rely on?

hearing

How do they treat people better than them?

well, he has a big authority problem, and he mouths off to people in power

How do they treat people worse than them?

he’s worse off than most anyways

What quality do they most value in a friend?

loyalty

What do they consider an overrated virtue?

celibacy

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be?

he hates his teeth but he can’t afford to get them fixed

What is their obsession?

music.

What are their pet peeves?

posers and people who shove their own virtues and morals down his throat

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of?

big. his mom, dad, six siblings, and grandparents all live together on a small farm in the appalachia

What is their perception of family?

it feels like a prison to him

Do they have siblings? Older or younger?

he’s the second oldest

Describe their best friend.

he doesn’t have one, or any friends back home

Do they have any pets?

hunting dogs and all of the farm animals

Who are their natural allies?

his fellow rockers

Who are their surprising allies?

the nice old woman who lives down the road from him, and offers to help him get out of virginia

What was your character like as a baby? As a child?

as a kid, he was always a little bit of a wild child, and struggled in school

Did they grow up rich or poor?

poor

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected?

some of both

What is the most offensive thing they ever said?

he’s said a lot

What is their greatest achievement?

he doesn’t feel like he has one yet

What was their first kiss like?

good as hell, with an older girl. he was 14. she gave him a hand job too, and thus began his obsession with sex

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved?

left his family and took the money with him

What are their ambitions?

he aches for fame, for recognition, and for being known. he wants to see his name in lights, to have thousands of people screaming his name.

What advice would they give their younger self?

don’t back down

What smells remind them of their childhood?

bread baking, apple pie, hay, bonfire smoke

What was their childhood ambition?

from the first time he heard led zeppelin at age seven, he knew what he wanted to be

What is their best childhood memory?

lighting hay bales on fire when he was 16, just for the hell of it

What is their worst childhood memory?

his mother telling him he’d never amount to anything

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend?

yes, because he had no real friends

When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment?

when the local preacher told him he couldn’t sing in the church choir anymore because he had a “terrible voice”

What past act are they most ashamed of?

taking his family’s only backup money

What past act are they most proud of?

having the courage to leave

Has anyone ever saved their life?

not yet

Strongest childhood memory?

grandma telling him that he would fly one day—he still believes it

Do they believe in love at first sight?

no

Are they in a relationship?

no

How do they behave in a relationship?

horribly. he’s terrible at dating

When did you character last have sex?

today, twice already

What sort of sex do they have?

he likes it rough and passionate, quick and dirty

Has your character ever been in love?

no

Have they ever had their heart broken?

no

How do they respond to a threat?

he goes in swinging

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue?

fists

What is your character’s kryptonite?

sex

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be?

his songwriting notebook or his cowboy boots

How do they perceive strangers?

he trusts easily and likes to assume the best about people

What do they love to hate?

the pmrc

What are their phobias?

spiders and confinement

What is their choice of weapon?

switchblade

What living person do they most despise?

any authority figure

Have they ever been bullied or teased?

yes, a lot

Where do they go when they’re angry?

anywhere away from people

Who are their enemies and why?

he doesn’t really have any

What is their current job?

working at a farmer’s market

What do they think about their current job?

he hates it

What are some of their past jobs?

this is his first, and he’s had it for three years

What are their hobbies?

music and sex

Educational background?

high school dropout

Intelligence level?

he’s got street smarts, and common sense

Do they have any specialist training?

no

Do they have a natural talent for something?

music

Do they play a sport? Are they any good?

no

What is their socioeconomic status?

lower class

What is their favourite animal?

he loves dogs

Which animal to they dislike the most?

spiders

What place would they most like to visit?

hollywood. he wants to live there more than anything

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen?

the neon lights of LA on his neighbor’s tv screen

What is their favourite song?

he loves so many, but right now he really likes danger by mötley crüe, which just came out

Music, art, reading preferred?

music

What is their favourite colour?

black

Favourite food?

anything

What is their favourite day of the week?

friday and saturday

What is in their fridge:

not much.

What is on their bedside table?

alarm clock radio, pack of cigarattes, pack of gum, pen, sunglasses

What is in their car?

he doesn’t have a car

What is in their bin?

crumpled up sheets of paper, used condoms and wrappers, empty cigarette cartons

What is in their purse or wallet?

ID, a condom, a couple bucks cash

What is in their pockets?

pack of cigarettes, lighter, condom, gum wrappers

What is their most treasured possession?

his cowboy boots and his songwriting notebook

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel?

he doesn’t believe in that stuff

Do they believe in the afterlife?

no

What are their religious views?

aetheist

What do they think heaven is?

california

What do they think hell is?

where he is now

Are they superstitious?

no

How would they like to die?

young and fast, something interesting. he believes in the “better to burn out than fade away” philosophy

What is their zodiac sign?

capricorn

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person?

compromising their individuality

What is their view of ‘freedom’?

living the life he feels he was born to live

When did they last lie?

not recently

What’s their view of lying?

he tries to be honest as much as he can

When did they last make a promise?

not recently

Did they keep or break their last promise?

he doesn’t like to make promises because he knows he can’t keep them

What are their eating habits?

he doesn’t eat that much, and he has bad table manners

Do they have any allergies?

no

Describe their home.

his parents’ home houses him, his six siblings, and his grandparents. eleven people in a small home, and he lives in the attic, alone.

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder?

clutter

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning?

sleep til 2

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon?

try to get away from the family

What do they do on a Friday night?

drink until he can’t think straight

What is the soft drink of choice?

coca cola

What is their alcoholic drink of choice?

anything, he doesn’t care

Miscellaneous

What is their character archetype?

he’s definitely more of a byronic hero type

Who is their hero?

robert plant

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween?

alice cooper

If they could save one person, who would it be?

himself

If they could call one person for help, who would it be?

no one

What is their favourite proverb?

it’s not a proverb, but he lives by the ac/dc line “take a chance while you still got the choice”

What is their greatest extravagance?

everything. he wears makeup and paints his nails, teases his hair and yells at god.

What is their greatest regret?

he doesn’t have one

What is their perception of redemption?

anyone can be redeemed

What would they do if they won the lottery?

spend it on women and wine, probably

Do they believe in happy endings?

always

What is their idea of perfect happiness?

having friends, a band, a small apartment in west hollywood to call home, enough money to get by, and people who understand him

What would they ask a fortune teller?

“am i destined to fall?”

If your character could travel through time, where would they go?

to the wild west

What sport do they excel at?

sex

What sport do they suck at?

all the rest

#i love him #he's my favorite oc ever #i wish i could draw :(( #anyways #ocs #also yes i am projecting a lot LEAVE ME ALONE #this is my character i am allowed to project

[shesdangerace]

I learned from my pain

Happy belated Valentine’s Day! Tumblr hates us all and might make this super hard to post here SO. I’m going to post as much of it as I can, and if you like it, you can check it out on AO3 (also linked at the end). I now present to you, a very Andrew Minyard Valentine’s Day. -

He remembers the colour of the sky outside the window.

He remembers the tree branch swaying in front of the glass.

He remembers the breeze that day.

He remembers the hands, the quiet, the pleading.

AJ’s first Valentine’s Day.

Andrew’s eyes feel heavy.

Allison gave Renee roses today, a question written out in cursive with a kiss on the end. Matt was talking about his plans in the locker room. Nicky has been beside himself thinking of Erik coming to visit.

Andrew is leaning outside of his open mesh-free window trying not to think. Cigarette burning down in his hand.

Andrew never got asked. Andrew never got elaborate plans. Andrew never got giddy anticipation. At least, not his own.

And now, he doesn’t want those things. Can’t want them. Doesn’t see a point in them.

It always came at a price, is the thing. And it was never enough.

Love meant crying without making a sound so she wouldn’t know. Love meant bleeding so his twin wouldn’t have to. Love meant throwing away the chance of it. Love meant cut brakes.

That was the love he was taught anyway, when his ‘family’ told them they loved him as they crept into his room at night, asking Do you love me? Do you love me?

Andrew was taught that love was cruelty. Pain. Bloodshed. A blind eye. Vengeance. Sacrifice. Loss. Responsibility. More bloodshed. He never knew what love was meant to feel like.

And now all Andrew knows how to feel is nothing.

There’s a knock on the door frame, firm and assured.

“Hey. Time for practice.”

Neil, standing there like a memory of a different life. Auburn and dressed all in grey.

The cigarette falls slowly from Andrews’ hand, swaying back and forth by the light February wind until it touches the ground of the car park below like a distant feather.

-

The cheerleaders are here. They’re being loud and it’s unnecessary.

Andrew doesn’t know why the cheerleaders are here. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. It matters that they are and that they’re being loud.

She’s here too, of course. She’s also a cheerleader after all. Not quite so loud though.

That may be because while Andrew is not looking at her, he’s looking at Aaron, and Aaron is looking at her. He’s willing to bet she’s looking back.

Aaron looks happy. Wistful. Awed almost. Where did he learn that? How did he manage to learn how to feel like that?

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

He hits balls and waves his heavyweight stick around for hours, while Kevin yells and Neil cusses out the baby Foxes and Nicky laughs like a demented hyena and Aaron feels all over the court floor.

Andrew doesn’t look at him.

And then Katelyn comes wafting over, blonde ponytail bouncing and hands wringing and smile matching the quiet one on Aaron’s face. A smile Andrew has no clue how to replicate on his own. And then she asks him, and he grins at her and says yes, obviously, and then she kisses him on the cheek and giggles and her ponytail bounces away.

Andrew tilts his head away and doesn’t look at him.

He looks at Neil. He doesn’t really have a choice.

He’s standing right in front of Andrews line of sight, close but not close enough to touch Andrew, smirk almost as sharp as his eyes. Batting his eyelashes like an idiot, hands wringing and toe nudging against the floor.

“Be my Valentine sugar plum?”

That cocky smile, that exaggerated posture, that orange bandana, that mess of hair, that shock of bright blue, that stupid, stupid idiot.

“Fuck off.”

Neil just laughs, that huff of gentle sound, and Andrew looks at him and can’t seem to stop. And Neil can’t seem to either, looking right back, smile just strong enough to bring out the subtle dimple on his right cheek.

How did he learn that?

How did he learn to dimple like that from bruises? How did he learn to look at Andrew like that from a lifetime of running? How did he learn to laugh for Andrew after knives and cleavers and flames and irons?

Andrew just looks at him.

Neils’ hands on his Exy stick are strong and unwavering and deliberate. Careful. Reverent.

Andrew just looks at him.

---

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day.

They’re at the coffee stand. The three of them have classes in 15 minutes but no one cares. Neil stands beside him, staring as disinterestedly as Andrew.

It’s pink. It’s stupid. There’s large lettering in altering colours of red, green, and yellow. There’s three black silhouettes like bathroom door signs. A red cross. A green heart. A yellow question mark. A lot of pink. It’s a poster.

