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vs-redemption · 3 years

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From Cindy: This bad boy got away from me and ended up being 3,674 words. I’m really happy with it though and I hope you think so too. It was written for a writing collaboration on Discord ( @konoblog-simps )

Gray - Soulmate AU (Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader)

Read a similar soulmate AU for Levi here

You hated winter.

You supposed people found something magical about the view of fluffy white flakes catching the light as they drifted down from the sky and created a thick white blanket across the ground and trees. However, the fairy tale description was only true when observed from the other side of a window where the protection of four walls and a fireplace could block out the harsh reality.

“Don’t forget the shopping on your way back.” Your grandmother’s raspy voice cuts through the morning silence as you go through the tedious process of bundling up against the frigid weather you knew you’d be facing as soon as you stepped outside. The elderly woman was sitting in her favorite spot on the sofa, lap covered by one of the many blankets she’d made over the years. You grandfather shuffled into the room as if on cue with two piping hot mugs of tea. He hands one to his wife before settling happily into the place next to her.

“I never do.” Your words come out harsher than you’d intended, but your grandparents pay you no mind. They were either used to your attitude or too wrapped up in their own happily ever after. You finish off your ridiculously bulky outfit by shoving a knit cap over your head and then heading out into the cold.

You hated your job

You knew you should be grateful that you had the luxury of owning an apothecary. It was the type of establishment that would never want for business. There was also a certain pride in being able to provide people with medicines to relieve them of their aches and pains, allergies, and illnesses. The difficulty was in being surrounded by the memories of your parents and the perfect life they’d lived, as well as the constant reminder that you’d been robbed of the chance to experience that type of fantasy.

Trudging through the deep wet snow had made you a few minutes late, and there were already a few customers waiting outside the tiny shop you’d inherited by the time you arrived. You apologize politely as you unlock the door and let them inside, shedding the layers of your winter clothes as quickly as you can so that you can get to work. It was always a little busier in the winter months, but finding the right remedy for each person was something you’d gotten good at over time. Most customers came and went without much trouble, but assisting the regulars who’d known you since childhood was always a bit awkward. You did your best not to notice the pity and judgement on their faces as you prepared their orders with the same forced pleasantness as you did for everyone else.

You hated shopping

Having a job that earned enough wages to properly provide for yourself and your family was a blessing most people in your city could not enjoy. Your parents had always made sure to remind you of that fact whenever they came home with baskets full of fresh fruits and vegetables, cheese, bread, and sometimes even meat. As an adult, you still appreciated the fact that you did not have to know hunger, but it was always such a hassle to deal with the crowded market after getting off work.

When your parents had been alive, they had loved going out to run these types of errands together. It had always surprised you how they would choose to spend more time together even after living and working with each other every single day. They never seemed to get tired of each other, and you could remember vividly the way they’d smiled at each other with pure happiness and love in their gaze. It was hard to forget when you saw the same blissful look on every couple you happened to encounter as you went about your day. It made you feel so incredibly alone sometimes, but you did your best to bury those emotions deep down out of fear that they would consume you completely.

“How much is the bread today?” You ask the baker once you make it to the counter through the throngs of people. He tells you the price and begins to wrap up your order when you agree to it.

“You’re lucky,” he tells you conversationally. “This is the last loaf of the day.”

“Tch!” A frustrated sound comes from behind you and you turn around instinctively to make sure nothing was wrong. Standing next to you was a grouchy looking man with silky black hair, styled in an undercut. The long, soft looking strands on the top of his head came down to frame his face, drawing attention to the most important feature; his eyes. You notice right away they are both the identical shade of gray, which told you a lot about him already.

“Were you waiting in line?” You ask curiously even though meeting his sharp gaze directly was a bit intimidating. He regards you critically for a moment before sighing and looking away, probably forming his own judgments based on the incorrect story told by your own eyes.

“It’s fine,” his tone of voice is flat and a little dismissive. “I should’ve gotten here earlier.” He turns to walk away but something makes you call out to stop him.

“Wait,” you give him the friendliest smile you can muster before looking to the baker. “Please, wrap this up for him instead. I insist.” The baker shrugs, not really bothered by the change as long as he got his payment. The scowl on the man’s face gave way to surprise, and you thought the softer look suited him much better. You could see that he was preparing to reject your kindness, so you mutter a quick goodbye before turning away and blending in with the crowd.

You hated your eyes

In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. They were more than just a mere window into the soul, they were also a glimpse into the future. As a child, you could recall the excitement of your friends as they studied the mismatched colors of each other’s irises, speculating wildly about which shade truly belonged to them and which was borrowed from a stranger that they were destined to meet sometime in the future. Their enthusiasm had been contagious in the beginning, and you’d enjoyed listening to people discuss their predictions about the background, appearance, and personality of their future partner.

“Did you get everything on the list?” Your grandfather asks as he takes the basket of food from you once you finally return home. The walk back from the market had been miserable. Your feet were cold and wet from sloshing through the snow, but the rest of you was warm and sweaty from the exertion of hauling the purchases all the way back while wearing so many thick layers.

“They were out of bread,” You inform him while shrugging out of your coat. A look of displeasure passed over his face but vanished just as quickly when your grandmother called to him from the kitchen. You were relieved that she was volunteering to make dinner this time, because the exhaustion from your day was starting to catch up with you.

You head into the bathroom, ready to warm up with a hot shower and put on a fresh pair of clothes while the meal was prepared. As you wait for the water from the tap to heat up, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Usually you avoided looking at your face for too long, but every now and then you decided to stare back at yourself for a moment. You frown as you meet the gaze of the two identical eyes that you’d be born with. They looked mockingly back at you from the glass, their dull gray hue like a running joke that you’d never found remotely funny.

Washing away the grime of the day helped clear your head of negative thoughts, and soon your mind drifted back to the man you’d helped at the market. The memory of his eyes reminded you that you had made the right decision. He was the one who had someone important waiting for him back at home, possibly even children that needed to be fed and taken care of. You and your grandparents would be just fine as you always had, even if there was a spark of jealousy in you that the man got to have the type of wholesome future that you could never enjoy.

You hated soulmates

The idea of having the comfort of knowing there was someone out there born specifically to fill your life with joy, support, and love was an overwhelming one. It was hard for you to really imagine what it must be like for people to be filled with that nervous anticipation every time they got the opportunity to meet someone new. You’d had secondhand experiences as you watched friends and acquaintances around you find their destinies in one another, but while those meetings spelled out the beginning of something wonderful for them, it only served to make you feel the bleakness of your situation more profoundly.

It was extremely rare for someone to be born without a soulmate, and although your parents tried to have a positive outlook, you had still felt the stigma associated with your condition every single day of your life. It had been impossible to escape the stares and gasps of astonishment from both adults and children alike during you school-age years. Most of them had never seen a child your age with two of the same colored eyes, so it was inevitable that you’d garnered quite a bit of unwanted attention. The people you met were merely curious at first, but as you got older the intrigue turned to pity.

As hard as it was to deal with the people around you who knew the truth, meeting strangers was almost worse. Those who still walked around with duel colored eyes held little interest in someone who had seemingly already found their partner, and everyone else was too preoccupied with their own established lives to pay attention to you at all. In the world you lived in, everything revolved around a person’s eyes. Unfortunately, your eyes had landed you into one of the loneliest roles imaginable.

You hated your luck

It should not have surprised you as much as it did when the man from the market walked into your apothecary a few days later, but considering the fact he’d been popping up in your thoughts sporadically ever since the first meeting, it certainly caught you off guard to see his face again. By the way his familiar gray eyes widened upon seeing you standing behind counter, you guessed he hadn’t been expecting to see you again either.

“Hello again,” you smile awkwardly to try and clear the air. You weren’t sure if it would be weird to mention the bread incident or not.

“Hello,” the man nods, his facial features relaxing into a neutral expression. You were glad he didn’t seem to be as agitated as he’d been in the market. “I’m looking for something that might help my mother. She’s recently fallen ill and nothing I do seems to be helping.”

“What are her symptoms?” The question falls naturally from your lips. As the man describes his mother’s condition, you find yourself taking in his appearance in more detail. His black hair looked as soft as you remembered, but now you were noticing other things like the shape of his nose and sharp angle of his jawline. The clothes he wore were on the nicer side, and it made you wonder what he did for a living. His stature was a bit on the shorter side, and although his build was lean, you got the impression that he was healthy and strong.

“Well, it seems like she may have caught a flu,” you explain once the man finishes speaking. You turn to grab a few items from the shelf behind you and place them on the counter. “These should work to control the symptoms and reduce her fever until her body is able to fight off the infection.”

“Thank you,” he sounds genuine as he pulls out some money to pay for the medicine. You accept the payment, taking note of his long, elegant hands and fingers.

“Not at all,” you assure him with an easy smile. “I hope your mother recovers quickly.”

The man nods in gratitude while scooping up the goods he’d purchased in his hands. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before looking back up to catch your gray eyes with his own.

“My name’s Levi, by the way.” The confidence in his voice did not match the anxious set of his features. “We didn’t get to have a proper introduction the other day.”

“O-oh,” there was no way to conceal the shock you felt in that moment. It was out of the ordinary for anyone to give you their name, especially a man who had obviously had his encounter with fate already. You manage to stutter out your own name, wondering if you were having some sort of intensely realistic dream as you watch the man’s lips twitch into the smallest, briefest of smiles.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he repeats your name to himself thoughtfully. “Have a nice day.” With all his business with you completed, he nods his head and exits your shop, leaving you to try and tame the wild racing of your thoughts and heart.

You hated false hope

It was embarrassing how often you had to remind yourself over the next few days that a person simply introducing themselves to you should not be taken as anything more than polite kindness. You had seemingly lost all control of your mind and feelings though, since scarcely a moment went by now without thoughts of Levi sending butterflies fluttering around in your stomach. It didn’t seem fair that you knew so little about him, but you understood that you’d have to be content with the memory of his ghost of a smile and the echo of the way your name had sounded as it escaped his lips. Part of you hoped you’d never see the man again so that you could get over your delusions as quickly and easily as possible, but another part of you longed to bump into him again.

“What are you doing in here?” Your grandmother walked into the bathroom to find you leaning over the sink, eyes wide open and focused so intensely on your reflection in the mirror that you hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Huh?” you whirl around to face her, finally blinking once you realized how tired your eyes were from the thorough examination you’d just given them. “What did it feel like after you met Grandpa?”

Your stomach sank immediately at the pitying look that grew on the old woman’s face. She reaches out to rub your arm sympathetically with a sad smile. “I’m so sorry sweetie,” is all she tells you before changing the subject completely. “Excuse me now, I need to use the restroom.”

“Right, sorry.” You offer a dry laugh as you move out of her way, reality rushing back like a harsh slap to the face. You’d known all along that you’d never really have a soulmate, but it was hard not to have grasped on to the small shred of a possibility. It hadn’t slipped your attention that Levi also had gray eyes, but plenty of people had the same or similar shade. Besides, the likeliness of soulmates having the same exact eye color was even rarer than someone being born without a soulmate at all. You vowed to keep these cold hard truths at the forefront of your mind from now on, and resigned yourself completely to the fate you’d been dealt.

You loved Levi

It had been a whole week since you’d given up the last loaf of bread that had sent your life into a strange whirlwind of new, unexplored emotions. The days between then and the present had been interesting indeed, but now you were determined to go back to life as normal. The weather wasn’t so terrible today, but you still bundled up to prepare yourself for the cold morning walk to the Apothecary. You arrived at the shop with plenty of time to remove the layers of winter clothes and do a quick inventory of items you’d soon need to restock.

It was around lunchtime when you really started to relax back into your routine. The steady flow of customers had helped to keep your mind occupied, and once things slowed down around midday, you picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counters and windows absentmindedly. The sound of the bell above the door alerted you to someone’s arrival and you quickly tossed down the rag and turned to greet them. Once again, you find yourself startled to be standing in the presence of the man from the market.

“Levi,” you mutter his name before shaking out of your daze. “Excuse me,” you look down and apologize in embarrassment. “Um, can I help you with something? Is your mother feeling better?”

“She’s much better, yes. Thank you.” Levi clears his throat awkwardly and you can’t help but think his posture is stiffer than you remember. You wonder again what he did for a living because he seemed to be a bit overdressed for a simple trip to the apothecary. He looked incredibly handsome in any case, and it was doing nothing to help quiet your wandering imagination.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you weren’t sure what else to say. You walk over to the small faucet behind the counter to wash your hands since you’d just been cleaning. The silence between you both grew more and more uncomfortable until Levi’s face suddenly contorts with frustration. You open your mouth to apologize for whatever you’d done but he cuts you off by coming forward suddenly and placing both hands on the counter.

“Your eyes,” he forces out the words before averting his own gaze. Any hope of keeping yourself grounded in reality seemed to go up in smoke as your heart rate kicked into overdrive.

“Yes?” you say breathlessly and the fact that you weren’t kicking him out for being incredibly inappropriate was enough to spur him on with whatever point he was trying to get to.

“How long?” he swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, “How long since they’ve changed?”

“They’ve always been this way,” it should’ve been harder to admit, but the way Levi was acting was distracting you from the shame you’d normally be feeling. A soft sound, like an intrigued sigh, escapes his lips and he covers his mouth with those beautiful long fingers you’d been trying not to think about. All you can do is stare at him as he comes to terms with the information you’d just revealed. You wondered why he’d even want to know and what he would do now that the truth was out in the open. Finally, after an unbearable stretch of time, Levi lowers his hand back onto the counter, revealing a faint but amused looking smile.

“Well,” his confidence began to return. “They look much better on you than they do on me.”

“What?” Every cell in your body seemed to be buzzing with anticipation. You wanted to believe that this was all leading up to something good, but a nagging fear in the back of your mind warned you against giving in to the false hope that you’d vowed to ignore.

“I was born with these eyes as well,” Levi confesses calmly while gesturing to his face. “Both of them.”

It was your turn to cover your mouth, wondering desperately if it was all right yet to dare to dream that there was meaning behind what was happening after all.

“I have no idea if this is all a coincidence or not,” Levi shrugs as his mouth pulls into a frown. “To be honest, I gave up on the idea of soulmates a long time ago, but I cannot ignore the fact that you’ve consumed my thoughts from the moment I saw you in the market.”

Tears unwittingly begin to blur your vision as all the tension inside you finally reaches a tipping point.

“I…” You aren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Levi’s hand appears in front of your face, offering a handkerchief. You accept it gratefully and wipe the wetness from your eyes and cheeks. “I didn’t think it was possible, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking of you either.”

Levi folds his arms over his chest as if contemplating the matter seriously, but the pause only lasts a few seconds this time. Before you have time to worry about what he’ll say, he’s offering you his hand.

“Would you like to be my soulmate then?” he asks, a hint of teasing in his voice despite the nervous energy surrounding you both. You don’t hesitate to place your hand into his. You weren’t sure if your matching eyes was a sign that you were meant to be together, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to throw away the shot of having the kind of life you’d watched other people enjoy your entire lives. If you were able to bring each other happiness, you could care less if it was what fate had planned.

“Yes,” Your voice shook with the overwhelming emotions coursing through you, “I think I’d like that.”

“As would I,” Levi replies as a real smile takes over his face at last. The hope you see in the depths of his beautiful gray eyes makes you appreciate the matching color of your own for the very first time, and the idea of a happy future finally seems within your grasp.

#Levi Ackerman x Reader #snk x reader #aot x reader #Levi Ackerman #snk #aot #soulmate au #Cindy's Writing

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faebriel · 3 years

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ok ok I'm insane and couldn't pick one so have two (no need to answer both if you don't want to)

“You talk to him.” Not kindly, but he does.

“I’m used to him,” he shoots back. “I’m the only person who is.”