It’s a traffic light party.

“Neil please, come on, it’s literally perfect and you’re the only one who can convince him.”

Andrew thinks about the colour red.

“No.”

It’s so vicious and ugly, so glaring, a screaming no that Andrew has had painted on his hands and his lips and his skin for years now.

“Neeeeil come on!”

Andrew has been red for a long time.

“Nicky, you have a long-term partner. Why would you need to go to this?”

Neil sounds tired. Neil is right to be.

“But Neil, that’s the point. Not only do I get to declare myself as taken, I get to show off my hot German husband.”

Red is not as simple as a t-shirt or a badge. It’s sticky and it festers and it stains like dye and you don’t get to change your mind once it’s on you.

“You know you haven’t even asked him to marry you yet right?”

Green is an unrealistic colour. It’s bright where red is dark, joyous like red is angry. A garish neon sign declaring yes. Yes, I’m here and I’m alive and I’m okay and I fucking want this.

Andrew doesn’t think he could ever be green having been red.

“Fuck you, Neil. It’s understood, it’s an inevitability, and the world needs to know!”

Green can start pure and be muddled and abused until it’s ugly and brown enough to be red anyway.

“The world does know. You’ve been talking about him non-stop for days. It’s annoying.”

There’s a coffee cup in his hands. When did that get there? Latte, caramel and vanilla. Neil’s name is written on it.

“Okay, can we please get back to the point? Which is the party? And that we should go?”

The sun is out today, and there’s no breeze. The skies are clear and still. Neil is walking beside Andrew, staring at him under his lashes every now and then as Nicky pleads his case. He’s walking close enough to Andrew that Andrew could touch him if he asked.

He’s wearing yellow. It’s a logo, on his grey hoodie. The drawstrings are yellow. Bright, like the sun. Hopeful.

After a while, after Baltimore and Riko and several screaming panic attacks in department store changing rooms with Allison’s guilty voice over the phone, Neil started to touch colour. Gentle prods, careful explorations.

He has an emerald green shirt now. Long sleeves. He has several Fox-orange articles of clothing that he wears in the dorm, the house, or with Andrew around campus. He has accents of colours on his shirts or his hoodie or his hat in the winter.

He has no blue brighter than navy. He has no red either.

Today, he is quietly yellow. Sipping his black coffee with one sugar and studiously ignoring Nicky in favour of watching Andrew ignore Nicky.

When Andrew asks and Neil says yes, in an alcove five minutes late to class, his fingers wind their way into those sunshine yellow drawstrings. He swears it stains his fingertips just a little.

-

Nicky is singing. A little bit drunk, a lot off key. It’s pop music and it’s incessantly loud. He got a phone call half an hour before. He did not take it well.

Erik has to stay in Germany for another day. A despondent Nicky had explained to them, and Kevin, that this means he’ll be flying in on Valentine’s Day instead of tomorrow, and this means that he’ll miss most of their first Valentine’s Day together in forever and Kevin would you please pay attention?

“Fuck men, seriously, Ari is so right you know? She just fucking gets it like, she understands and you know what I mean right Neil? Back me up Neil.”

Neil is in no condition to be anyone’s back up. He’s wrapped up in the embrace of the beanbag chair next to Andrew’s and he’s exasperated and exhausted. Nightmares. Not Andrew’s this time. The yellow was a particularly bold a choice today. But Neil is smirking in amusement all the same.

“Thank you, more like no thank you sir- “

In the corner, Matt is trying to film discreetly. On the couch, Kevin is paying absolutely no attention, waiting for his phone to ring.

As Nicky dances to the same song over and over, and Kevin bolts out of the room to answer Thea’s call, and Matt fails at discretion, and Neil radiates sleepy warmth next to Andrew like a furnace, Nicky bleeds.

He’s haemorrhaging love, the good and the bad and the ugly need of it. With the clarity of experience and many Wednesday sessions Andrew can see it. He can see the dark edges of Nicky, the sadness underneath his exuberance, his pain. He sees Nicky’s own sharp memories poking out from beneath his grin.

When he looks back at Neil, he sees the same understanding in those perceptive blue eyes.

It’s not about some pointless day in February. It’s about months without him. It’s about not knowing love without pain before him. It’s about conditions and fear and confusion and self-loathing and conversion. It’s about finally getting to hold someone’s hand knowing that he’s safe.

“I’m just saying I’m a fucking catch and I don’t deserve this, and you know what?”

Nicky stops here, stares at Neil balefully, then at Andrew, then back to Neil, gesturing with his whole body for the peanut gallery to speak.

Neil sighs and gives in.

“What Nicky?”

“I’ll tell you what Neil! I’m so fucking ungrateful for this treatment! That’s what.”

He trips.

And then, from his pile of slumped limbs and tired bones, Neil laughs. A true sound, a warm rich low sound.

Something in Andrew stutters for a moment. And then Nicky is throwing himself at Neil.

Nicky with his explosive love. Neil gifting his affection in laughs and smiles where there used to be none. Kevin breaking his single-minded devotion at the drop of a hat when Thea calls. Matt texting all the videos to Dan no doubt. All of them, loving each other out loud.

Andrew closes his eyes.

Nicky haemorrhages for hours.

---

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day. They’re at the traffic light party.

Nicky is bright red in the face from dancing, bright red in the face from alcohol, bright red in his shirt. He’s smiling almost as wide as he was when Andrew loomed over him in the locker room and said they were going.

Neil is wearing a black and neon-orange hoodie because he lives to be contrary and confusing. Andrew is wearing black because so does he.

The music is loud enough that Andrew almost can’t hear his thoughts. Almost. But of course, Andrew could never be so lucky, nor could Neil be so merciful.

The lights of the club are passing over his face like real traffic lights, sharpening and softening his face and colouring his eyes different shades. They could almost be in the Maserati, driving a touch too fast, Neil looking out of the passenger window, lounging like he belongs, smiling softly at Andrew’s reflection under the cover of night.

But they’re not. Neil is standing there like a living, breathing fuck you, glaring down anyone who gets too close, staring blankly at those who mistake his orange for yellow and then laughing to himself when they scuttle away. He looks gloriously alive, and completely unreal.

They’ve lost Nicky.

Neil looks at Andrew, really looks at him. Face like a storm.

The music gets improbably louder. Bass heavy. Rumbling. Growling.

Neils eyes get impossibly darker, his face impossibly sharper, his presence impossibly brighter.

He raises his eyebrow at Andrew.

Are you red or yellow or green?

Andrew steps closer and hooks his fingers into Neil’s collar.

Neil takes him by the edge of his black denim jacket, turns away, and Andrew follows the glowing shape of him through the thick crowd of sweat and mistakes.

By the time they reach the wall in the corner Andrew’s vision is all traffic lights and neon and storms.

Neil leans his head back against the wall, the bass louder still. He smirks at Andrew, but his eyes betray him and it becomes a smile. Warm and mischievous and foolhardy. He tilts his chin up at Andrew.

“So does black mean you’re taken?”

Andrew doesn’t dignify this with a response, just breathes.

“Should I take that as a yes or a no?”

Aside from the sharp roll of his eyes, Andrew doesn’t respond to this either.

“Andrew. Yes or no?”

Neil isn’t joking anymore. His eyes are softer than they have any right to be in lighting this sharp and dangerous. He’s searching, he’s already accepted Andrew’s answer.

The growling, rumbling bass around them is eclipsed by Andrew’s own growling yes, Neil’s lips brushing his like a promise. Neil kisses him like he’s desperate, not for his own sake but for Andrew’s. Like he’s been waiting. Like he just wants Andrew to know that Neil is there. Like he just wants Andrew. Whatever that means at any given time.

Right now Andrew doesn’t know what it means.

Neil tastes like midnight. And that makes no sense and it’s fucking stupid.

The lights are still flashing but the bass is different when Neil leans his head back against the wall. For some reason Andrew follows, can’t seem not to, rests his forehead against Neil’s. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and neither does Andrew.

And then.

“Andrew, can I hold your hand?”

It’s a wonder Andrew hears him over the sound of this stupid party. Andrew says yes because honestly, he’s mildly curious to know what happens next.

Neil’s hand is warm. Firm. Scarred and unafraid and gentle and soft and calloused and it holds Andrew’s so tenderly. Like a rose and not a thorn.

Andrew doesn’t understand it and doesn’t understand why he doesn’t understand it because it shouldn’t be complicated. He doesn’t understand how Neil can look at him and feel. Because he so clearly does and Andrew can’t seem to hide from it.

Are you red or yellow or green or –

“Fuck, there you guys are! Come dance with me!”

And Nicky grabs Neil’s hand and pulls and Neil, as sharp and observant and devoted to his Foxes as he is, would never say no.

---

Andrew wakes up slowly and way too late in the day, to see Neil still asleep. His face is half crushed into his pillow, eyebrows relaxed, hair skewed in every direction like hellfire. His mouth is soft in sleep, his cheeks flushed with warmth.

There’s something so different about Neil when he sleeps.

When he’s awake, Neil is all winter stillness, observant and contrary and dramatic. Ferocious and disinterested and loyal. Loose and honest when Andrew kisses him. Defiantly, viscerally alive.

When he sleeps he is just as still, but unguarded and vulnerable. Almost awake almost always. Soft and quiet, warm like a summer morning.

The February sun is streaming in through the dorm room window, and the sky is clear and crystal blue.

Nicky is beside himself with excitement outside the dorm room somewhere. Eriks’ flight lands that afternoon.

Because it’s Valentine’s Day.

It’s also a Saturday and that’s much more meaningful to Andrew. It means he’s not missing anything Kevin can annoy him for.

Eventually, Neil’s eyes open, and he sniffles at Andrew like a kitten.

It’s so rare to see Neil so taken with sleep. Andrew doesn’t often see this, Neil all strung out on the feeling of being only half awake, soft and malleable like taffy.

Andrew sighs and asks quietly:

“No nightmares?”

And Neil smiles, and that dimple is back on his right cheek. Such a rare sight indeed in February. And to have seen it twice already is almost hard to believe.

“No nightmares.”

Andrew nods.

Neil edges closer, just the tiniest bit. He’s almost nose to nose with Andrew, and Andrew is almost there. He’s on the precipice of something.

One of the worst things about being Andrew Minyard is that apathy makes feeling almost painful and hard to ignore. Andrew has no choice; he can’t lie and he can’t hide and he can’t run and for some god forsaken reason he doesn’t particularly feel the need to.

He gives, and lets himself feel the warmth of Neil. He whispers his name in the scarce air between them, and kisses him. Soft. Unyielding. Bee would be so proud if he would ever tell her.

Neil whispers right back. Kisses right back. Runs his fingertips between Andrew’s on the sheets without touching them. Andrew nods his answer and he feels Neil all around him like the winter sun. Sharp and painful and bright and vital.

Neil is awake, and so is Andrew.