That makes Niki feel something, some uncomfortable tug in her chest. She mentally kicks herself. It’s not jealousy, she reminds herself, because despite the near-cliff jumping and the long nights without food and the nuclear fallout that has punctuated her last few months, being jealous of Tommy would be the least reasonable thing she’s allowed herself to be, maybe ever.

“You don’t believe me,” Tommy says flatly. “You never - eugh.” He cuts himself off with another ragged sigh, running a hand down his face. “Look, Niki, it’s - we were all together in Pogtopia, right? But I was there first. With him. And you didn’t see the start of it, it was horrible, and I’m glad no one else saw the beginning of it either but it was still just so shit and he kept saying all these terrible things about Tubbo and Fundy and you and,” he takes a shaky breath, “then, when I died, I saw him.”

Her breath catches in her throat.

Well, the voice in the back of her head whistles. If you were still wondering about all this afterlife bullshit, if you want to know where you’re going after your third life, here you go.

and

“You didn’t even - this isn’t about L’Manberg, Wilbur!” Niki shouts.

And then he stops, breathing hard, and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say.

“What else is there?” he asks.

Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut, her chest, her shoulders, chilled down to the bone. With slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes, sitting in her throat, threatening to spill over into a sob. She swallows - to keep her cool, to stay calm, to keep it together -

And then, something in her chest just snaps.

“You said you’d come back for me!” she cries, and her voice hitches on the lump of tears at the back of her throat and god, she sounds absolutely pathetic. Wilbur’s face softens immediately, which somehow just makes her feel even worse. “In Manberg. When Schlatt put me in prison, and you and Tommy were in Pogtopia, you said you’d break me out when it was safe. I waited for weeks , Wilbur. It was… it was horrible.”

“Niki…” a kaleidoscope of emotions flicker across his face, and he seems unsure which to settle on. “We got you out though, right? After the festival.”

“You looked for the button first,” she says quietly, and he stills.

Her sniffling sounds embarrassingly loud against the quiet background of night.

thank you sm!!! i’m gonna put these under the cut because they got a little long sorry (tw for discussion of suicidal ideation)

to preface: tommy is kind of the accidental but incredibly necessary invisible support beam for niki and wilbur’s making amends in bitter. niki cannot accept wilbur’s actions and apology without first acknowledging her own actions and making steps towards an apology, because otherwise it kind of falls flat? in that ending scene niki finally gets what wilbur is feeling and wilbur finally gets that someone else knows how he feels (it’s not perfect 100% yet, but…. that’ll get explored later)

onto the actual snippet! “tommy talks to wilbur - not kindly, but he does” was very important to me! tommy has stuck by wilbur ever since pogtopia, but the tragedy is that he is not equipped to deal with wilbur’s issues, and it shows. wilbur’s first stream after revival depicts this really clearly, where tommy tails wilbur around the whole time but insults him, is still stuck on calling him the villain, physically fights him at some point, etc. on one hand this isn’t healthy but on the other hand tommy is actually around, which is more than can be said for basically any other ally wilbur has had on the dsmp, maybe excluding his dad, who literally killed him lmfao.

this whole issue is exacerbated by the fact that tommy believes that he is the only person who properly understands wilbur, the only person who gets what happened to him, and feels like wilbur is generally his burden to bear. he failed to stop wilbur from both 1. hurting other people and 2. killing himself after the pogtopia-manberg war - and he doesn’t trust wilbur not to do either of those things again, so he’s stuck hovering around wilbur while wilbur is inadvertently setting off his own trauma and feeling responsible for any way he might fuck up and hating that but not wanting to leave. tommy’s memory isn’t perfect and he isn’t a perfect narrator, what he remembers from pogtopia the most were the scariest parts and that’s understandable but it means he’s holding wilbur to the worst expectations of behaviour (and he does so very vocally). the others showed up later, sure, but in tommy’s eyes he’s the only one who saw wilbur’s descent, and by the time they showed up wilbur had already changed irreversably. tommy tries to rationalise this by splitting the ‘different wilburs’ apart from each other in his head (he does this in canon too - there’s one quote from like late 2020 where he says he and tubbo need to keep on going for who wilbur used to be, not who he became, even though they’re,, the same person), and no one challenges that perspective, so he just keeps doing it even though it’s not healthy for him or wilbur.

and then limbo happened and, oh geez, THAT didn’t help jhfaskjjfsa

tommy is on a bit of a knife edge with niki in this fic. niki’s in this state of “ok, he’s annoying whatever, i’m moving on”, but all tommy knows is that she tried to kill him that one time, disappeared off the face of the map, joined a book club with two people who definitely do not like him, and now is just acting weirdly mellow and polite. she is not someone he wants near wilbur bc what the fuck is she gonna do? what is he gonna do? who knows. he’s frustrated that niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge how he’s feeling (especially bc once upon a time she would have been someone he trusted to acknowledge them - they were friends, they fought together) and he’s taking a big step by telling someone about his concerns here, especially bc tommy doesn’t really like talking about them at all. he wouldn’t be saying absolutely anything to niki if he didn’t truly believe she should stay away from wilbur, even if he’s wrong about him. (sometimes i think i write tommy as a little too emotionally mature here but it all goes out the window when wilbur’s brought up. idk if that balances it out)

ok onto niki: this is the first she has actually heard of limbo! she’s only just come around to the fact that resurrection is possible at all. death is kind of a touchy subject for niki both in general and re: wilbur in the fic - she’s coming off of a period in her life where suicidal ideation was, uh, a big thing (whether you want to read that into canon or not is subjective, that’s just the angle i went with in this fic). the sudden existence of a life after death, miserable as it is - and whether she really believes in such a place, when it only exists in tommy and wilbur’s words - that is a lot of information for her to absorb all at once. death is a weird connection point for tommy and niki here, coming right off of the fact that they’ve just acknowledged each other having those problems - tommy, out of, yknow, altruism, would very much like to keep niki out of that place, and niki is quietly reckoning with the fact that that is where she would have sent him. the concept of limbo from the perspective of a character with no experience of it, even secondhand, is so interesting to me like what kind of eldritch location would you feel like you’re living in asghjkl

(also - i gotta be honest the jealousy angle here but mostly when she’s talking later about dream not deserving wilbur’s companionship kinda came out after this post came across my dash while writing. whoops /j)

fun fact, this is the very first snippet of bitter that i ever wrote! all the way back in may!! this is like the moment of the fic - it's where the miscommunication that niki and wilbur have been having is shattered entirely - and so sticking the landing was uhhh kinda important to me lol.

wilbur's entire being in this fic is basically consumed by L'Manberg - he equates his self worth to it entirely. in his eyes, everyone (rightfully) hates him because of what he did to L'Manberg, because L'Manberg was corrupted and he himself with it, etc. niki tries to tell herself this, and while it definitely does form part of her issues with him, it was the betrayal that causes her this much pain - that he seemingly brushed her and their friendship off entirely when he supposedly left her for dead in manberg. because here is what we as the audience know: wilbur couldn’t leave niki in trouble when he heard her life was in danger, even when he was trying to find the button (pretty much the only thing he sees himself as having left at this point) and so he returned. here is what it looks like from niki’s perspective: wilbur told her to wait in manberg until it was safe to come to pogtopia, laid the place with TNT, went to blow up the place, and only returned when he couldn’t find the detonator (and then the first thing she saw him do in pogtopia was encourage the pit behaviour but that’s not what we’re talking about asdfgh). that is massive miscommunication and it’s been brewing between them for months - to make a quirky little reference to the title, niki has been carrying that anger with her so long it's gone bitter. it was never just about l’manberg with niki - not that anger, not her and wilbur’s friendship (hence the little flashback earlier in the fic, bc niki’s relationship to anarchism and statehood or statelessness juxtaposed with her friendships with wilbur and eret - she loves l’manberg bc she loves wilbur, but she loves eret too and those national ties don’t undermine that - is Real Interesting to me) - so when wilbur asks what else there could possibly be (because in his mind, what else could she have bothered staying around for?), she just fucking breaks.

“Niki freezes. Stock still, unable to move, unable to breathe, ice threading its way through her gut...with slow-dawning horror, she can feel hot tears welling up behind her eyes” - prose discussion time! heat and cold are two big throughlines in this fic - particularly for niki, cold is what she is. admittedly when i started with it i mostly wanted to subvert hot = angry and cold = dead but i kinda ended up enjoying this take on it for what it is instead of just as a subversion (also i like the idea of revived people running hot, their bodies r working hard to keep em going). she’s holding onto her feelings and refusing to deal with them, she’s frozen over. descriptions of cold are key to niki’s mental state throughout the fic - cold weight on her chest, feelings of frostbite when she and wilbur hug the first time, ice cold water during the dinner scene, waking up in the cold flat, etc. this was an attempt at describing a more visceral feeling of like, when you’re really mad and you can just feel the adrenaline running through your veins. always felt more cold than hot to me. when she starts to cry, the facade she’s been putting on is finally thawing out and cracking the ice she’s buried her feelings under. (also gives an excuse to write warm comforting hugs towards the end /hj). it’s a loss, it’s catharsis, it’s a whole mess.

and ofc this is all news to wilbur and he feels terrible, because as unintentional as it was, he really really hurt her - because the destruction of l’manberg fucking sucked but above all else wilbur hurt the people he loved because they loved him so much and not in spite of it, because they cared about him so deeply and his death was a massive blow to them. this hasn’t even dawned on him, because how could it? he respects deeply niki (lowkey respects her opinion more than his own at this point) so he has to listen, because it’s niki (“and he looks at Niki the same way he does whenever her voice is being drowned out in a crowd - the way he does when he wants to hear her, when he wants to know what she has to say” - because he does), and what she says fucking floors him. in his eyes, he failed her by putting her in danger and then by destroying her home - the idea that she valued him and their friendship so much flies entirely over his head until this moment, and he is forced to re-evaluate the mindset that has motivated him since… basically since pogtopia! the way i write wilbur is like… yes, he’s one of niki’s closest friends and he’s more aware of her insecurities and issues than most (which is why he does always take the time to listen to her, etc) but he does over-idealise her a bit. tbf, i think he does to some extent with everyone (calling tubbo strong on the anniversary stream, for example). also the fact that he really wasn’t around for niki’s lowest moments as a character! he still thinks of her the way she was in l’manberg - confident, steadfast, respected - and this moment shatters that for him as he realises exactly what effect he and his death had on her and everyone else, not just by his actions, but because they loved him and cared for him so deeply.

sorry that this got horrifically long!! and thank you so much for sending snippets in <3333

#ALSO SORRY THIS TOOK TWO WEEKS. LMFAO #asks #thespoonisvictory #dvd commentary #< i have successfully coerced a discord server into doing the dvd commentary on a regular basis and it is the BEST thing

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elenajohansenreads · 3 years

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Books I Read in 2021

#83 - Shadowmarch, by Tad Williams

Mount TBR: 69/100

Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently

Rating: 1/5 stars

Well, that was a slog.

So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds--no surprise there--and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.

So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag...well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn't own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends' or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn't read all of at once.

I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don't actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.

I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I'm wishing now that I hadn't bothered.

This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers--which was weird but I enjoyed it--and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.

Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I'm no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I'm trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be "likable," because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!

1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it's because he's "mad," bad plot reason, and if it's because he's affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that's pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard "if only I weren't a woman, people would take me seriously" princess who doesn't fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I'll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she's also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is...pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else's. And I mean that literally, if there's anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it's buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, "I don't want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?" sort of thing, doesn't help, because on its own it's incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he's arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a "little" race who is distinctly not human--I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal--and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don't care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he's thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly "something goes wrong that's not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway." Which got dull.

Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert's scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they're mostly tied to a plot arc that I don't care for.

The other thing that's getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You've got a castle that's the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy--the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There's a race of small likable people who aren't quite dwarves or any other "standard" fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There's a crippled prince who's not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.

And to someone who's never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I've read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I've just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed--and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero's journey, but if I'm supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.

And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems--this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn't have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn't resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the "and now they're exiles" theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn't suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line--also the end of the book itself--is the foundling reasserting that he doesn't know who he is, which is not new information. We've literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don't find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn't aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back "home." The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.

I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.

*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it's not and I can't pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don't want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I've managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they've been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them...I'm giving up. Not worth it.

#booklr #book review #tad williams #shadowmarch #book photography #my photos #my reading challenges #mount tbr 2021 #beat the backlist 2021

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crqstalite · 3 years

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You've been visited by the random writing prompts goblin!! - Write about your character just... talking. Are they talking to themselves, or with someone else? What kind of slang or phrases do they use often? Do they have an accent?

I really should quit writing these one-on-one scenes with Kodelyn and Lali (and maybe y’know, with their actual partners) but I couldn’t get the prompt out of my head! I love them too much and Citlali’s POV is one of my favorites to write -- she goes off on a lot of tangents and I find it more funny and entertaining that anything. Way different than I write Kodelyn’s. Probably should do more shippy writing at some point, but some point is not now.

Post-war. Word count: 2,008. no warnings.

“Y’know, she even said she might even put a good word in for me,” Citlali leans back in her chair, grinning around her straw, “Might be a real flight lieutenant, give or take like a decade. No more stowaway-ing for me.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah. Dealing with ships is more my speed than people. Biotic regiment sounds too...I don’t know, challenging? Out there? For little old me.” The younger woman sighs, throwing a hand over her forehead dramatically, “Plus I’d have to work with our dear Major Alenko of all people. As if I don’t see enough of him now, he’d be my actual CO this time around.”

“Yep.”

“Still, that’s years out when the galaxy gets it’s head back on straight. Think they’re just absurdly shortstaffed right now. Not even sure whether this is a good idea or not, I mean, I spent half my life afraid of what I could do and now? Supernova. Might as well make good use of this.” She snaps her fingers, “Like lighting...something on fire. Damn it, lost the analogy that quickly.”

“That’s great.”

Citlali straightens in her chair again, looking around the atrium and shaking her cup, ice rattling inside of the plastic. The Citadel was rebuilding, after nearly a year and a half after the war had ended, and a few wards were getting back to the idea of normal. If one went wandering, one could probably still see the scars and missing shops, homes and even nearly half a ward on the other side. Yet, here they were, at a little fast food place, still very much alive and thriving.

Suck on that, Reapers. Shepard 3, Reapers 0.

The energy in the food court is different from where it had been before the Citadel had been moved to Sol. Less nervous energy to burn, less fatalistic views being preached from every corner of the Presidium. Life was getting back to good. Summer was right around the corner on Earth at least. Less death and mass murder at the hands of the Reaper putting a dampener on dinner.

She squints at her sister. Kodelyn Shepard, entirely off duty, was still in something that made Citlali think she was going to spar with James. Offhandedly she wonders if she would ever take her up on that offer to get a full wardrobe beyond the one or two shirts, jeans and boots she owned. Considering she rarely saw Kaidan out of anything similar, she’d have to do something about that soon.

She’d always looked nice in yellow.

However, said Shepard has a smile just gently tugging at the corners of her mouth while one hand flies over her omni-tool’s keyboard, not a glance up to where Citlali is.

She’s not paying attention. Probably hasn’t been since she started talking nearly five minutes ago. Her offhanded responses have gotten better though, Kodelyn almost had her fooled that she was carrying on a two-way conversation. Probably should’ve gotten suspicious when she didn’t actually offer anything to the conversation. Or when she opened the omni-tool to begin with. Multi-tasking had always been a skill that she had, not so much one that Citlali did.

“Anything good?” Citlali reaches over the table to gently (alright, she’ll admit it wasn’t all that gentle) pull at her sister’s wrist. A quick glance at the ID tells her all she needed to as she slumps back in the chair, “Damn, speak of the devil! You haven’t been listening to a single thing I’ve said have you?”

“Hey!” Kodelyn yanks her hand back, swiping at the screen a few times, “I have been listening.” She retorts indignantly.

“Have you?” Citlali raises an eyebrow. She hasn’t been, but knowing her sister, she’s good enough at halfway paying attention to reconstruct what she’s said well enough that she wouldn’t be able to accuse her otherwise.

Damn her. Sound doesn’t turn to soup whenever multiple conversations are going on around her. Lucky.

“Yes! I have.”

“Uh huh,” Citlali gnaws at the straw, wickedly grinning when she returns to typing, “Anything dirty?”

“No!” Kodelyn yelps, closing the UI, and dropping her face into her hands as Citlali cackles at her own jab, “Would you give it a rest?”

“I would, if he didn’t take over every waking thought of yours.” Citlali playfully presses a finger into her vulnerable forehead, “Fi-an-ce, brother-in-law-to-be or otherwise, you could at least spare your maid of honor and baby sister twenty minutes of your undivided attention.”

Kodelyn softly smiles. She’s at least genuinely apologetic, leaning back into her own chair with her hands out in front of her, “I know. And I’m sorry, just...”

“I know. He’s important. This whole shing-ding you have planned for the dead of summer is important. Actually, why the middle of July? Do you know how sticky July is? How humid it is to my poor hair? And yours?” Citlali gets a bit carried away (well that was on Kodelyn, July was the month of the devil. But then again she’d never been to Vancouver in July...and she was getting carried away again), “But have you spent a single second today not on that thing?”

“You know, I don’t just use it to talk to Kaidan. There is spectre business to attend to as well. Just because the war ended didn’t mean that work did.”

“Really? You had me fooled, thought he was the only contact in there,” Citlali snickers as Kodelyn rolls her eyes, “I get it, you’re still important and you’re still really busy. I respect that. Just sometimes I just want to know what’s going on with you without having to hear it secondhand, or on my ‘tool.”

“As if you haven’t been equally quiet the last few months.”

“I haven’t! I even sent the RSVP note back. In pen. That’s how much it meant to me.”

“That was your writing? Thought Mason got ahold of it. Kaidan and I could barely tell who it was from.”

“Ok, glad we can agree our baby brother writes like a chicken, but my handwriting is not that bad!” Kodelyn snickers as Citlali pops the cap off her cup, rattling around the ice at the bottom of the cup. Pink liquid still hangs onto the cubes, which meant the last of the juice was still hiding from her. She sucks on the straw anyway, “We have all the time in the galaxy now and we still just keep missing each other. Twice you were presumed or actually dead -- three if you want to count the original battle of the Citadel, and sometimes it still doesn’t feel real that you’re sitting across from me, very much alive and kicking. Three times I had to come to terms with the fact you might actually be gone.”

Kodelyn’s expression softens at her admission, “Is that why you keep trying to invite me out to ‘girl’s nights?’ Because you just want to make sure I’m still here?”

“No that’s mostly mom, you really have to start answering those. Occasionally Tali whenever she’s here, she’s asks after you, y’know. Liara and I hang out sometimes. Not as much fun, she’s as quiet as you sometimes and I’m not an archeologist. Or information broker. Or Asari. Not much we can talk about that isn’t confidential or something way out of my realm of understanding -- not like she wants to talk about the newest extranet series either.” Citlali remarks. She did genuinely like Liara, even if their interests were on opposite sides of the galaxy. Maybe she should bother the Asari a bit more before she took off again into the unknown, wherever said unknown was. What did a Shadow Broker do all day?

Beyond the point though, “Look, I won’t get sappy, but the piece of your pie chart that’s dedicated to me means a lot. It’s good when I don’t nearly get a heart attack every time you’re on the news.”

“If it was that serious-”

“-And it’s not.”

“If it is,” Kodelyn continues, “I’ll always be here. Just a call away.”

“I had to schedule this a week in advance, Dee.” Citlali gestures with her pretty much empty cup, though backs down a moment later, “Maybe I’m being a bit ridiculous, but I can count on one hand how many just...days like this we’ve spent together since the war ended. I mean, you could probably count everyday I was in your hospital room, but those are technically invalid since you weren’t conscious for most of them.”

“You know better than anyone that I’ve been pulled in thirteen different directions at once, not all of them as fun as you make them out to be. And yeah, you’re right, maybe I haven’t been making as much of an effort as I could be to spend some 1-on-1 time with you.” Kodelyn taps her nails on the table, thinking while the conversation lulls, “You still mean everything to me Lali. I’ll be better, just give me some time to figure all of this out, okay?”

Time, all they had was time these days. And yet it felt like she’d blinked, the war happened, and she was sitting in a hospital waiting room for hours on end. Blinked again, and she found herself back in her own apartment, her own bed, her semi-old life. Startling, almost like none had passed at all between when she’d picked up that call from Miranda to now. And yet, now it didn’t feel like she was wasting any of it by pulling her sister away to do something silly or inane. Death was no longer rapping at their door with increasing ferocity, almost like a much too determined salesman. Felt like they’d managed to crucible it across the front lawn and send it scrambling.

“Yeah, of course. Just...for the record.” She shrugs. The cup is finally empty, making an ugly noise when she sucks on the straw, instead still gnawing on it, “All we have is time these days. And I’m not being sarcastic, we honestly do. We’ll see the passing of another century given something else doesn’t try to annihilate the galaxy.”

“Yeah, if they could wait until after the next Council summit as well as after the wedding, that’d be great.” Her sister says, flickering open her UI again, “I spent way too much time helping planning both of those to have them ransacked by the next Harbinger.”

“Oh yes!” Citlali grins, “Councilor Shepard-Alenko, that’ll be the day. Yes ‘Reapers’, we have dismissed that claim already.”

“I still haven’t accepted,” Kodelyn laughs, turning her wrist to show Citlali something, “And I might not, I’ll recommend Petrakis but that’s as far as I’m going to help them find a proper representative. I’m not really Councilor material, and Kaidan’s had to remind me I can’t exactly hang up on them if they’re standing right next to me.”

“Really? Finally time to kick back and settle down with you, huh? Nice little place in Vancouver? Here? Part of me is going to be surprised if I see you in anything other than a t-shirt and jeans.”

“Probably not forever, but there is a piece of my pie chart dedicated to not driving myself up the wall anymore,” She gently presses her finger into Citlali’s forehead, making her chuckle, “Not such a bad thing. And I wore that spring dress you bought for me last month.”

“The day you step back from all this,” Citlali waves her arms around them, “Is the day I eat my hat.”

“I’m capable of more than just all this.” Kodelyn gestures similarly, “It’ll be nice to step back and enjoy what we saved. Preferably not from a war room anymore.”

“Never thought I’d peel you out of one,” Citlali says, “Mrs. Kaidan Alenko.”

“You have to get tired of saying that at some point.” Kodelyn’s partially right, though it amuses her. Sort of sweet at times.

“Will I? I don’t think so.”

“Really?” Kodelyn raises an eyebrow, “So how soon can I call you Mrs. Jeff Moreau?”

“New topic!”

#kodelyn shepard #citlali shepard-velasquez #oc #original character

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owletstarlet · 4 years

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19 shy, 27 giggly or 28 first for tanunatsu if you dont mind 💖

[#19, a shy kiss, from the 76 kiss prompts meme. Sorry it took so long! Established relationship because lord knows we need it right now–]

***

“Is that a new shirt?”

Whatever Natsume had been about to say never makes it out of his mouth. Instead he follows Kaname’s gaze down to where the triangle of soft pink is visible, flecked with bits of green, where he’s tugged at his scarf and begun to fiddle with the zipper.

“Oh,” is all he says, not quite meeting Kaname’s eyes. That, and a noncommittal “mm,” as he zips his jacket firmly back up and yanks the scarf back into place.

Kaname blinks, puzzled. “You can take your jacket off if you’re uncomfortable. It’s really warm in here.” His own jacket lies discarded across his knees; he’d needed it in the dim coolness of the aquarium where they’d spent the afternoon, but the little waiting room on the train platform is generously heated and getting stuffier by the minute.

“It’s fine,” Natsume says, expression now perfectly smooth, arms coming up to rest loosely across his chest. If Kaname didn’t know by now how to pick out the taut thread that the words rested upon, he’d have missed it.

And Kaname probably should have dropped it there. Except there’s high spots of color on Natsume’s cheeks, and he’s clutching a hot can of vending machine cocoa. “Are you feeling okay?” he asks, instead, hand hovering of its own accord above Natsume’s shoulder. He’s struck, then, by a worse possibility than him getting ill, worse and likely paranoid of him, that Natsume could be hurt and concealing it with the jacket and that Kaname had somehow missed the signs. He doesn’t think Natsume would do that, or at least that he’s a lot less likely to than he might’ve been even a handful of months ago, but it sets off a flurry of unwelcome images through Kaname’s head.

“No, it’s—I’m okay,” Natsume says, quickly, and he looks sincere enough that Kaname’s chest unclenches, a bit. He blows out a breath. “Just. The shirt’s a bit…much.” His mouth tugs into a brittle line. “It was Touko-san’s idea,” he tacks on. “…mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Natsume makes a tiny non-answer of a sound in his throat and shifts a little in his seat, now studiously avoiding Kaname’s gaze. And the picture he paints huddled there in the little plastic chair, cheeks dusted pink, is so frankly adorable that Kaname has to firmly remind himself not to let it show on his own face. Not if Natsume’s legitimately uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to take your jacket off if you don’t want,” Kaname says, slowly, “but it’s forty minutes until the next train, and I really doubt anyone else is going to show up,” he says, gesturing towards the deserted platform outside. A pause. “You know I won’t laugh at you or anything, right?”

Natsume doesn’t answer, but he does look up, and something has softened behind his eyes. It’s like there’s a few dozen honeybees trapped behind Kaname’s sternum, all knocking into each other and clamoring for escape, to see that look directed at him.

“O-or, um,” he continues, “If it’s really bothering you, you can wear this one.” He plucks at his own long sleeves. “I’ve got a t-shirt under it, and you could change in the station bathroom.”

The look Natsume gives him is just long enough for Kaname to think he should’ve just dropped it after all. But then his expression shifts into something considering. Very slowly, he reaches up and tugs his scarf loose.

“You said you won’t laugh,” he reminds Kaname, his tone just this side of defensive, and he unzips his jacket.

And it’s a near thing, for Kaname to hold back the sound that bubbles up in his throat, when he sees.

“I have this one,” he blurts, instead, finger coming up to lightly poke a spot just over Natsume’s stomach. “A-and this was the first I ever got—” he brushes just below Natsume’s collarbone, but the image printed in pale green onto the cotton is half obscured by Natsume’s jacket, still covering his slightly hunched shoulders. His fingertips catch the hem. “Can I—” he cuts himself off, upon realizing how very still Natsume is holding himself, like he’s been holding his breath. He lets his hand drop. “Sorry.”

When Natsume meets his eyes, though, he looks vaguely startled. “Wait, you. Want to see?”

“Yes.” The word falls all too quickly from Kaname’s lips, and he feels his face grow warm.

“…oh,” is all Natsume says, like he’s not sure how to parse this information.

“It’s just, um.” Kaname has to resist the urge to chew on the inside of his cheek. “I really like it. But you don’t have to.”

Natsume still very much looks like he’d rather melt into his scuffed-up plastic seat than take his jacket off fully, but to Kaname’s surprise, a pale smile touches his lips. “I know,” he says. And he shrugs off the jacket.

And…objectively speaking, it’s not all that different from many of the other shirts he owns, the newest of the several button-downs in the light colors and playful patterns that Touko seems so fond of selecting for him. He’s never indicated that any of those shirts are a little much, but then again Kaname knows that Natsume would deeply value anything chosen just for him by somebody who cares for him half as much as Touko.

But what’s got Kaname’s full and undivided attention at the moment is the shirt’s pattern. Spangled across the cotton, in splashes of green and purple and gray and darker pink, are an array of succulents and desert flowers, each no larger than a bottlecap. There are easily a dozen varieties, not fantastically detailed but not dissimilar to the ink-and-watercolor illustrations in the guide book he’s had the longest—a library book Dad had brought for him when he was twelve and laid up with pneumonia for the better part of a summer. A book which had, incidentally, ended up in a box of his possessions the next time they’d moved house. Natsume had flipped through that very book last weekend, sprawled out lazy and warm across Kaname’s bed. Kaname had kept tight reins on the impulse to volunteer entirely too much information as he looked at each page over Natsume’s shoulder, while Sensei offered his periodical commentary on which plants looked like they’d be the tastiest fried up in oil. Sensei had been entirely unmoved by Kaname’s insistence that they’d probably make him sick to eat, and had given Kaname’s own little collection of plants on the desk and windowsill enough long conniving looks that Natsume had cuffed him on the head for it. Kaname feels warmed to the core at the familiar images before him now, at the slowly-relaxing shoulders and the still-flushed cheeks of the boy wearing them.

“Where did you get it?” Kaname asks, tugging gently at one sleeve. Pachyveria exotica, his brain supplies, reflexively, at the sight of the pale green starburst beneath his thumb.

“That secondhand shop, the one near the post office across from the school. I was there with Touko-san. She chose it—well.” A sheepish twist of his mouth. “She saw me looking. And she said it’d be…nice, um. To wear. The next time you and me went out.”

“…Oh.” He thinks his own face must have gone a bit pink now, too. Then he asks, because it seems important somehow, “Did you want to get it? You know, for your own sake.”

Natsume smushes his lips together a bit, stares very hard at a spot on Kaname’s shoulder. Finally says, “…yes? I mean. Yes. I tried it on, and, uh, Touko-san said it looked nice. She said you’d think so too, and she sounded really really sure about it, and I guess I ended up agreeing with her?” His expression turns sour. “Then I tried it on when Sensei was around. He laughed so hard he choked on the eel he was eating.” His eyes narrow. “He’s not here right now because I threatened him.”

Kaname glances out at the platform, then, and the dark treeline beyond. Of course he’d noticed Sensei’s absence, but given that Natsume hadn’t seemed at all tense as he surely would if they were wholly unprotected, Kaname had figured that Sensei wasn’t far. If he wasn’t, then Kaname can’t quite help wondering what is out there watching over them. He forces his attention back to the matter at hand, though, saying, “I mean. Ponta doesn’t wear shirts, so I wouldn’t trust his opinion. And—” He closes the space between them, places both hands lightly on Natsume’s still-tensed shoulders. “Touko-san was right. I like it. So much.”

The twitch of Natsume’s lips, however slight, feels like an accomplishment.

Until he begins, “…but, ah—” before apparently thinking better of it, cutting himself off with a tiny shake of the head, looking of all things frustrated with himself. “Never mind.”

Kaname doesn’t press him, but he waits, not letting go of Natsume’s shoulders.

Eventually, Natsume huffs out a short breath, and glances down at his shirt. “I don’t remember the names,” he admits. “Of any of them. And I know you’ve told me. Probably more than once. And we’d even looked at your book together. The library over near the park didn’t help either, they only really had gardening books and—”

“You went to the library?” Kaname interrupts, unable to help himself.

“Um.” It takes a little longer to happen this time, as Natsume realizes exactly what he’s just said, but the shade his cheeks eventually land upon is spectacular, like they could scald Kaname’s fingertips if he touched them. “Just for a little while,” he mumbles, fiddling with the hem of the shirt where it sits on his thigh. “I just checked the one section.”

“You went to the library,” Kaname repeats, slowly.

“But I couldn’t find the—”

The rest of his words are lost, then, between Kaname’s lips.

He can taste chalky canned cocoa on Natsume’s mouth; and Natsume doesn’t quite kiss him back, but some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders beneath Kaname’s palms. After a moment, he feels Natsume’s arms snake their way around his waist.

When they finally part, Kaname doesn’t even get the chance to see if that astounding blush has changed any, because Natsume promptly plants his face against Kaname’s chest. Kaname huffs out a chuckle and rests his chin atop the crown of his head, silky hair tickling at his throat.

“Are you hugging me just to hug me, or are you hiding?” he asks, grinning.