---

At sunset, everything in the Maserati is cast in purple and blue and pink. Neil is lounging like he belongs, smiling at Andrew’s reflection in the glass of the passenger seat window. He looks dreamlike, like he’s feeling that feeling Andrew can’t name.

He turns to Andrew and asks. Andrew says yes and then Neil is holding his hand. He grins at Andrew and for fucks sake. How can he look at Andrew with that much feeling? Who was it that taught him how to feel it at all?

The sounds of the road echo in Andrews ears, the sounds of Nicky’s happy crying from a couple hours earlier in Erik’s arms, Neil’s laugh, his cutting remarks, his questions. Neil’s lips brush Andrew’s hands like a prayer and it’s possible somehow.

Somehow, despite all reasoning and logical experience, it’s possible that Andrew is capable of more than nothing.

When he tells Neil this, laying in the grass off the highway in the last rays of purple light, the look in his eyes and the depth of his kiss are evidence enough.

ao3

#andrew minyard #Neil josten #andreil #nicky hemmick #nickyxerik #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #Valentine's Day #fic #my fic #angst #mentions of past abuse #hurt/comfort #club scene #Valentine's fluff

[autumnslance]

For the fan-fic ask thing, number 3 in "Walk In the Wilds."

Walk in the Wilds

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

My first longer fic in years, and the first real multi-chapter narrative I posted to Ao3. It helped work back up a lot of the writing-brain-muscles. Also seemed to  give people the impression I can write Thancred half-decently.

I feel like going chapter by chapter on this one; there’s a lot I still like. Since that makes this one pretty long, under a cut it shall go:

Chapter 1: Life - I spent a lot of time on this before nervously posting, knowing I was committing myself to at least try and complete the fic, which I had a general outline for, helped by having a lot of it told to us secondhand in game and lore references.

Where was it even safe to go? If the Crystal Braves had turned on them, Revenant’s Toll was out of the question. He dismissed Coerthas immediately; he was cold enough already, and did not want to entirely freeze—or worse, have his extremities become instantly frostbitten and fall off—upon arriving at Lord Haurchefant’s doorstep. Thancred could not imagine the Elder Seedseer agreeing with this insanity, though the thought of appearing before the child-like padjali—even if some were far older than himself—in this state made him wince. Never mind that Kan-E-Senna had been his attendant healer after Operation Archon and had probably seen everything anyway; she was the Elder Seedseer, for gods’ sake.

Limsa, then. Hells, on most days, no one would notice an underdressed—or undressed—man on the docks. Pirates were not exactly known for shyness. The Sisters would take him in, he knew; put stabbers back in his fambles and put their wattles to the ground and sniff out the truth in the darkmans. Yes, his old hometown was the best place to go, and while some may think to look for him there, they would not find him among the other shadows—or they would regret it if they did.

Special Mention goes to the interpretation of Thancred’s perception of the Lifestream.

Chapter 2: Water

He was almost surprised that losing his magic bothered him less than the thought of losing his marks did. Magic was helpful, but never his primary craft—not like Papalymo, Y’shtola, or Urianger, all experts at the weaving of spells and creating their own. Thancred had ever relied upon his own wits and practiced skills to get by, and thank the gods for that now. No, what bothered him was the thought of the Lifestream wiping away such an intrinsic piece of his identity as a Sharlayan Archon, not when he had fought so damned hard to be accepted by the scholars and earn that rank among their number.

All because Master Louisoix had believed in a scrawny dock rat that had tried to lift his purse.

Chapter 3: Bear Necessity

Thancred was not exactly a woodworker, so getting enough strips of the proper length was proving more difficult than he had anticipated. Still, only half-listening to one of Beatin’s expositions (before finding a way to excuse oneself and vanishing before the man caught a second wind) had actually come in handy.

He wished he could remember if the timbermaster had said the bark was edible or not. In Thancred’s current state, it was looking far too tempting.

AND:

He could really use some of those shinobi smoke bombs to help him disappear, as the bear lumbered into the open, saw him, and roared while it charged. Not the friendliest creatures, these Dravanian bears.

Chapter 4: Colony - The Vath were difficult, y’all.

Thancred nodded and stepped forward. Except just then the world tilted sharply and smacked him in the face. The beastmen clicked and shouted, and he was surrounded by a few pairs of stick-like legs, then lifted, and then half-carried into the colony.

He heard the nutkin chittering somewhere behind him, and he tried to tell the Vath not to eat his little friend.

Chapter 5: Nightmares - Please give Thancred closure about his possession, SE, kthnx.

I’m still pretty happy with the whole chapter; I was eager to get to it, and spent quite a bit of time with it.

Chapter 6: Unavoidable - About remembering Y'shtola:

He pushed the memory of her away again. She always came with the sensation of rushing winds and of being caught helpless in a rapid river, and they weren’t so much clinging to one another as they were one another, until she suddenly threw him onto the bank while she continued on, and he felt his loneliness even more keenly.

Chapter 7: Reunion - I feel like people–including the devs–often forget Thancred is a Sharlayan educated scholar.

Thancred was oddly annoyed he could no longer sense the aetheric shift. Still, he was a scholar of Sharlayan, and this was an opportunity for study. He pulled his bandana aside to see just what, exactly, the summoning looked like to his altered vision.

He decided quickly he might regret such curiosity later, but for now, observation was necessary, though he longed for his goggles to record the view; his colleagues would delight in such data.

AND I’m still pretty pleased with the descs/Thancred’s perceptions of the Warriors of Darkness, the Scions, and Ravana’s summoning.

Chapter 8: Catch Up - Worst final chapter/epilogue title ever.

He nodded; Alphinaud had been thoroughly detailed in his telling, up through the attempt to follow the Archbishop into the Sea of Clouds, running into the bloody Emperor of bloody Garlemald, and including a skyfishing fight against a primal in the shape of a giant, feathered, flying whale.

Thancred still wasn’t sure he believed that last part.

AND on hearing news of Lahabrea:

The world paused. “What?” Was that his voice? It sounded echoing and far away.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Thancred Waters #Scions of the Seventh Dawn #Heavensward #Lyn Prompts #Lyn Writing #handelgamer

[stabby-apologist]

Warning: smut w/knife play

A Dog and a Cat

Part 16

Jerome hummed and he tied Danica's feet and her right hand to his bed accordingly. He grabbed her left hand in both of his, appreciatively observing her sweaty palm. Jerome grabbed a rope, gazing down at his lover with interest.

He indicated the rope with a pointed eye, and started to tie it with expertise, this way and that way, over and under—until he had a devil's knot—it was a noose. However, it was particularly smaller for her hand. Danica made a nervous smile. Jerome latched her hand through the noose, tightening it roughly—Danica uttered a grunt of pain as the rope tug too tightly into her skin. Jerome lowered his face to hers, so close, and he smiled very big.

"You know what, kitten?" he said. "Although your game had some merit, I thought of a few things we could do tonight to specifically guarantee that I wouldn't harm that guard. For you, you can be satisfied with liquid trinkets and some coo-coo pills. Takes a bit more for me to be convinced."

Jerome wiggled his fingers and artificially conjured five methamphetamine pills from of her stash in his hand.

Danica met his eyes. She had already taken enough to give her the right amount of WOO; though it seemed that Jerome deemed it necessary to keep her going at a dangerous level.

"Jerome," she cautioned.

"Ah-ah," he cut her off. "Open up, baby."

Danica rolled her eyes, and opened her mouth.

"Tongue."

She stuck out her tongue.

Jerome popped the pills in his mouth and latched his lips onto hers. Danica felt his tongue exchange the pills into her mouth during the kiss. When he knew that she had no choice but to swallow them before the nasty dissolve happened, he pulled away. He placed two fingers on her chin and pulled down to see if the drugs were hiding in her cheek or under tongue.

"Good girl," he cooed approvingly. "Just keep doing as I say, and this game will be okey-dokey. You let me know if you start feeling like you're gonna die, hey?"

He quickly went to his feet and strode around the bed. Humming, he reached under the bed and pulled out a dark plastic bag.

"I went to Sionis also," he explained, lightly shaking the bag with delight, "a few party favors. Looks like there might be talk in the morning, what with you asking for rope and me asking for—" he playfully put a hand around his mouth, "Oops! Can't kiss and tell. Almost spoiled the whole night."

Danica's face felt flushed, and an overwhelming surge of heat flashed her whole body. There was the familiar pull of the stimulant, that push and pull of euphoria, concentration, surrender, and a desire to fucking kill somebody. Jerome watched Danica's body squirm. He enjoyed this dearly; he liked this side of her. She wasn't fighting the whole ordeal, but she did say that she wrestled with the idea of staying still while under the influence. Oh yeah, there was also the homicidal plea with it too. That's why he decided restraint would be a good idea.

Danica panted, sweating relentlessly. Her toes curled at the bottom of the bed. If anyone could see this scene, they would have thought that she was being tortured. Perhaps she was. But fuck it.

Jerome snapped his fingers at her,

"Baby. You still tuned in?"

"Yep," Danica strained, looked up at him.

"Great." Jerome withdrew a paddle from the plastic bag. "You know, I had a lot of time with these when I was a kid. But I think I have grown fond of them over the years. How about you?"

"Can't say that I have." Danica said.

"Oh, goody, a virgin," his voice dropped unequivocally low. "Considering how noisy you are and the fun that we're gonna be having, I thought it would be a good idea to find my baby a pacifier."

He withdrew a bandans from his pocket and tied it around Danica's head, placing the front of it in her mouth. Jerome made a tasteful moan,

"I really like how the night is going so far, how about you?"

Danica made a muffled answer through her gag. Jerome laughed.

"Right, sorry."

He picked up the paddle.

"So here are the rules, there are no rules. I hate rules, they're a waste a time and they change anyway."

With no warning, he smacked her thigh with the paddle. Danica winced and muffled a cry. Jerome rubbed the red area with a hand, observing it curiously.

"Well, you don't bruise easily, do ya, babe? Guess we'll have to try a little harder."

Smack.

Danica's leg bounced from pain, though it moved barely from the restraints. Jerome laughed hysterically as he hit her again on the other leg. Danica made a loud, unintelligible stream of a sentence.

"How rude," Jerome commented. He threw the paddle aside and jumped onto the bed, climbing on top of her; he stayed on his fours, setting each hand on either side of her face.

Jerome withdrew her gag from her mouth.

"Untie me," she hissed at him.

"Not liking our game?"

"Not what I had in mind as a good time," Danica said.

"Good time for you or a good time for me?" snickered Jerome.

"Untie me."

"Not how the game works." Jerome said, smiling. "Okay, maybe you're not into the paddle thing like me? We should try something different."

He jumped off the bed, making the mattress bounce slightly. Danica's wrists grew steadily red and painful.

She didn't mind the ropes, nor would she have minded the paddle if she had gotten a warning.

Jerome withdrew a knife from the plastic bag.