“…you’ve done it, too,” comes the muffled accusation.

“That’s fair.” He brings a hand up to smooth Natsume’s hair, so incredibly fond that the feeling’s practically risen up to stick fast in his throat. “…You know it’s not a test, though, right? This, I mean.” He taps a spot on Natsume’s shoulder, letting his finger trace the strand of pale green pods tipped in plump, pink buds. Sedum morganianum.

“Mm,” is the only reply.

“I mean. I know a lot of the names are a mouthful. The only reason I learned them is because I kind of had too much time on my hands when I was twelve, so. It’s really okay.”

At that, Natsume finally pulls away, just enough to tilt his head up. By now his blush has receded to something a little less alarming. “You can tell me again,” he says, quietly, but eyes alight in that way that never fails to make all of Kaname’s insides feel somehow all bunched up and ready to burst at the same time.

“I don’t want to bore you,” he says, once he finally locates his voice.

“You won’t.” The answer is immediate, certain. “I mean. I’m still not sure I can remember them all, but. You’re really happy when you talk about them. That’s not boring.”

Oh.

Kaname leans forward, tucks an unseen smile into Natsume’s hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Kaname peers down across what he can see of Natsume’s back, from this angle. “…it might be easier for you to see which of these is which if I show you in a book.”

“I’ll have to put my coat back on when the train comes,” Natsume points out. Regardless, he makes no attempt to untangle himself from Kaname, his face once more squashed into Kaname’s chest, arms still looped around his waist.

“Good point.” Kaname leans forward as much as he’s able, squints a little, and touches a spot just below Natsume’s shoulder blade. “This one’s sempervivum calcareum.”

He feels a warm huff against his shirt. “You know I have no idea which one you mean.”

“This one,” he says, and taps the same image where it’s printed over the edge of his sleeve.

“Thanks,” comes the dry response, and Kaname thinks his face might crack in two from the sheer and idiotic magnitude of his grin.

“You’re welcome. Here’s aeonium arboreum.”

***

[Pseudo-based on a thing I wrote about Tanuma’s hobbies: between Tanuma with his succulent collection and Natsume with his ugly button downs they make one(1) Disaster Gay. Notably I had @mayorofcattown’s awkward aquarium date piece firmly in mind while writing this one; not that this scenario was intended to have been after a first date, but I was very charmed by the idea of Natsume getting All Dressed Up for a nice aquarium outing… ]

#natsume yuujinchou #natsume's book of friends #natsuyuu #tanunatsu #owlet's fanfic #ask prompt #ask meme #nycnko #tanuma kaname #natsume takashi #is this great? no #is it done after three and a half months? yes

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the-irish-mayhem · 5 years

Text

One of the mods shows up 15 minutes late with Starbucks. This week has been insane, BUT never fear! The stuff WILL get posed. This is for Fosterson Week Day 5: Throwback Thorsday. We’re fudging the timeline a little bit--imagine that the Thor movie took place around the same time/a bit after the first Iron Man movie in 2008. More of a sketch, a collection of moments than a true fic. (but there is something resembling plot here)

Loki never sends the Destroyer to Midgard.

Read on AO3.

destiny, disrupted

Here is a truth: Loki loves Thor.

Here is another truth: Loki also hates Thor.

Here is the most relevant truth: Loki loves his mother and respects her counsel above all others.

At the end of the day, this is what matters most. Odin sleeps on, Frigga advises her son how to rule, and Loki (mostly) listens.

Thor remains on Midgard. Mjolnir lays dormant in the desert, the magic patient and steadfast. The Destroyer remains in the Vault where it belongs, and the Warriors Three grudgingly accept Thor’s banishment; after all, Loki seems to be (mostly) listening to Frigga, and they are loyal to the throne. Heimdall watches carefully.

The realms continue to turn, Yggdrasil’s branches trembling in the galactic ballet.

Something is drawing near--but not yet.

Years later, he marries Jane in the desert where they met. The marks of the Bifrost have long since blown away by the sharp winds, but it still feels as close to his first home as he can get. It’s a small wedding, made up of the few friends they have plus Jane’s mom and officiated by a local Native American minister.

She throws her arms around his neck when they are proclaimed man and wife, she kisses him like he is her anchor, and he wonders how he ever thought he’d been in love before. He dips her dramatically, and she giggles against his lips. Their small audience applauds, Darcy wolf whistles, and Thor would never have thought he could ever be satisfied, could be happy, with something so small and humble, but it’s perfect, it’s wonderful, and he gets to call Jane Foster his wife.

He takes her last name--she never asked him to, but it seems apt, to Thor, to do it. He is no longer Thor Odinson. The name no longer fits him. His father is gone; his last action had been to cast his son out. It seemed almost appropriate, honorable even, to respect that last ruling by giving up his name. On Midgard, he is someone new. He isn’t the crown prince, he is simply a man. (A man who loves a woman more than life itself.) A new identity, a new life, a new beginning.

And so they begin life as Mr. and Dr. Thor and Jane Foster.

(Distantly, Thor hopes Heimdall has told his mother that her son has happily wed.)

(Distantly, Thor hopes his father would’ve been proud of the small life he is building.)

(And a small life--)

(It doesn’t seem so bad now.)

THEN

SHIELD had left several months after Thor’s arrival. Packed up the facility after it became clear nothing was going to move Mjolnir, and no new data would be gathered from it. Coulson left them a business card, which Thor talked Jane out of throwing away outright. (He knows that having SHIELD on their side might prove useful in the future, even if Jane continues to grumble about jack-booted stormtroopers stealing her life’s work.)

After almost a year, the agent following them finally left too.

Jane rebuilt, Thor helping where he was able, happy to simply be around her. Her energy was unlike anyone he’s ever known, vibrant and frenetic and with an unbridled intelligence that he thought his brother would’ve liked.

Their first kiss was on the roof, late at night with a fire in front of them, Thor pointing out where his planet would be.

“The light from my sun hasn’t reached us yet,” he had said.

“It might in about two thousand more years, if my estimates were right about distance,” Jane had replied.

She’d been looking up, using her hand like a galactic wayfinder of old to measure the stars. The fire glowed orange on her skin, illuminating her eyes like coals. She’s a supernova of her own making, and he’d always known there was something special about her, but in that moment, he’d been struck not just by her beauty in the gentle slope of her nose and cheekbones, but the effortless way she’d folded him into her life, the way she accepted his story--she’d run an estimate on distance because he’d asked her to in a fierce bout of homesickness. (And even if the answer wasn’t great, it was an answer, and then she’d reached out and held his hand and asked him to tell her about Asgard.)

When he kissed her on the rooftop, she didn’t seem surprised--she just leaned into him and let the embers between them spark into flames.

NOW

“It’s a letter from SHIELD.”

“Oh?”

“They want you to advise on a quote ‘top secret project of high scientific importance’ unquote.”

Jane snorts. “They can eat my shorts. It set my research back months to rebuild all my equipment they stole.”

“Maybe you should read the letter,” Thor offers.

Jane waves him off, returning to the small piece of equipment she’s slowly soldering together. “Don’t need to.”

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a mask?” he asks, concerned. “Those fumes can’t be good for the baby.”

She sits up a bit. “It’s only a bit of copper. But I’ll wear one if it makes you feel better.”

“It will.”

Jane gives him a small smirk and a wink as she stands from her station. She’s not showing much yet--she’s just barely out of the first trimester, but Thor can’t help but glance at her belly, at their little miracle.

He looks back to the letter. When Jane returns, mask in place, he says, “How much did you say the university was paying you for your research position?”

Her snort is even more incredulous than before. “Not enough.”

Thor glances down at the letter in his hand, and counts out the zeros after SHIELD’s base salary for the offered ‘long term advisory and research position.’

“I do think you should read this.”

She sighs, and holds out her free hand without looking up.

He can tell exactly when she reaches the “we hope this to be fair and adequate compensation for the services you will provide” portion of the letter based on her eyebrows jumping straight up and the soft “Holy shit,” falling out of her mouth.

“We did need to get out of the one bedroom before the little one makes an appearance,” Thor offers.

“Shit,” Jane says again. “We could forget that shitty two bedroom place we were looking at in Santa Fe.” It’s a soft comment, more of an idle observation than a commitment.

“So you’ll call them?”

“I’ll think about it.”

(She calls them that night, and is on a plane for an interview within 36 hours.)

THEN

In the early days of their courtship, he’d tried every job available to him. He’d worked construction, waited tables at Izzy’s, bartended, answered phones at the sheriff’s office, and sold secondhand furniture. In truth, he did not particularly hate any of these jobs--they just hardly seemed worthwhile to do for the rest of his life.

He’d been used to being significant in a way that being a human man couldn’t quite match. Going from galactically known prince and military leader of a planetary superpower to a small town bartender was a jarring transition, to say the least.

The only place he’d found where that feeling of insignificance faded was at Jane’s side. He’d never had an eye for the technicalities of magic, but he remembered enough from his schooling to be able to help her interpret some of what she was looking at; she was certainly clever enough to fill any gaps in his own knowledge.

“I could use another intern,” Jane had mused one day. Darcy had gone back to Culver after her semester with Jane had finished with six college credits under her belt and a promise to stay in touch.

(“How do you feel about student-teacher relationships?” he’d asked cheekily later on.)

(She’d slapped his shoulder, but given her lips on his not a moment later, he supposed that was his answer.)

NOW

Their new home is lovely. Jane had been added to SHIELD’s payroll two months ago, and they’d collected enough savings to put down a sizable down payment on a nice three bedroom house about a twenty minute drive from SHIELD’s base.

She still hasn’t managed to talk SHIELD into letting her bring him with her.

“They’re fishing for information about you, I know they are. They keep saying shit like ‘oh, your research assistant hasn’t cleared our background checks, but if you help us fill in the gaps, we can do something for you.’ Pffft. Like I’m going to fall for that.”

“And I’m only the research assistant?” he asks from his place by the stove, tossing his chopped bell peppers into the frying pan with the onions.

Jane rolls her eyes and plops down at the kitchen table. “Right? It’s not like they don’t know we’re married.”

“They literally helped me get my driver’s license that lists my name.”

She gives him a helpless shrug. “They have a lot of questions about where you come from.”

“Perhaps we tell them everything. Phil Coulson isn’t so bad, despite what you think.”

Jane growls. “Why you insist on being friends with him I’ll never understand.”

Thor shrugs and bends to check his roast in the oven. “He is a nice fellow.”

“A nice fellow who stole all my research.”

Their doorbell rings. Thor moves to answer it, but Jane flaps a hand at him. “No, no, I’ve got it. You’ve got dinner going.” She slides up behind him and hugs him around the waist, kissing his shoulder blade before stepping away. “Love you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers as she leaves the kitchen. He takes two plates from the cupboard and wonders who could be at their door. He has invited Coulson for dinner in the past (hoping that his wife would bury the hatchet once she got to know him), but he hardly seems like the type to show up if he hasn’t informed the hosts of his arrival.

He’s in the midst of carrying the plates to the table when Fandral, Sif, Hogun and Volstagg walk into his kitchen.

The plates slip right out of his fingers and smash against the tile floor.

(Once the fragments are cleaned up, his friends tell him what has transpired on Asgard in his years of absence. Loki lied, his father was never dead, and a few months ago emerged from the Odinsleep. Loki disappeared soon after, and they’ve heard disturbing rumblings about Loki partnering with the Mad Titan.)

(“We have reliable sources saying he’s hunting for something called the Tesseract,” Sif says.)

(“This Tesseract,” Jane says, “wouldn’t happen to be like… a small-ish, blue, glowing cube would it?”)

(“Yes, that exactly,” Sif says, surprised.)

(Jane winces. “I think I know where you can find it.”)

THEN

Jane liked to cuddle. Especially when she was sated and sleepy, her limbs would tangle around him like an affectionate octopus. It was one of those nights when she asked him, “Would you go back?”

“Hm?” he asked, mind addled by sex and the late hour.

“If you got the chance to go back to Asgard, be who you used to be. Would you take it?”

“I doubt I’ll ever get that chance.”

“Humor me,” she said, insistent in a way that tells him this is far more important to her than she’s willing to explicitly vocalize.

He stared at the ceiling in silence for a long moment, considering his answer, because she deserves a fully honest one.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t think I could ever be who I used to be. I haven’t used magic in so many years, I feel like I can’t properly imagine it anymore.” He shifted to look at her. Her head was on his chest, and she steadily met his gaze, brown eyes wide and accepting. “The only way I can imagine going back is if I go back with you,” he said.

(Not long after that, they said I love you for the first time.)

(A half a year after that, Thor asked her to become his wife.)

(Inscribed on the inside of their wedding bands is the phrase Home is wherever you are.)

BREAK

When Jane shows up to the SHIELD base with her husband plus four honest-to-goodness Viking warriors at her back and requests to speak with Agent Coulson the agent on gate duty scrambles to fulfill her request.

While Jane handles the particulars of getting several guests in past security, his friends encircle him, staring at him like he’s a headless banshee. “What?” he asks.

“You’re married,” Hogan states, as though it’s obvious.

“I am.”

“And you’re expecting a child,” Sif says.

“Is there a point to stating the obvious?”

They all look at each other, and then back at him as though he is missing the obvious.

“The only one who was less likely to settle down was me,” Fandral says, an emphatic hand placed over his chest.

Thor shrugs. “I’ve changed.” He looks past them, to where Jane is emphatically gesturing at the agent who is clearly not moving fast enough in getting her what she wants and smiles. “She is everything I never knew I needed in a package I never expected.”

“I think it’s a good change,” Volstagg says proudly. “Becoming a father does tend to mature someone quite rapidly.” He steps forward to give Thor a hearty slap on the shoulder. Forgetting that his friend is no longer Aesir, the gesture nearly dislocates the joint and Thor struggles to stay on his feet.

“This new Thor, I like him!” Volstagg crows.

(The other three don’t look entirely convinced yet, but seem more or less willing to accept him as he is now.)

(Thor loves his friends--he knows them as well as anyone, and thinks that they will come to understand his new life.)

(He knows they want to ask if he will come home.)

(He knows what he will answer.)

THEN

“You don’t have any strong feeling about flower arrangements for the wedding, do you?” Thor asked.

Jane looked up from the book she was reading with a quizzical look on her face. “Uh, no? We’re getting married out in the middle of the desert.” She pauses. “Why? Do you?”

Thor had been idly browsing online and-- “This flower,” he had turned the screen to Jane and she leaned forward. “What is it called?”

“I think it’s a calla lily?” She squinted a little. “Definitely calla lily. They’re a pretty popular wedding flower.”

Thor hummed softly in contemplation. “Do you like them?” he asked.

“They’re pretty and they smell nice, so I guess.”

Thor went quiet for a moment, his eyes unseeing, and Jane bookmarked her book and set it aside. She scooted into his side on the couch and seemed to wake him from whatever spell he’d been under.

“Where did you go?” she asked.

“Just remembering,” he answered. “My mother liked to raise flowers. The palace gardens were almost entirely her handiwork. She was a talented sorceress, so she could’ve easily used her magic to make her garden as beautiful as it was, but she never did. She told me that sometimes the easiest thing isn’t the right thing.” He chuckled a bit at that. “She had lots of gardening life wisdom for us.

“Anyway, her favorite flower was the Queth Blossom. They look almost just like these,” he said.

“Then let’s get them for the wedding--I changed my mind, I have a very strong opinion about flower arrangements and I think they should be calla lilies.” Jane had said; he still remembers the way his heart leapt, and then melted, at her simple declaration. The way she simply said of course to something to remember his mother by. The way she could make him happy by just existing, by just being who she is.

(Jane would eventually tell everyone at the wedding who would listen that the flower arrangements were done in memory of his mother.)

(He loves her.)

NOW

The Tesseract is underwhelming at first, a shiny bauble like millions of others across the universe. Then it opens a portal and Loki emerges from the other side.