Danica's face went pale.

"I'm sensing either anger or fear," Jerome drawled. "Either way, we're just gonna by-pass that. You're going to enjoy this."

He lowered his face to hers.

"Jerome—" she whispered, but he cut her off as he captured her mouth with his.

Danica moaned into the kiss. He placed the knife against her cheek. She wriggled against the restraints as she felt the metal on her skin.

"Oh, no, no, no," Jerome lamented, "don't fight me. The whole reason why I gave you an extra dose is to alleviate pain, doll. "

Jerome pushed the blade against her cheek and blood started to ooze from her wound; she cried out in pain, but Danica didn't anticipate the idea that she—

Jerome grinned as she made a noise that made his stomach pit with delight. Although she cringed in pain, Danica felt an uncomfortable wetness between her thighs. Jerome withdrew the knife. Blood dripped down her chin. He met her big green eyes; she was in shock, probably that he did it and that she liked it. He kissed her; she returned it enthusiastically.

"I told you, Danica," he whispered, "trust me and you will be free."

He placed the knife on the other cheek, tapping her flesh playfully.

"Do it," Danica whispered.

"Say it again," Jerome ordered.

"Do it again," Danica said loudly, raising from the bed.

Jerome slit her cheek with the blade swiftly—Danica cried out in pain then pleasure. A long, bloody smile on her face.

"There, a permanent smile, just like mine," Jerome appreciated his handiwork.

Then Danica started to cackle. Jerome beamed. He pocketed the knife and reached down for the hem of her dress, pulling it up roughly and stuck two fingers inside of her.

Danica moaned loudly. She was already slick with arousal, and he in no time pushed her to climax. Jerome reached for her ropes and untied her hands. It was more fun when she could fight him during play. Danica's blood got on the sheets, Jerome's collar, his hands and hers. Jerome withdrew the knife and cut her ankles loose from her ropes. Danica knocked the knife out his hands and pushed him onto the floor where she pulled his pants down and climbed on top of him.

"You always have the greatest ideas," Danica said through a moan.

"I try," Jerome groaned as she climaxed.

Danica followed suit and rolled off him. Danica took the bandana from her because and dabbed the blood from her "happy wound".

"You're gonna need stitches," Jerome sighed, pulling his pants up.

"Yeah," Danica said, rising to her feet, "I'll just tell them that another psycho did it."

"Fucking tell them I did it. No one is getting credit for that," Jerome said seriously. "Up you go." He indicated the vent.

"There isn't a way they know I've been here. It's been like forty minutes," Danica said.

Jerome made look of surprise. "Time perception isn't really your thing when you're riding the mile high club. You've been in my room for hours," he clarified when she looked him, confused.

"Oh, fuck!" Danica jumped onto the bed and into the vent. "I'll see you in the morning!" She called from the vent.

#a dog and a cat #fanfiction #jerome velaska #gotham

[sinesalvatorem]

Facial Feminisation With Makeup

Yesterday I mentioned the fact that I’m interested in makeup but don’t post about it because other people aren’t. One person encouraged me to post about makeup anyway, so I’m going to make this one post about a particularly interesting aspect of makeup: That by reemphasising certain features, it can correct for a bit of sexual dimorphism.

This is basically just a list of a bunch of techniques I’ve fiddled around with, so it’s not superduper systematic. Also, I’m not, like, good at makeup. I like makeup and can apply it precisely enough to try a bunch of stuff, but I am not an expert even a little and have used a very restricted range of products.

(Note 1: Doing my makeup doesn’t make it hard for me to recognise masculine features in the mirror, because it just changes what features stand out, while I know what I’m looking for. As such, it might not help with body dysphoria? No clue, since IDK what body dysphoria feels like from the inside. It seems to help with passing, though, which is what I’ve cared enough about to learn about.)

(Note 2: In a lot of places, I say “women typically look like X; men typically look like Y”. This is meant to mean that the average man and woman look this way, and since most people are cis, that’s fairly gender dimorphic. I use this phrasing on the assumption that, if you’re reading this, you’re mostly interested in shifting your appearance toward the female average, rather than getting people to have more woke perceptions of male and female.

If you want to learn more about sexual dimorphism in faces, you should check out this site. I read through it at 13 when considering whether transitioning seemed worthwhile (to assess how hard it would be to hide sexual dimorphism to a passable degree), and I highly recommend it as a starting point.)

Before you begin, you should make sure you have:

Apparatus: A mirror; a sink; at least one soft, smooth sponge; lots of tissues for wiping away your mistakes.

Makeup: Lipstick or lipgloss; foundation (that matches your skin); concealer; highlighter and contour; eyeliner and mascara.

Consumables: Soap; moisturiser; a long, narrow hair accessory like a thin, folded scarf; patience.

Once you have all your shit together, you should wash your face. Definitely try to clean out your pores before applying foundation and after removing it. Make sure to shave reasonably closely after washing, and (optionally) pluck your eyebrows if you’re up for that.

Then just put on your foundation. If you don’t know how to do that, it’s basically just dabbing some foundation around your face and then blending it in with your sponge until your skin has a smooth complexion. I generally go for a very light coat of foundation, but you have to choose what suits your skin. Next, you can start doing stuff about specific facial features.

Lips: Women’s lips are typically fuller than men’s, but not quite as wide. If you want to feminise your lips, your goal is to make them stand out more (particularly in the centre), to increase that apparent fullness.

Lipstick or lipgloss is a must for this. You want your lips to be more reflective, since that tricks the brain into perceiving them as bigger. You particularly want to make the middle of the lips brighter (typically by using more lipgloss there) in order to draw attention away from the corners of the mouth, which may be longer than desired.

Meanwhile, you might want to increase the apparent vertical size of the lips by extending your lipstick to more of your lip line, but making this look natural requires concealing said lip line. Regular old concealer will probably do the trick, but I have to admit that afro lips are shaped significantly differently to other people’s, so I can’t speak from experience on what’ll work for 99% of this blog’s readership. Maybe try consulting this guide.

Facial Hair: Most women just don’t have this to any notable degree. You want to give as little indication as possible that you grow facial hair. While shaving is by far the most important part of this, you can do even better.

Shaved faces typically have a hint of darkness in the places where hair grows. This is less dark immediately after a shave, but still slightly discoloured compared to the rest of the skin. Here you just want to apply concealer until it’s the same shade as the skin around it. Make sure to also get underneath your chin! Even if you didn’t put foundation down there, I’d recommend using a little concealer.

Cheeks/Jawline: Women’s facial structure is typically more rounded than men’s. As such, you want to decrease any perceptions of blockiness or right angles. This means creating an illusion where it seems like your underlying bone structure is more curved/rounded.

You can do this to some extent using highlights and contours. Highlights increase the reflectiveness of your skin, while contours decrease it. While concealer makes an area less visually notable by evening out the colour, contours make the area less eye-catching by making it reflect less light. Thus, it works in combination with highlighting to make some things pop and others recede, allowing for all sorts of subtle reshaping.

I would recommend applying highlighter in long, curved strokes along the cheekbones and the jawline. You don’t want to actually trace the cheeks or jaw, but to draw arcs with exaggerated roundness. You then want to contour a little below your cheekbone-highlighter (also curved), and the corners of your jaw (below your jaw-highlighter). Then just blend it all together to make your face seem more rounded. (FTR: “blending” is just when you take the sponge and dab your makeup in to even it out.)

Nose: Women’s noses are typically thinner and shorter than men’s. I’m afraid I don’t have a ton of advice on making it seem shorter (sorry), but you can definitely make it appear somewhat thinner.

Just apply a line of highlighter on the bridge and centre-line, while contouring the edges, before blending together. This will make the centre of the nose more reflective/prominent, while drawing attention away from how wide it is. It’s the same trick we did with the lips!

Eyes: Women’s eyes are typically slightly larger than men’s, relative to the rest of the face, and also have longer eyelashes. Interestingly enough, despite the phyiscal difference being relatively small, a study in Canada (that I unfortunately couldn’t find with a quick Google) found that the size of the eyes had one of the largest effects in flipping people’s gender perception for a given face. So, basically, you want to make your eyes stand out.

Luckily, this is already the main goal of existing eye beauty techniques, so most tutorials on doing your eyes will do well here. Just do your eyeliner and mascara as recommended. The only extra advice I would give would be to increase the reflectiveness of your eyelids to draw attention from the brow ridge (which is prominent in most men and largely absent in most women).

Forehead and hairline: The sex differences in forehead and hairline are reasonably complex and fascinating. Firstly, women tend to have low corners and a high middle for their hairline, while male hairlines tend to dip down in the middle to form a bit of an M shape. Secondly, men’s foreheads tend to slope backward slightly. Thirdly, male foreheads tend to be just plain wider (vertically) than female ones. (Besides that, there’s the brow stuff that was discussed under ‘eyes’.)

Thankfully, at least for the three problems identified above, there’s a simple and easy solution: Tie an accessory right below the highest point of the hairline. It shouldn’t obscure too much of the forehead, but just enough to make it seem shorter, cover the middle-dip in the hairline, and hide the backward slope. Personally, I tie a bandana there, but a thick ribbon or a narrow scarf would likely also work for this.

And that’s basically it! Any of these things individually should do some good for how people read you (especially the stuff for the eyes and the forehead/hairline). Additional things to consider:

While you should avoid caking on makeup to the point where it looks like you have something to hide, you shouldn’t be too afraid to let people see that your makeup is makeup. Tasteful makeup, but not completely invisible, so that people notice. This affects people’s higher-level gendering system by increasing the likelihood that you’re a woman, since most people who wear makeup are women. (The reverse of some of the above procedures should help transguys look more masc, but they should definitely aim to hide the fact that they’re wearing makeup if they want to be read correctly.)

Wearing makeup that’s not the right shade for your skin can be disastrous by making you look distorted or unnatural. It also means the feminisation is less likely to work, since the point is for someone who’s doing a first-pass gender read to sort you into the “female” box and move on. Looking really weird may lead them to pay more attention. To make sure you have a good colour match, you should directly compare your hand to the makeup colour. (Stuff typically comes with a label with the colour on it.)

There are other sexually dimorphic facial features. However, I only tried to write about the ones that I have working makeup solutions (or at least palliatives) for. Some things I just don’t know how to do yet and will require more experimentation and maybe getting advice from other people. However, when I do figure out how to do something, I’ll try to tell Tumblr.

If you’re in the San Francisco Bay Area and can visit me in the mid-peninsula (and bring your own product), I can do your makeup for you + give advice on how to do your own makeup. Not professionally (for one thing, I pretty much only put makeup onto myself, and haven’t worked with white skin), but with a bunch of intuitions for what you might want to do with your face, so giving you a more specific idea of what to work on than just reading this post. Also, if you’re the kind of person who read this post and thought “I want to talk to her more about makeup”, then you’re the kind of person I want to talk to too.