Underwhelmed is suddenly the least of Thor’s emotions.

Before Loki can stand and take in the room, Thor shoves Jane under a desk, praying to any deity that will listen that he doesn’t notice her. He can’t bring himself to hide with her. He has to speak to his brother, he has to know what--

“Loki!” Sif shouts.

Loki looks surprised, his attention pulled towards where the Warriors stand in formation with the SHIELD agents who approached the portal.

“Sir, please put down the spear,” calls out Fury.

A blast from the weapon takes down three agents before Thor can say anything.

“Loki! Stop!” Thor shouts, running from his meager cover behind the desk.

Loki knocks back the last of his opponents, downing even Sif and the Warriors with a power that is absolutely beyond anything he knew Loki possessed.

Loki’s eyes find Thor, and Thor barely recognizes the unhinged look in his eye.

“What happened to you?” Thor asks, a soft and genuine query because his brother looks unwell; gaunt, tired, and plain rabid.

Loki doesn’t answer immediately, just stalks forward like a predator.

“I started to see clearly for the first time in my life.”

There are other words, calmly spoken about a world made free from freedom, then Loki drops the visage Thor knows, his skin goes blue and his eyes go red and oh.

(Oh, Loki.)

Thor refuses to falter under the weight of this new truth that he can feel in his bones. He is not mine in blood, but he is my brother. “We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?” Thor asks.

“I remember a shadow,” Loki says softly, stepping closer, skin still blue. “Living in the shade of your greatness.” He laughs. “And who could blame anyone for treating the Frost Giant like an invader who does not belong in his own home?

“And now you are but a man.” He snorts. “A pathetic, human man who can be killed just as easily as everyone else in this room.”

“Spare them,” Thor says. “If you want to take my life as recompense, then--”

(Just his small life. Just his small life with his wife, who he loves, and his unborn child, who he would do anything for. Just his one small life as Thor Foster seems--it seems too big to give up. His heart screams at the unfairness of it all.)

(It is too much to give, it is too much to lose.)

(But if he doesn’t offer to lose it, then everyone will die. He knows that.)

(There’s no such thing as just a small life, Thor knows in that moment. No life in this room is any smaller or bigger than his.)

(He feels like he wants to cry, but he will do it.)

Loki says, “Oh, but I could do that anyway. Besides,” a poisonous grin seeps over his face as he glances over Thor’s shoulder. “It looks like your wife is trying to make trouble for me.”

The floor drops out from under Thor as he looks back to see Jane typing furiously on the control unit that directly affects the Tesseract’s behavior. It’s sparking, just like it did when it opened to bring Loki here, and his brilliant wife is this close to being able to send him away--

Loki sends Thor into a wall with a flick of his fingers. Dazed, possibly concussed, but otherwise unhurt, Thor tries to stand, feels a scream inching out of his throat as he watches Loki magically drag Jane from behind the station.

Thor has never understood what made him worthy of Mjolnir in the first place.

He’d first picked it up in his youth, when he’d been emotional and his magic had been out of control-- Mjolnir had been a focusing point, something to channel himself through, something that felt like an extension of his connection to a storm. He’d been so busy trying to be the best warrior Asgard had ever seen, he’d never stopped to really think about what being worthy meant.

He learns what worthiness means in the space of a heartbeat.

He learns what it means the instant Loki turns his sight on Jane.

He reaches out, instinct, need, his magic reawakening, he does not know.

Mjolnir answers.

The hammer rips through the domed ceiling above them, and flies straight to his hand. The storm fills him once more and it’s only now that he has it back that he can feel the ache of its absence.

Loki, for the first time since he stepped into the room, looks scared.

Jane just grins.

(Later, when she gets the chance to examine the armor up close, she asks, “Is this how you normally looked?”)

(He answers, “More or less.”)

(She smiles like a woman who is absolutely going to ask him to wear his armor in bed later.)

(“It’s a good look.)

#fostersonweek #fostersonweek2019 #fosterson #jane foster #thor #fosterson fic #my fic #ooops?#did i mention i have two other small fics coming?#i've actually genuinely written so much!#is it all great? fuck no!!! but it's at least decent!!!

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froggybaek · 5 years

Text

dognapped! - bang chan

♛➩ genre: fluffy as hell, minor angst, Disney!au

♛➩ pairing: fem!reader x bang chan

♛➩ warnings: I will be v sad if no one gets the many 101 Dalmatians references I hid in here

♛➩ summary: when your furry best friend suddenly vanishes out of thin air, you don’t know what to do - until a certain person advises you to go seek out the town sheriff, that is.

♛➩ word count: 6.2k

Ramen was by far your most favorite thing in the world - well, the new world, that is. Something so - so delicious and fulfilling simply couldn’t be found back in the universe you originally hailed from. The closest thing to a delicacy such as the wonders of ramen was the rare stuffed squid, although you dropped off eating the sea creature after an awkward moment of your mouth being filled with squid when you met the abashed gaze of Ursula’s son.

Needless to say, you had found something far better than mere stuffed squid (sorry, Minho) to satisfy your appetite. The yellow noodles paired with a boiled egg and some seasoning could honestly replace any other meal if that’s what it was boiled down to; just ramen, that is. So, naturally, when you stumbled onto a stray golden retriever who’s fur color matched that of the delicate noodles, you simply had to name the adorable ball of fluff after the food.

When you had first run into the stray, you were sure he had not, in fact, been a stray at all. He had a black and white collar fastened around his furry neck and his stomach was nice and plump with good feedings. That was about a year ago, right around the time everyone had been poofed into this new realm of existence.

After, say, another month of being mostly by your lonesome in the journey of adapting to this strange way of living, you stumbled onto the golden fellow yet again. This time around, though, you had noticed that his once fancy collar was tarnished, the bronze nametag rusted so badly that you couldn’t make out the name of the pooch or his original address. His poor tummy, which had at one time been a bit droopy with food, was staunch, bearing sight to a couple of ribs - much to your horrified concern. That very same day, you took him home and dubbed him Ramen.

Ramen was your best friend. He somehow managed to comfort you during your darkest days, mainly those that came from the mangled nightmares of wondering what happened to everyone back home; if you were stuck in this strange, modern world where you could barely operate a telephone or turn on the television without wanting to smash your head into a wall. On the days you had to make a doctor’s appointment (as that was apparently a golden rule of this place to constantly check on your health) and try to remember just how a phone worked, Ramen would place his golden muzzle on your lap as if to reassure you that everything was going to be all right.

The dog painted with different shades of sunlight wasn’t all too adventurous either, much like yourself. He preferred to laze around in your cramped townhouse, only going outside to the even smaller backyard (if you could even call it that) to take care of his business. Simply put, he was your other half - your best furry friend. So when you came home one day after a bit too long of a grocery run to find Ramen nowhere inside nor outside, you were thrown into a panic, to say the least.

“No - there are absolutely no holes in the fence, Woojin,” you breathe out in a haste against the speaker of your smartphone. After a good five minutes of trying to find the man’s contact, you had finally managed to call him so you could truly express your growing panic over the sudden vanishing of your dog. “I triple checked anywhere he could possibly get out. T-there’s nothing to explain how he got out.”

The man on the other side of the line hums to himself as he contemplates how to respond. To be honest, you weren’t too sure why he had been the first person you went to for help; being the offspring of Cinderella, he had a sort of gift for talking to animals... the flying kind, anyway, and mice - but that was about it for all you knew.

“The best thing you can do is ask around town, see if anyone saw Ramen wandering around,” Woojin told you honestly, “I can’t really help besides that, I’m afraid. Most of the birds here still won’t listen to me no matter how hard I try, and the mice usually get lost if they leave my property.”

You run your fingers through your hair in a fit of worry. Having the help of eyes in the sky would’ve been a lot more helpful, but you couldn’t blame Woojin for that failed plan. “I guess you’re right. In that case I’ll head out and ask around. Thank you, Woojin.” You breathe out quietly, humming when he sends you good wishes in finding your currently lost dog.

Slipping your shoes back on to venture outside in your search for the golden retriever, you go to check the time on your otherwise locked phone. A hint of a pout outlines your lips when your gaze locks onto the wallpaper of the smartphone, recognizing the photo you had taken weeks ago at the beach. You and Ramen were the main focus of the candid photo, although you could spot Minho, his now lover, and two of their other close friends chasing each other in the background. The entire day you all spent at the beach was by far the best day you had in the town, a chuckle escaping your lips as you recall Ramen climbing into your lap even though he was soaked to the bone from swimming in the ocean.

Hopefully you would be able to find him soon.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

Not even two hours later, you had started to suspect that something fishy was going on; because not only was Ramen mysteriously missing, but a good handful of other pooches were just - poof - completely gone! When you had asked the local half-lion, half-human Kevin Moon if he had in fact spotted your dog wandering around all alone, the raven haired man had scoffed.

“No, I haven’t seen that mangy - ow, shit! I mean... Ramen, around. But a fuck ton of dogs and puppies have been vanishing for a good week now,” he’d informed you, pink lips pursed into a pout as he rubbed the red spot on his arm, “hell, Eric won’t talk to me since I technically lost his dog while he was out one day. I fell asleep for a few hours and suddenly the damn hairball was gone.”

“Huh... do you think that maybe someone is taking them?”

“Hell if I know, y/n. I just know that none of the damn things have been around to chase me in the park for once.”

He had also suggested going to pay a visit to the town sheriff, stating that it couldn’t just be sheer coincidence that so many dogs were suddenly disappearing without a single trace. Knowing that he could very well have a hunch, you listened to his advice, soon finding yourself standing in front of the station.

You’d talked to the sheriff a few handful of times beforehand - mostly because you hadn’t quite grasped the concept of a home security system or that leaving your strange contraption of transportation (they called it a ‘bike’) unattended was a bad idea. Other than that, you only heard petty rumors about the man.

Although it was usually hidden underneath a blood red cap, you knew his hair was somewhat long and fluffy, the colors a dual-clash of black and white; that alone outed who he was the child of, none other than Cruella De Vil herself. They shared some similarities, of course, with the man inheriting her skill for finding anything (or anyone) that evaded allusion. He was also rumored to be the one who convinced his mother to be part of the scheme to send all the younger peoples to this new world - some claimed that he wanted to rule over all, but that theory had been debunked when he only came to be known as the town sheriff.

Others would pass certain whispers, saying that he desired to just live a much simpler life in a place where he could start life anew. You weren’t sure what to think, not that you cared in total honesty. There was nothing anyone could do to change what had happened, and holding that blame over his head just because he was the offspring of one of the villains seemed way too farfetched to you.

A dingy yellow bell rings as you slowly swing open the glass door, stepping into the eerily quiet station with confusion. Sure, it was getting a bit late, but you hadn’t been expecting the police station of all places to be as quiet as a library.

You’re about to call out to see if anyone is inside when a gray puff of smoke clouds your vision, a stuttered cough breaking past your lips in shock. Waving your hands around in the air to clear the smoke, you blink furiously to regain your lost vision. Out of thin air, the sheriff himself had popped out in front of you, a cigarette pushed between his smirking lips.

“What can I help you with, darling?” He questioned you slyly.

You huff and glare at him, one hand still waving away the secondhand smoke while the other lightly flicked his red leather jacket in a hint of annoyance. “I - I need to talk to you, Chris-”

“It’s Chan to you, y/n,” Chr- Chan, corrected you harshly, his eyelids narrowed in amusement as you try to get rid of the smoke emitting from his lit cigarette bud. Feeling somewhat sympathetic to your plights, he slips the bud out of his mouth and crushes it before effortlessly tossing it into the bin nearby. “Anyway, what’s going on? Please don’t tell me someone took your bike again because you forgot to lock it up.”

He’s met with another harsh glare thrown in his direction. Throwing his hands up in mock surrender, he pipes down to listen to whatever it is you have to say. “Tons of dogs are just going missing out of literally nowhere - no rhyme or reason to it,” you begin to explain, “I think that - that someone is dognapping them.”

Silence.

“... Did you seriously fucking call it dognapping?”

You can’t help but whine at his teasing tone, wondering if you had perhaps made the wrong decision to come here in the first place. “Call it whatever you want, okay? The important thing is that my dog is missing, and so are half of the others in this damn town.”

Chan knew you were onto something. For the past week or so, he’d been getting calls left and right from almost every corner of town about their furry friends leaving home. At first, he hadn’t thought much of it; since he was too busy to take care of such meager tasks, he sent out his deputy, Jeongin, to scope out the alleyways and the like.

But just yesterday, Jeongin had informed Chan that his crew was itching to go out to sea - it wasn’t just the crew, though, and Chan could tell by the way their very young captain bounced on the heels of his boots. With his helper now sailing out of town, the sheriff didn't have any other hands on deck to help with the whole dog situation.

No one else worked at the station. It was just Chan and, on occasion, the little pirate when he wasn’t out in the wide ocean. Most of the townspeople were far too frightened by his bitchy nature and general background, which was only fueled by the cruel rumors surrounding his upbringing and involvement in the curse. Yet, here you were, refusing to show an inch of fear or anger towards the man.

Perhaps... he admired that. “I’m not saying you’re one-hundred percent right, y/n, but I don’t think it would hurt to look into the theft of all those dogs,” Chan murmured after a moment to think to himself, his teeth going to nibble on his bottom lip now that the distracting cigarette was in the trash. You’re just about to thank him when he stops you, mockingly bringing a finger up to your lips. “Seriously, don’t thank me yet. We’ll find the damn mutts and then you can show your appreciation.”

“Wait - we?” You hummed in curiosity, tilting your head a bit, ignoring the fact that his finger was still brushing against your parted lips.

“Yes, we,” the sheriff grumbled, nearly hissing at the sudden rush of heat that travelled up his arm when your soft breaths fanned against his skin, “my uh, deputy, is out of town at the moment. You can be my - my,”

“Partner in crime?”

“... Sure, whatever floats your boat,” he sighed in defeat. Reaching over to the coat rack beside you, Chan snags his signature red ballcap and places it snuggly on top of his head of black and white hair, his bangs just barely visible beneath the hem. “Come on, let’s go find some clues.”

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

Fuck clues. They were absolutely evasive to you, leaving your cheeks red in exasperation and your poor feet completely sore. Chan had made sure to cover every inch of town to find something that might lead to the uncovering of the mystery at hand and, well, you didn’t want to leave the hardworking sheriff all alone.

Until now, anyway.

Because that bastard had found so many possible pieces of evidence that you ended up having to write it all down on an old sticky note just to ‘keep inventory,’ as he called it. You couldn’t even try to defend his quick wit or brilliance with the ‘oh it’s his job, obviously he has some idea what he’s doing,’ because he was a villain not even a year ago! And who were you? His new lackey?

“Oh, your face is getting a little red, y/n,” speak of the devil himself, “how are you doing sweetheart? Beginning to realize this is a lot harder than it looks, aren’t you?”

You couldn’t count on your own fingers how many short glares you had sent the cocky man throughout the remainder of the day, although this time you resisted the familiar urge to do so, instead focusing your attention on the road ahead of you. “I never doubted how hard your job is, Chan. I guess I’m irked that we... well... didn’t find anything today,” you trail off, feeling your heart sink in your chest as you realize that tonight will be the first time in months that you won’t have Ramen curled up on your belly as you fall asleep.

The protective dog made you feel so much safer. While you had an entire year to get used to the new world as best as you possibly could, nothing other than him could shake away your worries and paranoia.

Looking over for merely a split second, Chan could see the distress start to eat you alive from the inside out. Practically everyone knew that you still hadn’t fully adapted to your new life, not at all. Glancing down, he notices that one of your legs has started to bounce in growing anxiety, a feeling he knew all too well himself.

“Listen, why don’t you stay at my place tonight,” he offered, the usual sneer on his face now replaced with grumbling softness and concern. When you don’t respond, he uses one hand to steer his cop car, the other going to rest cautiously on your still moving leg, just on the knee. “I know damn well you haven't set your security system up yet, y/n. If Ramen really was taken from your home, that means someone else also knows that you’re basically defenseless by yourself.”

The red color dusting your cheeks is no longer just an effect of your previous exhaustion, now mixed in with the butterflies that, for some reason, erupt in your chest when Chan’s fingers trace gentle, soothing circles on the rough material of your jeans. “I - oh, it wouldn’t hurt.” You admit quietly, thankful that he’s too busy watching the road to notice how you purposefully let your hair create a curtain around your even redder face.

“Good... that’s good,” Chan breathes out in what sounds like relief, sounding like he was truly worried about your wellbeing, “okay, I need to stop by the corner market to grab something. Would you like me to get you anything in particular?”

You ponder his question for a moment, even though you already had an answer the second those words slipped out of his mouth. “C-can I get some ramen, please?”

A laugh - a real one at that, echoes inside the moving car. “Sure thing, darling. It’s no problem at all. Hey, do you want to see something funny?” Chan continued, his grip on your knee tightened by just a margin. When you hesitantly nod in reply, you’re given no time at all to regret your choice; he flicks the red and blue police lights on, along with the blaring siren. He presses on the gas - not going fast enough to put anyone in danger, but it’s enough for you to squeal in shock and grip onto his arm that’s still trespassing on the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

He doesn’t move his arm away from you the entire ride.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

By the time Chan reaches his home, the sky has already faded away into nighttime. The moon is half-full, emitting a comforting yet eerie light down on the ground before it. Hundreds of thousands of starts twinkle in the cloudy sky, forming constellations you could never find back home.

Your lips part in awe as you observe the mystifying sky and all of its secrets, eyes lighting up despite the rough day you had experienced. Chan huffs to himself, blissfully unaware of how captivated you are with the world you could barely get used to. A noise of joy escapes his chapped lips once he finally finds his house keys in his pocket and unlocks the front door, the man turning to call you inside.

God forbid he ruin such a picture perfect scene. He can’t even attempt to utter out his beckoning call, too enthralled in the ruptured innocence that radiates from your bright expression. Chan was aware that you refused to call this town your home, having overheard that snippet of information from Minho one night when they’d gone out drinking. At the time, he had felt guilty, knowing deep down that he was a major playing factor in the curse that brought everyone here in the first place. But watching you in that very same moment, he didn’t feel one bit of regret, even if he should have.

“Mrrow?”

Both of you nearly jump out of your skins at the sudden sound; you squeak and quickly turn to Chan, meanwhile the bashful sheriff flushes like an apple and hurries to find the source of the scare.

“Shit - Loki, you can’t just do that!” He hisses to the mischievous black cat, one eye twitching in embarrassment as the feline only purrs in response and curls his white-tipped tail around his owner’s leg.

“Cats, huh?” You snort in disbelief and wonder, already voluntarily bending down to crouch closer to Loki’s level. The fluffy feline saunters over to your open hand, nudging it and letting out a satisfied purr as you scratch behind one of his ears.

Chan freezes up, understanding your amusement. He was the son of Cruella De Vil, a vile woman who was notorious for trying to snatch up Dalmatian puppies so she could turn their fur into fancy coats. Hell, he grew up around dogs that his mother kept as security, it wouldn't be crazy or anything if he had his own army of dogs. But, instead, he was crazy... for cats; the polar opposite of the mutts he was so used to seeing as a child.

You can’t help but catch how the sheriff’s shoulders tense up as if he’s seen a ghost - or rather, a ghost of his past. A past that many thought he was trying to forget completely. “I - I didn’t mean that in a bad way, Chan,” you apologize softly as to not startle him, nor the cat below you, ”just a little funny, that’s all.”

“Y-yeah, it’s alright. Come on in, I’ll show you what room you’ll be sleeping in tonight.” He changes the subject quickly, already halfway through the front door before you can object.

Stepping inside, you feel your lips twitch into a knowing smile. The flooring is a simple oak wood, nothing too special; but other than that, pretty much everything else in his house seemed to be black or white, occasionally noting the splash of red here and there. There were at least four other cats simply lounging around in the little nooks and crannies, making you wonder where on earth he found them all.

“You’ll have to use the guest bedroom, which uh, has never been properly set up.” Chan tells you, slipping off his shoes and tossing his duffel bag to some random spot in his living room. You follow his movements, then follow the man himself down a quaint hallway until you reach the last door on the left-hand side. “Go inside, I’ll be right back.” He mutters, leaving you alone while he enters another room in the same hallway.

You slowly open the bedroom door, hand patting the wall for a good couple of seconds before you’re finally able to find the light switch, switching it on and blinking so your eyes can readjust to the light.

‘Wow, he really wasn’t kidding when he said it hadn’t been set up,’ you think to yourself in pure animosity, wandering fully into the small yet cozy guest bedroom. There were stray boxes scattered about here and there, although thankfully most of them seemed to be tucked under the twin size bed that happened to be placed in the farthest corner of the bedroom. A single dresser rested by the door, a tv perched on top of the cracking white wood.

The only real decorations in the room were some cat toys and the like, which were probably just put inside since they didn’t fit into the rest of the house. You take another step forward, seeking to take a seat on the bed, but your foot squishes something that protrudes a loud, almost screeching wail; you barely recognize the object as a cat toy before you begin to fall, your eyes closing to brace for impact -

“Woah, holy shit-” a familiar voice wheezed, the owner of the accented voice arriving in the knick of time to catch you in his arms. It would be quite poetic and serene if it weren’t for the horde of cats that burst into the room with both of you, clearly on the hunt for the toy that had erupted such an ungodly noise. “Fucking hell, are you okay? You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Shit, I’m so sorry, I just-”

“I’m fine now, Chan, thanks to you.” You sigh in relief with a faint laugh, almost tempted to simply collapse in his strong grip so he would be forced to carry you to bed. A few, oddly comfortable seconds pass before Chan helps you stand back up again, the man then going to bend down and pick up a light stack of clothes he had clearly dropped so he could catch you instead.

Chan quietly hands you the clothes he had dropped, offering you the faintest of smirks, a sight you were more used to. “Here, these are some of my clothes. We totally forgot to run by your place and grab a bag, but it’s too late to go get them now.”

“Thank you... for everything.”

“Hey, I said no thanking me until we find Ramen and the other dogs,” he hummed slyly, playfully flicking your nose to mess with you, “get some sleep. We can head out again in the morning.”

And then he’s gone again, not bothering to utter a goodnight or anything of that manner. Holding back the urge to sigh in disappointment, you start to strip yourself of your own clothes, slipping on Chan’s before sliding into the guest bed.

However, with no familiar presence to rest on your belly, you find yourself unable to fall asleep without much, much difficulty. None of the many cats in Chan’s household were willing to hop into your bed, likely sprawled out in his own bedroom or random spots throughout his home. You missed Ramen - you just, couldn’t sleep alone now that you were used to having him around.

Figuring you won’t be able to get much sleep anyway, you slide back out of the tiny bed and carefully walk out of the guest bedroom, making sure not to have a repeat of the incident from earlier that night. You venture into what you can only guess is the sheriff’s personal bedroom, assuming from the warm light seeping out from under the door that he was still awake.

“Darling, why are you still awake?” The man, who you had correctly guessed was still awake, questioned you, watching with tired eyes as you sauntered over to his bed and crawled on top of the red sheets to sit next to him with crossed legs.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You retort dryly, squinting your eyes to try and see whatever it was he was doing on his laptop that he had perched on his lap.

He hums to himself before replying, “I’m going through my work emails to see if there’s any other connections between the missing dogs.”

You make a soft noise of understanding, your gaze wandering to the three out of five cats that had piled on top of one another just by his bare feet on the bed. This time around, you don’t hesitate to ask him, “so, why cats? I thought you grew up with a shit ton of dogs. Not that it’s weird, just... amusing, I guess.”

Thankfully, Chan doesn’t freeze up at the innocent question; it was harmless enough, right? He had no reason to hide the truth, did he? “I dunno, honestly. I suppose I just want - needed, a change of pace. Having dogs around might only convince everyone in this damn town that I’m just like my mother.” The man admits bitterly at the mention of his mother. “I... Don’t get me wrong, I do love her, but her being a villain basically solidified my future.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you hum softly, a yawn pushing past your lips, “think about it, okay? You’re our sheriff, the big guy who makes sure everyone is safe - in a town full of heroes and villains, no less.”

“That’s nice, darling, but it doesn’t mean anything to them. I’m part of the reason everyone is stuck here, you know that, don’t you? All I did was tell that damn woman I was sick of being treated like a criminal, course’ she takes matters into her own hands and creates a fucking curse of all things to essentially give us a rewind button,” he mutters with a sickening sneer, only realizing that he’s gone off on a mini-tangent when you slump tiredly against his shoulder, “I mean - don’t you hate me? You were caught up in this mess, dragged away from whatever life you had before.”

“... No, I don’t hate you for what happened, and I never did, truthfully. While I am having a really hard time adjusting to this new life, that doesn't mean I despise it or anything. I just haven't had anyone around long enough to guide me through it all, s’all.”

Chan blinks in surprise at your honest, kind words. Now, it wasn’t as if the entire town hated him, but most of them did - the ones that were totally innocent, that is. Those who were on his side of things came from a familiar, villainous background; Minho and Jeongin both came from just as vile parents, and they actually didn’t mind getting to start fresh.

You were the first person he knew of that didn’t hold some sort of grudge against him. Those who sought his help didn’t quite count, either, since he was the only acting authority in those regards. Compared to most of the town, you had never thought less of him simply because of his background.

“Jesus woman, what are you doing to me?” He grumbled to himself, unable to hold back the ginger smile that bloomed from his pink lips at the sight of you snoring against his arm. Quietly shutting his laptop off, Chan carefully tucks you under the blankets, though he doesn’t remove your grip on his arm; just like he hadn’t earlier.

That night, the cold, unforgiving man fell asleep with a warm heart.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

“Are you done changing yet, y/n?”

You huffed and puffed in reply, much to the man’s amusement. “Listen, why don’t you try fitting in clothes two times your goddamn size and making it look decent for the public!”

“Darling, I already told you that we’re going to the woods. No one is going to see you.” Chan chuckles to himself, almost choking on his laughs when you finally step out of the bathroom in his clothes. Last night, he had been far too tired to truly appreciate how cute you looked wearing his loose clothing; and now, even better, you were pulling off his daily grunge-styled sense of fashion.

What made it even better was that he intentionally lent you one of his many red leather jackets, meaning that you were matching with him. Why did he feel so - so smug about that?

“Oh - be quiet, Chan!” You retaliated with a quick motion, sticking your tongue out at him defiantly before going to stand in front of him. “Hey, by the way, how’d you figure out the dogs were in the woods?”

Chan waited until you were both back inside his cop car to answer, one foot putting pressure on the gas while he slunk out of his driveway. “I got an email late last night from Jacob - you know him, right? He’s Bambi’s kid, apparently he was just hanging out there when he saw Eric’s dog and a few others behind some sort of mesh fence. He didn't want to mess with it, so he told me.”

Nodding in understanding, you stare outside the window, feeling your heat race in your chest. This was it - you could get Ramen back, as well as all the other missing dogs. Ramen was only gone for a day, but you missed him terribly. You couldn't even begin to wonder how the other owners felt with their dogs having been gone for more than just a mere day.

“Do you think the person who took them will still be there?” You eventually asked Chan after another few minutes of comfortable silence, mildly tempted to chew out whoever had laid their hands on your furry companion.

“Probably not, I’m afraid,” the sheriff admitted with a sigh, “Jacob also mentioned that he had brought Johnny and Jaehyun out to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things; according to them, they saw whoever had taken the dogs, but he got scared and turned tail the second they showed up.”

You hated to admit it, but that was better than nothing. After this whole fiasco, everyone would have their guard up, all while the sheriff would be hunting down the dognapper himself. That meant that Ramen and the other dogs would, hopefully, not have to worry about being taken from their homes ever again.

“We’re here. Stick close to me, just in case.” Chan announces when you arrive to the park just in front of the woods, the slides and swings still empty since it was a bit too early for any of the children to be awake and riled up.

Obviously you take his words to heart, sticking to him like glue - definitely not just because he looked very in his element, so to speak, his ballcap snug on his messy black and white hair and his leather jacket clinging to his biceps - nope, no way. Totally not, nope.

Eventually you both stumble onto what looks to be an abandoned cabin, surrounded by mesh fencing; and on the other side of the fence, there are a good handful of dogs. None of them seem to be the aggressive kind, choosing to instead joyfully wag their tails and bounce on their paws in excitement at the sight of humans.

That was probably how the dognapper did it all so easily - the dogs were just too nice.

Venturing inside the wooden cabin, you both see just how well the dogs were taken care of. There were five bags of dry dog food tucked away in a corner next to a looming cabinet, nicely complimented by the handful of bowls on the floor. Hanging by the door that led into the backyard was a strange shelf, the trio of silver hooks holding leashes that were likely used to lead the dogs into the woods.

“You take a couple of them and I’ll take the rest,” Chan broke you out of your thoughts, snagging some of the leashes from the hooks and taking a moment to send you a warm glance, “we can walk them over to the station from here and call everyone down so they can pick up their dogs.”

“Good idea.” You beamed in delight, grabbing the remaining leashes and following the tall man out into the backyard. Before you can even react, an all too familiar pooch barrels into your figure, almost knocking you over in the process. “Ramen! Oh, I’m so glad you’re okay!” You coo at your furry friend, crouching down to attach a leash to his bright red collar. But you can’t resist the urge to hug the golden retriever, happy to have him back, even if you weren’t separated for too long.

Chan watches you and Ramen reunite, carefully making sure to leash the other dogs while he does so. A foreign sort of emotion washed over his being, but before he could question it, one of the dogs he’d leashed up started to cheerfully lick and slobber all over his face.

Yeah, he was definitely a cat person.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈«

In total, there were about thirteen dogs that had been taken out of town. Chan led eight of them out of the cabin while you led the remaining five, although he made sure to still stick next to you in case one of your dogs tried to drag you off in an ecstatic frenzy.

“You know, you didn’t really do much to help out,” the sheriff began with a mischievous hum, smirking slightly at how you send him one of your signature glares, “but I’ll admit it, it was nice to have a real partner of sorts working on a case with me.”

“Uh huh, I was your - let’s call it cheerleader,” you shot back at him, unable to stop the smile that grew on your lips, “so I guess now I can say thank you.”

“Mhm, but now you need to repay me for my services.”

“Are you serious? Why just me?” You whined playfully, bottom lip jutting out in curiosity and mild confusion, which only makes your human companion’s once faint smirk grow wider, revealing a dimple on one of his cheeks.

“I only want one thing, and I only want it from you, darling... how about you take me to dinner tonight as celebration for our good work?” He suggests. At first you’re sure that he’s joking, judging by the smirk, but his eyes look dead serious, as are his next words. “We can call it a date, if you’re up for it.”

You blush at his sweettalk, grip tightening on the handful of leashes in your hands. “I would lo- oh my!”

Your response is interrupted by Ramen, who barks suddenly and ducks into Chan’s crowd of dogs. Without warning, another dog does the same to you, effectively tangling all the leashes together behind both your back and Chan’s. Now, your chests are pressed together, you faces mere inches apart due to the dogs’ antics.

And then, Chan’s lips are pressing against yours, bringing you into a sweet, slow kiss. His free hand wanders over to the small of your back, pulling you closer. The kiss is short and sweet, but it felt perfect - for both of you.

“... You don’t need to call me Chan anymore, darling. Call me Chris, please.” He breathes out, gently letting his forehead rest against yours. “I didn’t jump the gun though, did I? Because I quite like you - and I quite liked kissing you.”

“Chris, I was going to say that I would love to go on a date with you; as a matter of fact, I quite like you, too.”

“So... may I please kiss you again?”