#transgender #gender #advice #makeup #long post cw #written with the assumption that you know almost nothing about makeup but can google keywords

[itscharlic-blog]

╰ ° ♛ ( dove cameron, 22, she/her, heteroflexible ) lady charlotte dupont of france has been matched to shawn mendes/ask mun. word is she’s +eclectic & +intelligent but -sly & -territorial. she’s into rough sex & toys but not into breathplay & bdsm ( e, 20, pht, she/her, rape & abuse ) 

aesthetic:

faux leather moto jacket, microscope, headphones, ariana grande’s sassy attitude, physics notes, ripped jeans, conspiracy theories, april ludgate, alien head iron patch, colored hair, & smoke from a cigarette

[ ooc : FIRST OF ALL, let me just get it out of my system that joining this roleplay literally came to me from a dream. i dreamt of this rp idea literally the night before i saw this group in the tags. something about modern royals running around fancy buildings --  it’s fuzzy. could have been a modern royals being wiped out of existence type of dream but hey! close enough? i’m elle btw!! this isn’t my first time joining a smut rp but it’s been a hot minute, and i usually don’t do smut so i’m not rlly confident with my skills just yet; i’m here to learn! honestly, if i were a tad bit more confident, i would have straight ass applied for another character but kdng i’m not there yet. anyway, have my squidward daughter, charlie! ]

stats

full name: charlotte margaux dupont

nickname: charlie, lottie (by her younger siblings), margaux/margo (by certain relatives outside her immediate family)

age: 22

sexuality: identifies as queer; heteroflexible 

birthday: november 2

label: the polymath

hometown: avignon, france

talents/skills: great perception and attention to detail, singing, memorization

quick bio!

family life: 

so and so-- the duponts are not a close-knit family and were their own individuals, even her younger siblings were trusted to be independent enough to go about their everyday life. 

although very very privileged, her parents still believe in the values of hardwork and fairplay (as long as it’s convenient for them, anyway). 

she’s the second child, greatly overshadowed by her older sibling who had dreams and aspirations larger then life. charlotte has been the exact opposite. she’d rather much stick to herself, and stay indoors all day and read and soak up as much knowledge as she could. 

everyone in their family had their own thing. her father was a scientist, and her mother was a poet-- two very different souls. very. their marriage was arranged as both families wanted to keep their wealth in tact. so there wasn’t really enough love to give in the first place.

personality: 

very blunt but vague *cough* sarcastic *cough* at the same time, and intentionally lets people know that she does not favor their presence. 

she’s aware of her position in society, but firmly believes the system is outdated and rigged. her treatment of people do not vary per status. she could care less about anyone’s crown.

rarely smiles bc of joy -- mostly due to amusement at other people’s expense (to those who deserve it of course... most of them, at least)

likes to say “i don’t know” and “i don’t care” a lot.

would rather be with nature and animals than to socialize with people.

a little weird is exactly how you’d describe her, but once you get to talk to her she’ll seem more like a normal person.

her fashion sense is a little... experimental. she’ll usually have one item that will completely put off the outfit. it could be a red bandana around her head with a leather jacket on, or she could be sporting purple ombre hair wearing a dress with alien head patches on them. 

and some days, when she’s lazy and feeling uncreative, she'll look like your regular young adult roaming around the city.

she can make friends! only when she’s feeling it.

has a knack for singing and music in general. a couple of things that she’s bonded over with her younger siblings were music and the occasional karaoke nights.

others:

went to the university of oxford to study physics but didn’t last very long since she didn’t really feel safe in the environment. she doesn’t like to talk about it because she’d created a few enemies bc of her blunt nature and sarcastic attitude. it didn’t help that she would unintentionally humiliate some classmates for being incompetent. some rlly egotistical boys had been more than unfriendly since then.

transferred to université pierre et marie curie in paris but also didn’t last very long, reasoning that college is nothing but a glorified textbook with occasional field trips.

she doesn’t think of the matching system very much, but her parents would rather her get hitched than be a hermit in their home. it didn’t fair well to their family name to have their 22 year old daughter to still be living in their family home.

she’s just here for the amenities, tbh.

#royaltysintro

[jam2289]

Nice People - What does it mean?

My default perspective of people is that they're nice. That doesn't particularly hold true if you compare things to history, or other cultures, or even all of my own experience. I've had my life threatened many times, I've been shot at, had someone try to stab me, been successfully poisoned in Africa, have had money stolen, been lied to and betrayed, been lied about, and I've been conned a few times. I've largely ignored this contradiction because I didn't know how to reconcile it. But, the last 16 months have held it in my awareness so consistently that I need to confront my ideas about the niceness of people. Today is a good example.

I decided to go for a walk at Lake Harbor Park to clear my head. It's been a drizzly day, which I like. With an overcast sky blocking out the sun, the park wasn't too busy, which I also like. I took a trail that isn't the most popular. You walk up a small incline of sand, and then turn down a narrow ravine with trees all around you. Even when the sun is out it doesn't touch you there. I didn't encounter any people on that trail.

I could hear the heavy waves of Lake Michigan crashing on the sandy shore in front of me as I started to come out of the ravine. There's a steep climb up a sand dune. I cut across the top of the dunes along the shore, watching the waves crash. I saw one other woman with her dog and a backpack sitting on the sand staring out over the water. My boots left footprints in the sand, but made hardly a sound. With the noise from the wind and the waves the woman didn't even notice me walk by her, and I left her to her solitary contemplation. She seemed nice.

I saw that there were large orange markers floating out in the lake and wondered what they were for. I came off the dunes onto a set of wooden stairs. The first thing that I noticed was that the part of the channel that had collapsed earlier in the year had been repaired. As I walked down the stairs I noticed that there was a man with a jet ski in the channel. It seemed that him and his son were pulling in the orange buoys with the jet ski. I smiled and waved, and they smiled and waved back as they headed back out of the channel for another round. They seemed nice.

As I was getting in my car to leave there was a couple getting out of their car two parking spots over. The husband got the two dogs, and the mother was picking up the baby girl. I said hi to the guy and he said hi back, and I waited to make sure both of the dogs were where I could see them before backing out. They seemed nice.

I decided to stop at Meijer on Henry to get some Wallaby brand kefir, because it's a tasty treat. I walked to the back of the store, grabbed two bottles in each hand, and got in line. It was an oddly long line stretching from the self-checkout area, across the main aisle, and into the produce area. I was standing in line and a guy came up and stood next to me. He stared at the line and sighed. He put his two half-gallons of chocolate milk that he was carrying onto a stack of Coca-Cola in the aisle. I laughed and said, "It's a weirdly long line today. It's not a holiday or anything is it? The holiday was last weekend." He agreed that it was odd having such a long line.

We were talking and he kept adjusting his mask. I said, "The masks are annoying aren't they?" He agreed and said, "What's really annoying is the six foot thing. Whenever you start to get close to anyone they start to do this!" And he tucked into a little cower and shuffled away like he was afraid. We both laughed, me with my leprechaun bandana around my neck and him adjusting his mask. We talked about my students who grew up wearing masks in the Soviet Union and in China. He mentioned conditioning, and then told me that he uses whole Meijer brand chocolate milk that he mixes with plain two percent milk to create the best tasting concoction. We checked out at the same time at different registers and were walking out together. I told him that it was nice talking with him. He asked me my name and I told him, and he told me his name was Eric. We shook hands and he said how nice it was to meet me. And how unusual it was to have a nice conversation in a checkout line, especially now, and he liked that I was a teacher. He was surprised to have had such a nice talk.

The next place I was headed for was Scott Meats. I drove down Broadway Avenue. The road feels like driving down a rough two-track, as you're bouncing along you look out the window and see empty business after empty business, boards over the windows and doors, a desolate sight. There were more people than usual walking along the sidewalk. I noticed that one was holding a cardboard sign that read "Black Lives Matter", and just after that I passed the rally they were holding in the park. Ignoring the crippling content of the underlying philosophy, people walking on the sidewalk and speaking and standing in a park seem nice.

As I was walking into the meat store there was a guy standing outside with a bag on his walker. I asked if he needed help. He seemed quite surprised that I talked to him. He said he was just waiting for a cab. He seemed nice.

I went inside and grabbed my ticket, waited, and got a bag of hanger steaks. I asked what the seasoning was on them and the clerk told me that it wasn't anything particularly special, but a mix that they made in the back. He seemed nice.

I got in line as the woman in front of me was just finishing checking out. The cashier motioned me forward as she called for someone to come help the woman carry out her two bags. She had asked the cashier if the hanger steaks were any good, she said yes, and I said, "They are very good." The cashier scanned my bag and I put in my card as she told the woman waiting that it would be a moment for someone to come and carry her bags for her. I said, "I can help you." Both of the women were very surprised and said "Really?!" I said, "Yeah, I'm headed that way anyway." and laughed. They both did the thing where you agree with something by making one muffled laugh and nodding your head. The cashier remarked several times that it was so nice of me to help. I carried my bag in one hand and one of the woman's bags in the other hand. She thanked me several times as we walked to her truck. I told her to have a nice day and she thanked me again. When I was one car away she yelled something. I turned around and asked, "What?" She said, "I can give you a dollar tip if you want." I said, "No, it's no problem. My car's right over there. Have a good one." She seemed nice.

On my drive home I was reflecting on these unusual interactions. Mostly on the fact that they seem normal to me, and they seem so surprising to the other people. I was thinking to myself, "Why have these people been so surprised by these normal interactions?" My mind answered back with the obvious, "Because they aren't normal." They never were, and are even less so now that covid has made everyone scared of everyone else. When's the last time that I saw someone carry groceries out for a stranger? Never. When's the last time I saw someone walk up to a stranger standing in a parking lot and ask them if they need help? Never. When's the last time I saw two strangers have a sincere conversation diving into serious topics in a checkout line? Never.

It's not that they never happen, they're just so rare that you aren't going to see them. Sometimes people plan to do nice things. A few years ago there was a fad about paying for the meal of the person behind you in the fast-food drive-through. I don't think it's the same thing psychologically. That's a planned anonymous charity, rather than a sincere person-to-person encounter in the moment. Helping people with money might be more common. A few years ago I was having breakfast at a restaurant. I was standing in the checkout line and the old guy in front of me was digging for money to pay. It seemed like he probably wasn't going to come up with the total amount. I told him and the cashier to just put it on mine and I'd cover it. He thanked me, but didn't seem surprised. The cashier didn't seem surprised either, and we had a little conversation about him having love and hate tattooed across his knuckles. No big deal.

On the other hand, a couple of years ago I was looking for a parking space at the grocery store in the middle of winter. There was an old guy that got his front tire stuck in a snowbank. He was putting it in forward, reverse, forward, reverse. I drove past him while finding a parking spot. There were a lot of people at the store. People walking in, people walking out. There were tons of people that walked past this guy. By the time that I had parked and walked down the parking lot lane, not a single person stopped to help him. All he needed was a little push. I helped him and he was on his way. I remember being surprised that no one else had offered to help this guy, even though a lot of people were walking right by him.

In my mind, in these various situations, I was just being nice. I get this emphasis on being nice from my mother. But you can see that there's some inconsistency in my use of the word and my application of the concept. Because of the way I use it almost everyone gets classified in my mind as nice. And that doesn't fully work, because when I encounter not nice people, as I often do, it conflicts with my perception of all of humanity as mostly nice, which is a depressing inner conflict. I need to change things to come into closer contact with reality.

Our performative actions contain more information than images, and images contain more information than words. What we're seeing here is a discrepancy between how I'm classifying performative actions of myself and others with the words that I'm using. When I'm helpful, I'm nice. When I offer to help, I'm nice. When I have a sincere personal encounter, I'm nice. When someone talks to me, they're nice. When someone smiles at me, they're nice. When someone doesn't do anything, they're nice. This extremely wide range makes the use of the word fuzzy.

There's a big gap between being helpful and not doing anything. The key difference is between being active and being passive. Now we're getting to the heart of the issue, I can feel it. My use of nice includes being not-bad, non-malevolent, and not-hurtful. These are completely passive things. We could say that the person isn't good or bad, they're neutral. Just because someone's not-bad doesn't mean they're good, being non-malevolent doesn't mean you're benevolent, being not-hurtful doesn't mean you're helpful. Being helpful is good, being hurtful is bad, being non-helpful and non-hurtful is neutral. It holds the potential for moral action, but isn't engaged in it.

This passivity is what's common. Mixing the ideas of being passive and being active is what's confused my working definition of niceness.

This pervasive passivity is also what allows for atrocities. Hannah Arendt and Karl Jaspers talk about this in Nazi Germany, and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Vaclav Havel talk about it in the Soviet Union. Stanley Milgram demonstrated it in his famous experiments. Arendt called it the banality of evil. Milgram called it the agentic state. To classify this passivity under the same heading as helpfulness is obviously a mistake.

Now we know the distinction that I was failing to make in my thinking. There is an immense amount of change that comes from that. It will take some time for my mind, body, and soul to fully digest. But I can point out some of how it will begin. For instance, if I think that almost everyone is nice, and within niceness I have being non-malevolent, and being helpful. Then, when a bunch of people pass by someone who needs help, and it wouldn't even be inconvenient to help, they are both being nice in being non-malevolent, and not being nice for not being helpful. Most people are passive, not helpful. They can be helpful in certain circumstances. If the person was in their in-group and they knew them they might help them, if an authority figure told them to help they probably would, if others were helping they might conform, if there was a reward someone would help for the benefit. But being helpful outside of these parameters is extremely unusual. By making the clear distinction between passivity and helpfulness there is no longer an inner contradiction in my perception of the situation.

It does make a deeper problem stand out though. Since this passivity is the norm by far, and it allows for such great injustices to prevail, how do we move away from it as a society? The first part of that answer is simple, the society is made out of individuals, so it's a change that has to occur in individuals. Carl Jung emphasized that very clearly. Arendt talks about the importance of thinking as an individual, Jaspers talks about assessing your individual guilt, Viktor Frankl talks about discovering and fulfilling individual meaning. What they're all dealing with is the conscience. How do we activate the conscience? How do we make and keep it strong? When I wrote 'Moral Engagement' I was talking about the contents of conscience, but the practices that engage it are something different. It's what pulls Arendt, Jaspers, Solzhenitsyn, Havel, Jung, and Frankl all into the spiritual realm when they talk about doing good and constraining evil, first within the self. It's deeper than philosophy and psychology. What's needed is deeper than a better thought. The mind and body house an emergent property, the conscience, the soul. In the depths of the individual what's needed is spiritual healing. Heal the spirit, the conscience, the soul. That is the way forward.

Here's the link to 'Moral Engagement': http://www.jeffreyalexandermartin.com/2020/04/moral-engagement.html

________________________________________________

If you like this, check out JeffThinks.com or JeffreyAlexanderMartin.com

[carrot-cat17]

Bravery - Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Seven Souls (and Sans) Chrono

Sans digs his hole a little deeper.

Read on AO3 here

~ ~ ~

This was wrong.

What had he gotten himself into!? Sans did his best to keep up the appearance that everything was fine, but for pete’s sake there was a human being walking next to him! He had just made friends with the enemy. Invited them to come further into the Underground. He should have left her there; gotten Greatest Dog or something. But she’d been so alone...Sans couldn’t pretend he didn’t know how that felt. And now that she knew how...how dust worked...there was no way she could be a threat.

But Asgore would want her.

No, not her. Her soul. Sans grinned at his new friend outwardly, but inside he was screaming.

Nothing about this was a good idea. Why couldn’t someone else have found her?

“hey, so...we’re getting close to town.”

“Town? There’s a town down here?”

“yeah, there’re actually quite a few. but this one’s called snowdin.”

“Oh...I’d always thought you guys just lived in burrows or...made nests or something…”

Sans couldn’t help but laugh. “we’re not dumb animals, kiddo. whaddya take me for, a squirrel? not that i’m afraid of heights or anything but i can’t really see myself living in a tree.”

“Sorry,” Jack laughed, blushing a little. “I...guess I don’t know much about monsters. I didn’t offend you, did I?” Jack was blushing now.

“nah, you’re fine. we’ve uh...been trapped down here for a long time. i wouldn’t expect you humans to have all the facts anymore.” Sans couldn’t help but frown a little. Odds were high that this kid’s perception of history was probably a bit different than his own.

He looked up at the trees around them. They were beginning to thin out; get a little smaller. They really were getting close. Sans was going to have to figure out what to do with this kid. They couldn’t just waltz into town...could they? Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“Yeah, I guess so...we have a brief unit in our history courses in school, I guess, but mostly it just covers the war and...the barrier thing or whatever?”

“so you guys call it the barrier still, too, hunh?” Sans shot her a half-hearted smile. “eh, that makes sense i guess. kinda hard to write a history about a group that hasn’t been seen in, like, forever.”

Silence wedged itself between the two as they walked, broken only by the occasional chatter of the kid’s teeth. Finally, Jack spoke up.

“Sans?”

“mm?” he grunted. He could already tell where this was going by the tone of her voice.

“You...weren’t around when the Barrier was made...were you?”

Sans came to a halt. He knew where he had to take this conversation, but he didn’t want to.

“nope,” he finally answered. “‘m too young for that. that happened a long time ago. i don’t think there are many monsters left that were around at the time. i’ve heard of a few who were there. there’s an old tortoise that likes to tell stories to kids when he can remember them. but...i think that generation’s pretty much gone.”

“So you’ve...never seen the sun before?”

She just had to ask that question, didn’t she?

Sans chuckled sadly. “i’m afraid i haven’t, kiddo.”

Jack got quiet. Looked down at the ground.

“but hey...maybe...maybe someday i’ll get to, eh? king’s got a plan-”

“King?”

Here we go.

“uh...yeah. the king. king asgore. he, uh...he thinks he might know how to break the barrier. from our side, that is. but…”

“But maybe it’d be easier if it was broken from our side!” Jack exclaimed. I could go back up there and tell everyone that you guys are still down here! That we need to make amends! We could break the Barrier and let you all out!”

“well, yeah, that would probably be easier, but i dunno if anything can get back out once it’s gotten in.”

Should he tell her about the king’s angry decree? Most definitely yes. So why couldn’t Sans bring himself to say it? This girl was in more and more danger every minute she spent down here! But if the rumors were true, nothing could get out through that Barrier unless its soul was powerful enough. What the heck was he going to do now?

“hey i think i see the town up ahead,” he said, changing the subject. Perhaps he could give this a little more thought later. For now he needed to get her somewhere safe. “but, uh...we need to lay down some ground rules before we go in.”

Jack shivered a little again, but said nothing, looking at him expectantly.

“for one thing, let me do the talking, kay? i know the people in this town pretty well, and i also know some of them can be pretty nosy. but i’ll make sure we get what we need without too much hassle.”

“Why would they be nosy? Don’t you guys ever get visitors?”

“well, yeah, but not from the surface.” Sans said, trying not to grit his teeth. This was a horrible idea.

“so for another thing...basically i’m kinda thinking it would be wise of us to not bring attention to the fact that you’re a human for now.”

“Why? Wouldn’t people be excited?”

“well,” Sans tugged at the collar of his jacket for a moment. “no offense, but my history classes kinda taught me to fear humans. i don’t think you realise how powerful you are compared to us. even a kid as young as you can wipe out-”

Jack was looking a little uncomfortable.

“-uh, yeah...guess you kinda figured that one out on your own, hunh?” Whoops. “a-anyway, i just don’t think it would be a good idea to announce the arrival of a human to a bunch of people who grew up learning to be scared of them. so, um...actually! here!”

Sans stepped out of the slippers he forgot to change before heading out and took off his socks. He gave them a sniff and held them out to the human with a somewhat apologetic look.

“What?”

“put ‘em on.”

“Like, on my feet?”

Sans stepped back into his slippers. “nah, i was thinking more like over your ears or something.”

“EW! No way am I doing that! Those came off your feet!” Jack gave them a sniff and cringed. “When did you last wash these anyway!?”

Sans sighed. “look, kid, sorry, i was supposed to do laundry today. but-” should he tell her about Papyrus? Or would it be safer for everyone if no one knew about each other. Papyrus had a tendency to get a little...attached…to anyone he met. And besides, he was training to be in the Royal Guard; that could spell trouble. It would probably be safer for now if he didn’t.

“-i’m a bit of a lazybones. but i figure this is as a good a disguise as i can give you right now. there’s lots of bunnies in snowdin. you hang those socks from your bandana thing and you’ll...sorta look like a bunny.

Jack looked at the socks in her hand, eyebrows knitting together in a scowl. “Okay, fine. But I don't see how anyone is going to be fooled by a couple of socks.”

“you’d be surprised,” Sans replied, hoping he was right. Most everybody in Snowdin at least had never seen a human before. So maybe they could slip by without too many questions. Sans steeled himself and took the lead as they approached the first couple of buildings.

Unfortunately, it was evening. The snow-covered streets of the town were teeming with monsters, many on their way home from work.

Which reminded him. Dinner.

Sans palmed his skull. “awe man, i can’t believe i almost forgot! we gotta grab some things before we head home. remember: let me do all the talking, kay?”

The girl beside him nodded. It was only then that Sans realised how blue her lips had gotten.

“whoa, you okay? you look chilled to the bone!” Sans shrugged his jacket off while he inwardly chided himself for forgetting one of the most basic rules of etiquette. She’d been shivering the whole way into town! How could he have not registered that until now!?

“T-t-thanks, Sans. I-i-it’s a little cold here!”