“Of course, Chris.”

And so he did, connecting your lips to share one of many kisses to come.

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incorrectchoniberonicaswangs · 6 years

Text

hey baby won't you look my way (i can be your new addiction)

Chapter 3: ...no these are fuCKING SEXTS

ao3

Chapter Summary: There's a substitute teacher, Cheryl and Toni have a plan, and Betty is a "good fucking person."

Monday, 7:17 AM

gays united

hbicheryl: good morning gays

wannabett: CHERYL

hbicheryl: good morning gays, cousin betty

hbicheryl: happy?

wannabett: yes

hisshissmotherfucker: why the fuck are you texting us at this ungodly hour

hisshissmotherfucker: go back to sleep

nopeaz: school starts in less than an hour dipshit

hisshissmotherfucker: whatever

veroffica: cheryl, you're in a way better mood than normal. what happened?

hbicheryl: im offended! cant i just be in a good mood because i feel like it?

wannabett: no

hbicheryl: fine

hbicheryl: the history teacher is sick so we have a substitute

hisshissmotherfucker: FUCK YES

wannabett: im confused why is this a good thing??

spillthefogarTEA: oh betty

spillthefogarTEA: poor, sweet betty

nopeaz: substitutes are naive and cant control the class

nopeaz: so we can do whatever we want

wannabett: im not sure thats the best idea

spillthefogarTEA: choni and i have history first period with you, cooper

spillthefogarTEA: we'll show you what we mean

8:16 AM

hbicheryl + nopeaz

hbicheryl: this is even better than i thought

nopeaz: he looks so timid

hbicheryl: this is going to be so much fun

hbicheryl: lets begin phase one

8:19 AM

gays united

wannabett: is this cheryl and tonis master plan? to text out in the open?

jugheadalones: theyre cheryl and toni

wannabett: meaning??

jugheadalones: im sure theres more to it than that

goingtoheller: ^^tru

wannabett: i guess ill just have to wait and see

8:23 AM

gays united

wannabett: okay the sub is asking cheryl and toni to get off their phones

wannabett: theyre ignoring him ofc

wannabett: asdJFDJJSSSKKDXM

hisshissmotherfucker: WHAT HAPPENED

spillthefogarTEA: HE GRABBED TONIS PHONE RIGHT OUT OF HER HANDS SHE LOOKS SO FUCKING STARTLED

goingtoheller: LMAO

spillthefogarTEA: OH SHIT NOW HES READING CHONIS TEXTS FROM TONIS PHONE

wannabett: ...no these are fuCKING SEXTS

veroffica: I'M WHEEZING

hisshissmotherfucker: WHAT DO THE TEXTS SAY

spillthefogarTEA: "maybe after this we can sneak in a quickie between classes"

spillthefogarTEA: "i could finger you up against the bathroom wall"

spillthefogarTEA: "or i could eat you out in the storage closet"

spillthefogarTEA: "of course... youd have to be quiet"

spillthefogarTEA: "do you think you can do that? can you be a good girl for me?"

wannabett: cheryl is as red as her hair

wannabett: toni looks like she wishes the earth would swallow her whole

goingtoheller: I'M DEAD.

veroffica: THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD

hbicheryl: GUYS STOP LAUGHING THIS ISNT FUNNY

goingtoheller: no, this is definitely funny.

hisshissmotherfucker: wait were the texts from toni or cheryl??

wannabett: he didnt say

goingtoheller: ooh, any theories? i'm still on team vers. cheryl, can you confirm anything?

hbicheryl: SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS SO EMBARRASSING

veroffica: i should hope so!

jugheadalones: ...i did NOT need to know this much about chonis sex life

wannabett: i guess the sub isnt as incompetent as you thought

spillthefogarTEA: lmao sucks to be you guys

spillthefogarTEA: oh shit i think hes looking at the notifications

spillthefogarTEA: "spill the... fogarty!" yep im done for youre all invited to my funeral except for choni bc they got us into this mess

wannabett: fangs' phones has been confiscated as well as cheryls in case you were wondering

wannabett: haha thats karma i guess

wannabett: fuck now he wants mine too why me??

veroffica: ...guys?

goingtoheller: that was the most exciting thing that i've witnessed secondhand in a WHILE.

hisshissmotherfucker: i hope nothing bad happened to fangs

hisshissmotherfucker: or toni or cheryl or betty

jugheadalones: i wonder whats going on there right now

veroffica: well, i don't have any classes with any of them for a while, so i won't be able to know what happened until they get their phones back.

hisshissmotherfucker: ^^

jugheadalones: ^^

goingtoheller: ^^

12:03 PM

gays united

hbicheryl: WE FINALLY GOT OUR PHONES BACK

hbicheryl: I CAN PRACTICALLY TASTE THE FREEDOM

nopeaz: now i just have to go live in a cave for a few years until everyone forgets about that debacle

spillthefogarTEA: thats not going to happen any time soon

goingtoheller: fangs is right, that was iconic.

veroffica: you two will never live that down.

jugheadalones: half of riverdale high is already speculating as to which one of you two sent the texts and which one of you received the texts

hisshissmotherfucker: cheryl, toni, care to make a statement?

hbicheryl: no

nopeaz: fuck off

goingtoheller: well, at least they seem to be on the same page.

wannabett: can we talk about whats REALLY important now??

jugheadalones: and what would that be?

wannabett: ALL FOUR OF US GOT DETENTION!!

veroffica: can the substitute even do that?

spillthefogarTEA: yeah, he wrote us all up for "repeatedly disobeying a clear set of instructions"

nopeaz: at least its only for today

wannabett: ive never gotten detention before! how the hell am i going to explain this to my mom??

hbicheryl: lmao cant relate

wannabett: im a good fucking person i dont deserve this

12:39 PM

gays united

hisshissmotherfucker: wait cheryl and toni what was your master plan?

hbicheryl: oh we were just going to sext for a while and then make out in the back of the classroom

veroffica: ...that was a letdown.

goingtoheller: yeah, i expected better.

nopeaz: we were horny when we came up with that plan okay

jugheadalones: now THAT makes more sense

spillthefogarTEA: tbh im still kinda disappointed tho

1:22 PM

gays united

wannabett: SHIT

veroffica: what's wrong, betts?

wannabett: i think the school told my mom about the detention :(

goingtoheller: what makes you think that?

wannabett: shes called me four times today already

wannabett: ive been ignoring her but knowing my mom she'll probably just show up here to talk to me

jugheadalones: she wouldnt do that

wannabett: you underestimate her

veroffica: b is right. her mom is just crazy enough to do that.

1:40 PM

gays united

wannabett: huh i wonder why the secretary is calling me to the office

wannabett: it couldnt be my mom, could it??

wannabett: who wants to bet against me?

goingtoheller: a, congrats on finally living up to your screen name!

goingtoheller: b, there is no way that i'm going to be stupid enough to take you up on that.

jugheadalones: i'll bite.

jugheadalones: 20 bucks it isnt her

wannabett: youre on jug

wannabett: be prepared to lose $20

1:55 PM

gays united

wannabett: angry-mama-cooper.jpeg

wannabett: fork over the money jones

jugheadalones: ...fuck

jugheadalones: this is what i get for believing that alice cooper wouldnt be that petty??

hbicheryl: no this is what you get for being a fool

wannabett: same thing

spillthefogarTEA: okay im sure that im going to regret asking this, but what did mrs cooper want that took fifteen minutes to talk about?

wannabett: the usual

wannabett: "youre disappointing your family, you need to do better, you dont want to end up like polly," etc.

veroffica: i'm sorry, b. :(

wannabett: it isnt your fault v

veroffica: i know, but your mom clearly isn't sorry for the crazy expectations she puts on you because polly didn’t turn out the way she wanted, so somebody has to be. and i want that somebody to be me.

wannabett: you really think so?

veroffica: i know so.

spillthefogarTEA: thats so sweet

hbicheryl: and REALLY gay

spillthefogarTEA: ofc

veroffica: *bi, and betty and i are just best friends.

wannabett: ^^^

spillthefogarTEA: sweets and i are best friends and if i had said something like that to him yall wouldnt think that we were just being friends

wannabett: thats bc you and sweet pea are super gay for each other

hisshissmotherfucker: false

spillthefogarTEA: ...you dont think that im hot? :(

hisshissmotherfucker: no i think that youre the hottest person in the whole damn universe

hisshissmotherfucker: but that doesnt mean that im in love with you

hbicheryl: babe do you see this shit??

nopeaz: i see it all right

hbicheryl: im so glad that we arent like that

nopeaz: me too :)

hbicheryl: i love you toni

nopeaz: i love you too cher

veroffica: awww, that was adorable.

veroffica: but also: what will it take to convince all of you that betty and i are telling the truth??

goingtoheller: nothing, ever. you are both so clearly whipped it isn't even funny.

jugheadalones: like cheryl and toni levels of whipped

hbicheryl: except you two arent even dating!!

nopeaz: the same goes for sweets and fangs too

hisshissmotherfucker: whatever

spillthefogarTEA: ^^^

wannabett: ^^^

veroffica: ^^^

jugheadalones: why do i even try anymore

2:29 PM

gays united

hbicheryl: well its time to go into the hellish pit the school calls detention

wannabett: i wonder if theyll make us do manual labor

spillthefogarTEA: sweet pea practically lived in detention at southside high, ask him

hisshissmotherfucker: thats true

hisshissmotherfucker: and yes sometimes they do make you do some janitorial work around the school

hbicheryl: oh my fucking god im going to die

jugheadalones: stop being so extra cheryl

goingtoheller: no never stop being extra cheryl it is the best part of this chat

hbicheryl: for your information hobo i will never ever stop being dramatic and if you say that again i will fight you

hbicheryl: and dont worry keller i wont change

nopeaz: thats my girl!!

hisshissmotherfucker: as i was saying

hisshissmotherfucker: youll probably just sit in a room and do your homework

hbicheryl: thats even worse

2:34 PM

gays united

hbicheryl: THEY WANT TO TAKE OUR PHONES

hbicheryl: WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US ABOUT THIS SWEET PEA

hisshissmotherfucker: i thought it would be a nice surprise

nopeaz: screw you

hbicheryl: IF I NEVER GET OUT OF HERE TELL MY MOTHER THAT SHES AN AWFUL BITCH AND THAT I HATE HER

veroffica: sure thing, blossom.

3:00 PM

gays united

hbicheryl: MY PHONE IS BACK I LOVE IT SO MUCH THIS SCHOOL IS SHIT AND DETENTION FUCKING SUCKS

goingtoheller: that's a lot of moods.

jugheadalones: ^^

veroffica: "that's a lot of moods" is just cheryl's personality in a nutshell.

wannabett: tru

hisshissmotherfucker: tru

nopeaz: tru

hbicheryl: tru

Notes: Writing choni's sexts was the best part of this chapter, honestly. Also, I noticed that I refer to Cheryl and Toni as 'choni' an awful lot, which probably has direct correlation to my laziness. I know that this chapter has a lot less to do with the overlying plot, and that's because I'm trying something different. Tell me if you like it this way or if you want me to go back to more plot-heavy chapters.

90 notes · View notes

grapesrocket26 · 3 years

Text

Bonsai trees have been around for so long that almost all phratry

Bonsai trees have been around for so long that almost all phratry have some notion about what is. This practice is most touristed in the Asian community, but family line around the world also practice biological process bonsai trees. Bonsai buy iphone trees for merchandising are often thought of as angstrom dwarf tree by beginners. The realness is that they are just formula trees that are kept small due to small containers and regular trimming. Guide wire is continually used atomic number 49 order to help guide the ligneous plant in the direction of the desirable growth. This practice may take large indefinite quantity knowledge and skill to achieve smashing results.

What To Consider

When beginning the bonsai hobby, in that location are some things you must reflect first. The cost of trees and supplies must be kept in mind. For thirty dollars or so, A good beginning plant can be purchased. Once you get into the great and more mature trees, several c dollars might be spent on blood group specimen. While at first you want to get going with type A large old tree, a beginner power want to purchase a smaller tree diagram to gain valuable experience about the care of the trees.

A good pot will be needed at one time you have decided on a tree. Trees usually are sold with axerophthol pot, but if transplanting is needed, you might want to buy type A larger one. Bonsai tree pots generally small and shallow to meliorate the tree remain small.

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Common species of trees that are in use for bonsai are maple, juniper, jade, pine, and elm. Bonsai trees for sale require continuous care and to achieve the best looking tree. A large selection of books sack be found on the subject if you are a beginner. You put up benefit greatly from taking the determine to read all about this field of study and the care of bonsai trees for sale.

Shaping A New Tree

When a tree is young, it is the most captious stage for training the shape of a new tree. By starting the training early, they can get started on the best note. More well-grooved older trees are much more problematical to try to shape than A new young tree with flexible and small branches. It is also not as hard on a tree to trim off small unwanted branches preferably than larger ones on older trees. This is why buying from vitamin A well versed seller who knows to handle bonsai trees is adenine good idea when looking for trees for sale. Bonsai trees buns be shaped into a variety of different styles. You are the one and only who has to decide what you like best and how you seek to shape your tree. The to the highest degree popular styles of design are slanting, upright, and cascading. Certain species of trees may look better in current unit type of style. If you ar feeling adventurous, you can even make your own look.

Other component can also be added to amend the look of your bonsai tree. This can include things like adding small stones or moss around the base of the tree. A inferior common but good approach may represent to have two or three trees in one container. Bonsai trees for sale can look wonderful in homes. Pick out a tree that you are immediately drawn too and you will not be disappointed.

The Styles Of Bonsai Trees

Shaping the tree is the most profound aspect of growing a bonsai plane figure at home. In order to the task well, you need knowledge, skill, and practice. Bonsai trees for sale are available in several piece of land design styles, or you can soma them however you would like. The most typical design styles are cascading, literati, formal upright, informal upright, and slanting. These various styles will personify discussed throughout this article so that you may decide what will man of affairs your needs and home. You terminate buy more than one tree if you like multiple styles.

The style of literati is the honours degree one that I will go over. Literati is a typical bonsai spatial property that you think of. It is a tree that has a drawn-out bare trunk with few branches. The branches that it does have ar near the top of the ligneous plant and the trunks have many turns and twists.

Bonsai trees for sale are also sold as ceremonial upright and informal upright styles. These types of trees have tapered stem that are straight up. When location are curves in the upright trunk, this is considered informal in style. Slanted is another tree style. The goal of this is just care the name sounds, to have the trunk slant up from the link at an angle. Many bonsai styles are easily recognized by their name.

Another bonsai gardening style is the forest style. In this style, one container or pot is secondhand for several trees together. Varying stature of trees are often used to add depth and style to the grouping. In forest scenes, three OR five trees are typically used. You should never use a group of four trees as this has rubber meaning in the culture of Japan.

trees for merchandising are often thought of as angstrom dwarf tree by beginners. The realness is that they are just formula trees that are kept small due to small containers and regular trimming. Guide wire is continually used atomic number 49 order to help guide the ligneous plant in the direction of the desirable growth. This practice may take large indefinite quantity knowledge and skill to achieve smashing results.

What To Consider

Shaping A New Tree

The Styles Of Bonsai Trees

0 notes

nphofrph · 7 years

Photo

NPHofRPH’s Sing-Along Glossary of Roleplay Terms

The quintessential dictionary for the new RPer, or the veteran RPer who wants to get caught up on all the new-fangled slang them young folks are using.

(Note: does not actually come with any particular melody, but feel free to make one up as you go and hum it.)

1x1: A roleplay between just two people, you and your partner.

2x2: A roleplay between four characters. Not sure why it’s referred to this way. I guess the characters are all supposed to have paired up by the end of it?

4x4: Wait, are we stilling pairing them up, or can this just be eight characters?

32x32: Apparently we just like dividing by two in this neck of the woods.

Activity Check: A time when the admins go through the characters of a roleplay and make sure that they’re all still posting and haven’t run away from home.