“heh, well in case you haven't figured it out yet, i’m not the most observant person. next time just say something. i don’t want you freezing to death on my account!” Sans winked. “kay, get ready. we’re gonna duck in here for a minute,” he said, turning to open the door to Snowdin’s most popular shop.

“How the heck is this jacket so warm? You’ve got no skin or blood!”

“magic,” he quipped without looking back. “now shut up.” Now it was his turn to feel cold. Time to go inside.

“Haha, that’s a good one- you’re joking right? What’s the real answer?”

“for once, i’m not. now shh!” Sans pushed her inside and shut the cold out behind them.

“Hey y’all,” came the call from the back of the store. “Sans? My goodness, is that you?”

Across the room, leaning against the front of the checkout counter was a large rabbit with a droopy hat and even droopier eyes, dressed in nothing but a tank top and capris despite the perpetually cold weather outside. But then rabbits were pretty good at keeping warm. She pushed herself up and walked over to meet them, twirling a candy cane between her fingers.

“hey, petal. ‘s’good to see you. i need to get some stuff for dinner tonight.”

Jack was looking all around the store in awe. But thankfully she was staying quiet.

“And who’s your lovely friend, here?” The large rabbit asked.

“oh, more like a friend of a friend or something like that. she’s stayin’ with me for a bit while she passes through. she’s on her way to…to...the capital...to visit family.” Sans hoped and prayed he could pass this off.

“Well ain’t that just wonderful! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Jack looked up at the bunny, a little caught off guard. She shot a quick glance at Sans for approval before clearing her throat. “Jack. My name is Jack, ma’am.”

Petal bent down to give her a hug and the candy cane. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss Jack. No, no, keep it, darlin’. It’s yours!” Then she turned to look at Sans. “So what do you need for tonight, honey?”

“y’know that veggie soup i used to make all the time? yeah that one. i need stuff for that tonight. o-oh and maybe a couple o’ cinnamon bunnies for after, too.”

“Sure thing!” she winked at him before disappearing into the back part of the store. Sans could feel the tension in his scapulae ease.

“That is one big bunny!” Jack piped up, inspecting a collection of surface-world keychains. “Hey, Texas! That’s where I’m from!” She picked up the keychain and twirled it a few times. “Where I come from, bunnies are small. Like, super small. And they don’t talk.”

“well, i imagine skeletons don’t either. ‘s a different world down here,” Sans replied, trying to peer into the doorway Petal and gone through. Before Jack could respond, the large bunny returned, a couple of sacks in her beefy arms.

“Here you are, honey. That everything for you tonight?”

“sure is, ma’am. thanks a ton!”

“That’ll be 50G, then.”

Sans handed the bags off to his companion and dug in his pants pocket for his wallet. He counted out the fee and ushered the kid out the door.

He turned to wave before following her out. “thanks again, petal. you’re the best.”

“Anytime, Sans,” Petal replied, returning to her spot in front of the counter. “And Sans?”

“yeah?”

“That poor girl doesn’t need your socks anywhere near her face.”

Sans laughed nervously. “she, uh...she insisted her ears were cold…”

Time to make his exit. He could hear Petal laughing as he closed the door behind him. Man, that cold air suddenly felt really refreshing!

“What’s wrong with you?” Jack asked, scrutinizing him.

“you can take the socks off if you want.”

She looked confused for a moment. Then she laughed.

“Thanks, Sans. I was starting to get a little light-headed there!”

“hey, c’mon, they’re not that bad, are they?” He grinned, taking the socks back.

“Let’s just say having these socks in my face is worse than getting socked in the face!” she winked.

Sans laughed. “good one, kid.”

~ ~ ~

They reached the house just as the last rays of light from above faded away.

“Wow, it sure gets dark down here…” Jack said in a small voice. “...and I thought it was dark before...”

Sans said nothing. He was too busy wondering how the heck he was going to explain coming home several hours late. And with a complete stranger. The whole way home, no one had screamed, “a human! A human!” which was a plus. But if word got out that Jack was a human, they’d both be in some serious trouble.

“okay, uh…so just so you know, my little brother lives with me. he’s pretty...um, he can be kinda weird at first. but i promise he’s cool.”

“You have a brother!? That’s awesome!” Jack’s eyes lit up. “I have one, too! Actually a couple! But they’re all older than me.” Her face fell a little. “...I’ll bet they’re beginning to wonder where I am…”

Sans shifted uncomfortably. He really needed to tell her the truth about Asgore. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “i’m sure they are,” was all he could finally force out.

Suddenly, the front door flew open, flooding the front step with warm light.

“SANS! THERE YOU ARE! I WAS BEGINNING TO WONDER IF I SHOULD GO OUT AND LOOK FOR YO- WHO’S THIS?”

Welp. Too late to come up with any plans.

“hey paps, sorry, i...got a little sidetracked...this is jack. she’s just passing through. needs a place to stay for the night. ‘s’that okay?”

“YOU MADE A FRIEND!? SANS, YOU MADE A FRIEND! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU! GET IN HERE, BOTH OF YOU!” Papyrus whisked them inside.

“PLEASE, JACK, MAKE YOURSELF RIGHT AT HOME- OR, AT LEAST, THE PARTS OF HOME THAT DON’T BELONG TO ME OR SANS. OH GOODNESS, I WISH YOU WOULD HAVE CALLED, BROTHER; I COULD HAVE CLEANED UP A LITTLE! I HAD NO IDEA WE WERE HAVING A GUEST!”

“the place looks fine, papyrus. heh. any cleaner and you probably wouldn’t let me in!”

“THAT’S JUST THE SORT OF THING YOU WOULD SAY...IT’S A PIGSTY IN HERE! AND I COULD HAVE SHOWN OFF MY AMAZING CULINARY SKILLS-”

“-that! won’t be necessary,” Sans butted in before Papyrus had the chance to get any dangerous ideas. “i got the stuff. so we can have our soup. remember?” He cast a sidelong glance at the kid. She look slightly bewildered, but amused. That was usually about average for meeting Papyrus the first time.

“OH. RIGHT. WELL, JACK, YOU WILL SIMPLY HAVE TO SEE IF YOU CAN STAY ANOTHER NIGHT. THEN YOU CAN TRY MY FAMOUS SPAGHETTI!”

“That sounds wonderful!” Jack replied, looking to Sans for guidance as Papyrus took her hand in both of his and vigorously shook it. Sans smiled and shrugged. If she stayed long enough, she’d learn sooner than later.

“welp, i’m gonna make this soup, kay? if you wanted, paps, you could take this opportunity to clean up the house some.”

“AN EXCELLENT IDEA, BROTHER! THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL DO JUST THAT!”

Papyrus ran off to the broom closet. Sans jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. “c’mon. we’ve got some soup to make.”

They headed into the kitchen, the sounds of Papyrus singing at the top of his metaphorical lungs blasting from around corner. The vacuum did little to drown him out.

“so whaddya think of my bro?” he asked as he began taking ingredients out of the sacks. “oh, hey; do you wanna grab me a pot from under the sink? thanks.”

“He’s...interesting, to say the least…” Jack replied, coming over with a dented stock pot. “-Wow, your sink is tall! -I like him, though. He seems very confident.”

“yeah, if there was ever a word to describe paps, it would probably be ‘confident.’” Sans chuckled. “i’m pretty proud of how he turned out. i know of no one who’s braver and kinder than he is. heh. he hasn’t got a bad bone in his body! hand me those carrots, will ya?”

Jack laughed and obliged.

“Has he always been like this?” she asked. Sans gave her a knife and an onion.

“for the most part, yeah. hey, can you stir while i add this stuff?” he replied, peeling a potato. “he used to be pretty self-conscious. honestly i think he still is; he’s just gotten really good at hiding it. he always wants to make everyone happy, y’know?”

“That reminds me of Louis - he’s the one closest to my age,” Jack’s eyes fell a little, a wistful smile pulling halfheartedly at the corners of her mouth. “He’s never had too many close friends, but that’s all he’s ever wanted. He just wants to be liked by everyone. He’s the nicest person I know…”

The stirring stopped. She stared at the floor.

Sans put down his potato. “hey, c’mon, it’s alright. i’m...i’m sure you’ll see him again. heh. and in the meantime, you can share papyrus with me, if you want!” he winked. Jack laughed a little at that.

“Yeah...that sounds good,” she smiled at him and resumed her stirring. “You know what would go really good in this soup? A little bit of green chili.”

“i’ll bet you’re right, kiddo. too bad i don’t have any...or...know what that is!”

They both laughed. this kid wasn’t bad at all. Nothing like the history books made her out to be. Sans could feel the chains growing heavier as they laughed. He was going to have to tell her the truth eventually. But for now?

Eh, no reason to ruin a good moment, right?

#undertale #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #sevensoulsandsans #sans seven souls #sans #bravery #my art

[breccagrimm-blog]

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I'm taking a nap on the sofa. Wyatt, my dog, is curled up behind my knees, napping with me.

The doorbell rings. Wyatt leaps into action, bouncing off of me on the way to the front door and barking like a junk yard dog. What a way to ruin a perfectly good nap.

"Wyatt, hush," I say sternly, as I shuffle towards the door.

Wyatt seems to think I said "Come on, you can do better than that, bark louder, really put some feeling into it," because that is what he does. I grab his collar with one hand and open the door with the other.

There's a big bear of a man standing on my doorstep. There's a bright red pickup at the curb. There are two surfboards in the back of the truck.

The visitor walks right in. Wyatt stops barking and transforms from a ferocious guard dog to an obsequious and submissive puppy. He's practically groveling.

Just about now botox online shop  I get a good look at the object of Wyatt's adoration.

It's God.

Right here in my living room.

This isn't God in some kind of disguise; like in stories where God shows up in other people's lives. He's not a homeless person seeking charity, he's not an ugly old crone testing my perception of beauty, he's not some abstract and unasked for life lesson here to teach me a thing or two. It's God in all his glory. Don't ask me to describe him, because I can't do him justice. And the light and the colors and the sounds that swirl around him don't have names; or at least not names that I know. Let's just say that when I realized who it was I said "Mother of God!" followed by "Sweet Jesus!" and a "Holy S**t!" thrown in for good measure.

It turns out God has a sense of humor, or maybe he's just very forgiving. I was not struck down by lighting.

"How have you been?" he asks, wrapping his arms around me in the biggest bear hug ever. God is a very good hugger.

"Uh...fine...great...how about yourself?" I can't believe I just asked God such a stupid question. I feel like a total moron. God is in my living room.

"Well, I should probably be working out more, and I've got to slow down on the ice cream," he says, patting his ample belly. "But I just tell myself every morning that today's a new day, you know what I mean?" He laughs and the walls begin to vibrate.

God looks around the living room and smiles. "I love what you're doing with this place."

I look around and think, this place is a mess. Half a dozen shoes piled by the door, a chewed up rawhide bone, one dirty sock, unopened mail spilling off the coffee table, and a skateboard in the middle of the floor.

You know when a friend shows up unexpectedly, and you haven't bothered to clean the house in a while, and you start making excuses for the mess; like claiming that you've been out of town, or you've had the flu all week, or burglars broke in this morning and ransacked the place? Well, maybe you don't do that; maybe that's just me. I'm about to start making excuses when God walks into the kitchen, opens the freezer door and says, "Have you got any Ben and Jerry's?"

"Ah, no, I finished that off last night," I say, feeling guilty for all sorts of reasons. I'm a pig and now there's no ice cream for God.

"Oh, yes, I remember. Cherry Garcia. That was so delicious," God says. "Anyway, we don't have much time. We have to get to the Big Island while the surf is still up."

"What?" I ask.

"We're going surfing. You've always wanted to do that, haven't you? First though, it seems you have a couple of questions for me that have been rattling around in your head. Let's see now..."

God reaches into his pocket and pulls out an extraordinarily long scroll of papyrus. For the first time I notice that God is wearing a very loud Hawaiian shirt. When I say loud, I mean it's actually making sounds - crashing waves and ukuleles.

"Mmmm..." he says, scanning the list. "Ok, let's do an easy one. 'What would be a good prayer for times of difficulty?' Let me ask you a question first. What do you mean by 'times of difficulty'? "

"Well, it could be a small irritation like my son and his friends having band practice in the basement when I'm in the middle of something important. I wish I could stay calm and peaceful even when my house is noisy."

"You could ask them to stop."

"But I don't want them to stop. I just want to be unperturbed."

"In that case, just say 'Thank you'."

"That's it? Just 'thank you'?"

"It really works. Try it sometime. Give me a bigger problem," God says, grinning now like a clever school boy waiting for the teacher to call on him.

"Ok, let's say I lose my job."

"'Thank you' still works."

"What about natural disasters?"

"Thank you."

"War."

"Thank you."

"Are you serious?" I ask, frowning.

"That reminds me," God says, reaching out to gently touch the spot in the center of my forehead, just above my eyes. "When you do that frowning thing, when you're trying to figure something out, or when you doubt me, or yourself, or others, it makes lines right here, and that keeps me out of your head. It sort of cuts through our divine connection, so to speak. Here, let me erase those for you".

And with that, he kisses me gently on the forehead. When God gets close I smell the ocean...and cocoanut scented sunscreen. There's a slight popping sound inside my head, then a quiet hiss, almost like steam escaping. I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. I look twenty years younger. I feel lighter, happier, and more like myself.

"That's better than botox!" I say.

"Yes, less expensive too," says God. "Listen, we have to get going," and with that he rolls up the scroll and stuffs it back in his pocket. "We'll go over some of the other questions on the way to the beach."

He's halfway out the door. Wyatt is close behind him, sporting a tropical print bandana around his neck.

"I'll be right there," I say.

I grab a pen and add a note to the bottom of the grocery list.

Buy more ice cream.

You never know when God is going to drop in.

[veteransdaypictures-blog]

Experts Time Activities to Honor Experts While Training Engineering Abilities in Primary School

When you yourself have a household with experts, you probably have several years and various experiences to honor. How do you find ways to reference their support and lose in your house? Not just a dried show, you might want more relationship for your family's traditions. How about elders? The veterans day pictures from World War II are becoming less as time marches on. Their stories of how our bold state struggled in two cinemas, have already been great and overwhelming to know, also hearing these first hand. It will soon be hard for the next decades to fathom the massive degree of involvement without their particular recounting. Each time has a unique experiences, with masters having their very own sense of purpose and connection making use of their experience. We have realized from each of these ages, and nowadays we are more consistent in supporting and thanking our company guys and women, but we do have to understand what we are thanking them for. There are numerous methods to display a veteran's medals, citations, and pictures. It would be difficult to place enough on any wall to completely cover the ability, but you may want to highlight specific pleased or profound events. Considering that war is terrible, many tributes which are sanitized for domestic display seem unimportant to the veteran. Contemplate it - we recognition their willingness to experience nasty problems and gruesome events. They went for a million different causes, but stood for all of us anyway. How do we produce our honor meaningful? And why do we honor? Since it conveys the sacrifices in peaceful residing they endured. Since it brings people gratitude. Since it will help us realize the folks they became following going right through these ordeals. Because it can help us fathom the magnitude of assets, planning and cooperation that brought outcomes we get for awarded today. Since we may be much more careful inside our decisions, governing, and activities if we realize the results in the past. Since we may build figure that considers work as increasing beyond our selves and be inspired to attain further. A show of posed military images along side medals may be juxtaposed with art or items from the region. You are able to build a case with a present top that may maintain small ornaments from the age, a bandana, tins, and therefore on. Within the case, you are able to position the albums of pictures that will show battle moments, routes and more details. You can set a little register the screen top that attracts people to start the cabinet to see and see the contents. Having stable doors enables persons elect to start the memories and supplies a emotional filtration for one's experience of more graphic or ugly stories. We could generally closed the opportunities again, following merely a little bit. Really, the act of opening and shutting the doorway to the more horrifying thoughts can be a valuable tool for the veteran who should recover their private mental bearings. Of course, if the vet has extremely priced thoughts, it is super to take advantage of the free and quality counseling at the Veterinarian Centers, available to all or any fight masters irrespective of discharge status. Without red record, the Vet Centers are independent of the VA itself, really confidential, and an excellent recovery tool. Taking the time to create down the experiences the veteran is comfortable to inform will be a tremendous memorial to their sacrifice. Beginning especially with older people veterans, you want to observe their particular perception on the functions that transformed the world. Their reports might be removed when we do not depend them now. You may think that the younger generation is numb to the history to their rear, but their usage of technology might be just the involvement you need to repository the living record in your center and carry them a personal link with the recent past. As a team, you can solicit their help videotape and write down the reports your folks carry with them. You can spread the method around several visits, hearing the reports and reviewing the items that the camera can chronicle. You can prepare a unique movie scrapbook that you tell household at the holidays. A duplicate may head to each part of the family and also be part of your exhibit case. You have an opportunity to talk to your loved ones in regards to the activities and the folks, the stories and the losses, the thoughts and the victories. Just speaking will soon be an honor unto itself. They only do not want their effort to be neglected; they pressed forward for loved ones, for the future, because of their friends in beat, for you. Hearing is love and is healing. Move it on. And, Pleased Home Staff from Dr Debi!

[thandazaninofingxana]

THANDAZANI NOFINGXANA

RICHISBLACK&viceversa/RIBVV provides a nostalgic mood in rich colour, solid backgrounds with tiny detailed photographic motifs. which as a collective of prints  might remind one of the Bandana template/designs  at a distance, because of their energetic  and abstract nature,With pop cultural influence Thandazani Nofingxana transforms personal experience along with those of others on the subject of Insecurities and feelings into textile his print designs or at least as the starting point. RIBVV is an exploration of personal experience with regards to my dark skin, for quite some time I have been insecure about my dark complexion, obviously being pressured by societal perception on what beauty is and perfection is, which is usually not in the favor of the darker tones(we can have a history lesson on this one) . Pretty understandable neh? cool,see  we live in a world where  'white' is glorified more than anything else in the world especially in the South Africa,well i am a South African i'll speak for South Africans,yeah sho. shit wait, have you noticed how being black(no not just race but complection) is a thing now? No like seriously,people are actually starting to fuck with themselves now and that's awesome,look at how trendy having dreadlocks is at the moment.I just really hope it stays like this for the longest time hey,we need this kind of self discovery because this is us,sithi aba! people are starting to tell black stories,people are starting to embrace their cultures and everything they stand for,by people i mean people my age. Anyway feel like i was caught in cultural dynamics here, one thing is appreciated over other and 2 years later its vice versa.Have you looked how for the longest of time being light skinned has been the ish and now how all of a sudden black is beautiful typa vibes(which has always been the case by the way). Its all a cultural thing but tough luck for the light skinned guy and the very dark skinned fellow,they will always be caught up in the conversation. Which i feel like shouldn't even exist because we are all Human,for now never mind the fact that we are all black/African. So what I’m trying to say is my insecurity with my dark skin has been created by the community that I grew up in, there was a time (still happening) I would be confused with a Nigerian/Ghanaian and obviously there would jokes around that I’d be called iKwerekwere(which is perfectly fine,because me i i'm not xenophobic or anything) but the connotations that surround that are not of progress,we are in a world where you're forced to hate yourself because of preconceived ideas of what you are suppose to look like and if you don't look like that that you're an outlier,we might just call you names as well. What I’m trying to say is, I kind of felt othered by my own people growing up simply because I have a darker complexion,mind you i'm not  talking about white people here telling me i'm black,its the black community!!.Even though these were just jokes(i mean at 10 years you pretty much take things lightly) when people calling you these kind of names,even though it does some damage to your well being without you even realising that,next thing your are bleaching yourself and mind you by 20 you most probably see nothing wrong with wearing a lot of make to make you lighter because its been built in you since you were 10 years,that black is ugly. An example this other girl told me her biggest insecurity are her butt and breast,mind you she has the finest butt every girl right now could ask for but she  told me   she feels like people do not necessarily they just like her butt and that's it and the fact that she's 'yellow bone'. She also had an an interesting point on how people would tell her she's pretty and sometimes overhear someone saying if  maybe if she wasn't light skinned she would have been ugly. See? whats happening? people constantly trying to make you what they perceive as beauty and as she was talking i totally related to each and every thing she was saying and i was like connecting dots and made so much sense why she's insecure. Because,one day your are appreciated and the following day they don't like the same thing they told you yesterday you are fleeking about. Confusing. Understanding that not everyone is  facing the same type of insecurities i was facing, I went around my residence and also on  social media and randomly asked people about their insecurities, but I had to be open to them and tell them about mine first so they could ease up a little bit and open up,insecurities are not easy things one would discuss with a stranger even though some people didn't mind telling me. People sent me photos,some i took with my digital camera and the process was interesting because i started to know people even much better,i'm still in touch with people that i met during the process,some of them  being people around my res that i never talked to so it was quite a very edgy way of starting a friendship with those types,but everything went well and yeah. All the tittles of these prints are in IsiXhosa which is my home language, chose to write in IsiXhosa because when said in IsiXhosa they contain a bit of a truthful wittiness into them regarding a particular insecurity, which is one the aspects I found interesting people being able to laugh at their own insecurity no matter how uncomfortable it is and I just generally love isiXhosa as  a language. there's just a lot to decypher in a lot of simple phrases in IsiXhosa which is pretty dope. The idea behind these  textile prints design was to take these body parts people felt insecure about and create something beautiful of of them,when looking at a distance they would appear as flowers and when looking closely one will eventually see that they aren't flowers,its the very same reaction when your are insecure about something people who aren't close enough to you might probably not know about it but the ones that are/close to you know about insecurity.