Admin: The manager or moderator of a roleplay group; the one who’s in charge of creating the roleplay and keeping it running.

Angst: Piling on the hurt - usually emotional, sometimes physical - for your character to endure. Really fun. You should try it. Be a malevolent god.

Anon Hate: A message someone sends anonymously detailing why they despise you and what they’ve done to your mother, or threatening you in some way. Honestly, it’s hard to be threatened by that little gray fella with the sunglasses, but okay.

Apartment RP: A roleplay in which all or most of the characters live in a single apartment building.

Application: A description of your character to submit in order to be considered to join a roleplay group. Like a job interview, but not as painful.

Appless RP: A roleplay where you don’t have to fill out an application. Just insert a couple of details about your character onto a little form and you’re in. Quality may vary.

Ask Meme: A post containing a list of questions for others to send to your character.

AU: Alternate universe. This is where the characters of the work are placed in a setting or scenario not present in canon. For example, characters who are superheroes in their canon work meeting as ordinary high school students instead.

Backstory: The events of a character’s life that occurred before the beginning of the roleplay. Doesn’t have to be tragic. Is usually tragic.

Bandom RP: A roleplay in which the characters are in a band. It’s a pun, see. A portmanteau of “band” and “fandom”, I think. I’m assuming. I mean, I’m not a roleplay etymologist or anything.

Bio RP: A roleplay in which a detailed description of the character’s background and personality is required in the application.

Blogroll: A page which displays all the blogs that a user is following.

BroTP: Like an OTP (see below), except for best buddies instead of romantic partners.

Bubble Roleplaying: Roleplaying with only a select few characters or members in a group RP setting and ignoring the others.

Canon: The stuff that the original writer of a work made. For an RP group, this consists of the plot, additional info, and any characters made by the admins intended to be a part of the overall story. For other works, it’s simply everything that occurs in the work.

CBR: Could be related. Two faceclaims who could play biological family members.

Celebrity RP: A roleplay in which you play actual celebrities as characters. These exist for some reason.

Charrie: Short for character. Not to be confused with Carrie, a Stephen King novel in which a girl gets a bit power-crazy with her telekinesis.

City RP: A roleplay in which the plot takes place in a single city as its primary or only setting. Like a town RP, but the buildings are taller.

Closed Starter: A starter made for a particular blog to reply to. Sure, you can still reply to it if it wasn’t intended for you, but it’ll just lead to secondhand embarrassment for all involved.

Contained Theme: A theme that is frightened. It tries to hide from predators by curling up and making itself smaller.

Crackship: A relationship between two characters whose pairing seems unlikely or absurd.

Crackship Gifs: Gifs of two characters edited together so that it appears the characters are interacting with each other.

Crossover: A work consisting of elements from two or more works or fandoms.

Cross-tagging: Tagging a post with related things that are not actually in the post. For example, tagging a picture of Wonder Woman with ‘#superman’. Don’t do this. It’s all of the annoying.

CW: Content Warning. Same as trigger warning. See below.

Defiantly: Definitely, but misspelled.

DM: Dungeon Master. The person who is in charge of - wait, hang on, wrong type of roleplay. Sorry about that. Move along.

Drabble: Technically it’s a story of exactly 100 words, but it’s more used to just refer to a very short standalone piece about a character or characters in a particular single scenario.

Dry Docking: The opposite of shipping. When two characters who are a couple in canon are either broken up or were never together in the first place in your fan work or RP.

Event: In a roleplay group, an occurrence in the story in which all characters can participate. Also can be several days in which the verse is altered, such as a Future Week or other AU.

Exclusive: In a fandom-related independent RP, when the mun will RP with only one version of a particular character. For example, an indie RP playing Hermione Granger only interacts with a single indie Ron Weasley blog, and others who play Ron must go elsewhere.

FxF: A romantic pairing between two female characters, usually in 1x1 roleplay.

Face-chaser: Someone who pursues a roleplay or ship with a character based on their faceclaim instead of their characterization or the writing.

Faceclaim/FC: A real-life person used to represent what a roleplay character looks like.

Faceless Gifs/Images: Gifs or images that can be used in roleplaying regardless of the character’s faceclaim, since a person’s face is not visible or present in the gif or image.

Female Ban: An element in some works of dystopian fiction wherein the government or other higher power attempts to suppress a population by eliminating females and thus making it hard to procreate... Hang on, no, I’ve just been informed that it’s when an RP doesn’t allow any more female characters to be added to the group. Presumably, male bans exist too, but I think that’s just an urban legend.

First Look: A type of review based on a quick glance over the roleplay and what first impressions the reviewer gleaned from it.

Floating Timeline: A concept in roleplay that suggests that events in threads that are being written at a particular time do not necessarily take place in that time in-story. So, if a character has multiple ongoing threads, they are not actually in multiple places at once.

Fluff: Scenes that do not involve any significant obstacle and instead are intended to give the characters time to just have fun and be cute together.

Gif Chat: A type of roleplay thread in which each post is accompanied by a gif to illustrate the character.

Gif Hunt: Collection of gifs gathered from throughout tumblr or from various sources.

Gif Icons: Collection of gifs that are 100x100 pixels in size. Sometimes people make them 90x90 or 75x75 for what I can only assume are unsavory purposes. Don’t let your guard down around those things.

Gif Pack: Collection of gifs in which all of the gifs are made by the person posting the pack, and usually are all from the same source (the same movie, TV episode, etc.)

Godmodding: Collectively refers to powerplaying, metagaming, or both. See below.

Gore: Explicit and/or graphic violence and blood. A challenge to see how many synonyms for “red” you know.

Gossip Blog: A blog affiliated with a roleplay group that talks about and passes judgment on the characters. Sometimes can be fun, if managed well, but often creates all species of drama.

Headcanon: Something that an individual or fandom believes to be true about a story or character, even though it is not shown to be the case in the canon work.

Hiatus: Taking a break from roleplaying due to real life occurrences taking priority. As if anything could be more important than finishing those replies, pfft! The nerve.

IC: In-character. The actions, thoughts, and posts of the character; the stuff that occurs in the roleplay proper.

Icons: Also called static icons, a 100x100 image of the character or faceclaim used to illustrate the character in lieu of gifs.

I’m sorry, what did you say?: An extremely vague starter. For some reason, people keep making this starter, despite it annoying and frustrating people. Like an Alvin and the Chipmunks film.

Independent RP/Indie RP: A roleplay blog or character not associated with any particular established RP group.

IRL: In real life. Don’t worry, you won’t have to use this one often. Nothing ever happens in real life.

Kik: Something that I recently learned is not a dating site, as I had thought. This is all I know.

KRP: A roleplay that uses K-Pop artists as faceclaims exclusively or nearly exclusively. This community has some terminology of its own that I don’t know, but most of it’s similar to the rest of the RPC.

Label: A brief descriptor or trope used to describe a character in an application. Some examples are The Scholar, The Heartbreaker, The Intrepid Reporter, The Lizard Tamer, etc.

Literate RP: An RP that is highly writing-focused and requires longer posts and replies than other roleplays. Despite the misleading name, it is not actually saying that other roleplays are illiterate.

LSRP: Legit Serious Roleplay. Same as Literate RP. Yes, this acronym is ridiculous, just roll with it.

MxM: A romantic pairing between two male characters, usually in 1x1 roleplay.

Magic Anon/M!A: A post for which you invite others to make your character take on a certain trait or action for a select period of time.

Main: In a group, the blog that contains all of the information and updates for the roleplay. Home base, basically.

Manip: A graphic edit of two faceclaims in which they are photoshopped to look like they’re in a picture together.

Mary Sue: A character whose unreasonable ease or difficulty in overcoming obstacles, forming relationships, and/or gaining accolades runs contrary to the intent of the writer and makes it difficult for the reader to get invested in the story or character arc. Also, apparently, a term used to refer to any female character you don’t like.

Mature RP: A roleplay that may contain dark or adult themes, and thus doesn’t allow players under the age of 18. Seriously, if you’re under 18, don’t lie about your age. That’s a dick move.

Meme: A post that features small prompts that others can send in to begin a thread. Elsewhere on the internet, this term refers to drawings of sad frogs.

Metagaming: Letting your character have in-character knowledge that they shouldn’t logically possess, just because the mun has it.

Mod: Another term for admin. We could never settle on one term for them. It’s like the couch vs. sofa dilemma.

Moodboard: A collection of images or gifs used to sum up a character’s personality.

Multifandom: Similar to Crossover, although usually used to refer to a work with elements from three or more works or fandoms.

Multi-Storyline/Multiverse: In independent roleplay, when the character exists in more than one universe at once, such that threads with a character do not impact the events of threads with a different character.

Mumu: Multi-muse. In which a single blog is used to play more than one character.

Mun: The writer/roleplayer. The person who’s controlling the character. You. This is you. Use this power wisely.

Muse: The character that you roleplay. Also, a Greek goddess who presided over the arts, although this definition is usually irrelevant in roleplay.

Musing: Posts that represent the character’s personality, history, or thoughts in someway, such as aesthetic photos, songs, or philosophical rants.

Mutuals: Blogs on tumblr that are both following each other.

MW: Most wanted. A character or faceclaim that admins or members in a group would really like someone to play.

NoTP: When some people think that two characters would make a good couple, and you would like to stab those people with a fork for being so stupid.

Novella: Very long format for roleplaying, in which responses should contain several paragraphs of writing. Don’t worry, you don’t actually have to write a novella; a reply shorter than 20,000 words is still acceptable.

NPC: Non-playable character. A character who is present in the roleplay’s universe, but is not played by any one particular writer.

NPH of RPH: That’s me!

NSFW: Not safe for work. Nudity, sex, graphic violence. Basically, the stuff that you absolutely don’t want to come across while browsing at the public library.

OC: Original character. A character you make that is not part of the canon or not pre-written for the RP group.

One-liner: Roleplay consisting of only a single line or a few short lines. Sometimes referred to as “action roleplay” wherein actions are interspersed with speech. For example: “*Enters the room and throws confetti into the air.* I have arrived!”

OOC: Out of character. Can be used to denote that the writer is currently speaking or posting as themselves, rather than as a character, or be used to point out that a character does not act that way in canon, what are you doing, goddamnit.

Open Character: A pre-made character in a group who is currently not being played by any member of the group.

Open Starter: A starter that any character is allowed to reply to.

Original RP: A roleplay in which the plot and characters come from the admins’ and players’ creations rather than another source.

OTP: One true pairing. The ship that you love more than all the other ships. Except that most people have at least twelve OTPs, so...

OT3: One true threesome. Like an OTP, except there are three people.

Para: Relatively longer posts, consisting of full-bodied paragraphs or multiple paragraphs.

Playby: Another word for Faceclaim. Used more outside of Tumblr. See the couch vs. sofa debate.

Plot Bunny: A story that you would like to play out or see others play out through roleplay.

Plot Drop: A significant detail or event of the overarching story in a group RP that causes some change to the lives of the characters.

Powerplaying: Controlling another player’s character without their permission.

Private: In indie RP, a blog that only interacts with mutuals.

Promo: A post used to advertise a roleplay group or account.

PSD: Photoshop Data file. A type of file that’s designed to be edited on Photoshop or other image editing programs. It comes with the image separated into layers, so that different parts of the image, such as a background, a border, or text, can be edited separately.

Revamped: Extreme Makeover, Roleplay Edition.

RP: Roleplay.

RPA: Roleplay Advice. Like roleplay help, except, I dunno, maybe fewer resources, more questions answered? This one’s falling into disuse a bit. Oh, also Roleplay Assistant.

RPC: Roleplay Community. The group of us weirdos here who roleplay instead of just posting funny text posts and photographs of flowers like normal people. Alternatively, Roleplay Critic, a blog that reviews roleplays.

RPCHA: Um, Roleplay Critic/Helper/Advice. Seems a little over the top, but all right.

RPCW: Roleplay Critic Writer, I guess? I think. Same as roleplay critic. Think it’s used to differentiate from Roleplay Community.

RPG: Roleplay group. A group. That roleplays. Also can mean roleplaying game, or rocket-propelled grenade.

RPH: Roleplay Help. A blog that offers resources and answers questions to help people with roleplaying.

RPO: Roleplay Opinions. A blog that reviews roleplays. It doesn’t count as RPO if you just have opinions; you need to share them with the class.

RPT: Roleplay Talk. A blog that talks about roleplays and the roleplay community.

RPWCTOHA: This doesn’t stand for anything yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

Sample Para: A few paragraphs of your writing you include as an example as your work when you apply for a roleplay group. Do not just copy and paste a passage from Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado.” The admins will probably notice.

Secrets RP: A roleplay in which every character has a secret. These secrets are all listed together on a page in the RP, but it’s not revealed which character has which secret; that’s up to the other characters to figure out on their own through interactions.

Selective: For independent RP, when the mun does not roleplay indiscriminately with every blog or character that offers, but rather picks and chooses partners based on personal preference or certain criteria.

Self-insert: A character who is a fictionalized version of the mun/author, with little to no change from their actual self. If they die in the game, they die in real life.

Self-para: When your character wanders away from the group for a bit to engage in their own sidequest or navel-gazing. Good times.

Semi-appless RP: A roleplay that sits on an ever-sliding scale, requiring more detail in an application than an appless RP, but less than a bio RP.

Semi-hiatus: Like a hiatus, except that you might still show up to the blog on occasion and do a little bit of activity. When your real life is busy, but you’re just that determined to roleplay.

Semi-selective: For independent RP, a blog that’s not quite as selective as a selective blog, but still maintains the right to refuse service to customers should they so choose.

Semi-truck: A truck that’s not as much truck as a regular truck.

Shipping: Holding up hand-puppet versions of two characters and forcing them to make out.

Shoutout: A brief advertisement for a roleplay group (or occasionally other blogs) that can be submitted to the ask box of a help blog.

Skeleton RP: A roleplay in which some details are given for the roles being offered by the group, but the applicant fills in the rest, usually writing the body of the character bio. Alternatively, a roleplay in which every character is literally a skeleton.

Smut: Sex. Doing the do. The horizontal tango. Bumping uglies. Woohooing. Written out in all of its gory detail. Not worth going to jail for, so for the love of all that is holy, don’t do it if you’re under 18.

Starboarding: Shipping a one-sided ship. When you want one character to be in love with another, but don’t necessarily want the feelings to be returned. The most relatable type of ship, honestly. More people should RP it.

Starter: The first post in a thread, one that is used to kick off a scene in roleplaying. Usually, especially in a group, anyone is allowed to reply and start a thread from that point.

Starter Call: A post that people like or reblog in order to request a starter from the person who posted it.

Supernatural RP: A roleplay consisting of paranormal elements such as magical creatures, witchcraft, etc. Not a roleplay about the TV show Supernatural, although I guess such a roleplay would use this tag too. This is a problem the showrunners should have foreseen.

Taken Character: A character in a roleplay group who is currently being played by a group member.

Task: In a group, a (usually optional) prompt or project that can be used for character development.

Thread: The series of posts and replies to said post that make up a scene between characters in a roleplay.

Time Skip: Usually indicated by a line break, this is when a thread moves from one scene to another without covering the time in between.

Town RP: A roleplay in which the plot takes place in a single town as its primary or only setting. Like a city RP, but the buildings are shorter.

Trigger: Something that makes a user anxious, panicky, or otherwise very upset when they see it on their dashboard without warning. Tag these. No, I don’t care if it doesn’t fit your tagging aesthetic, just tag them.

Tumblr: You are here.

TW: Trigger Warning. Used in a tag to indicate that the post contains content that may be a trigger. Please format as “#[trigger] tw”. Not “#tw: [trigger]”, and definitely not “#☾-*.:｡-❝✿~~ tw ~~✿&&♛”.

Twitter RP: A roleplay that uses Twitter as its primary platform. Don’t ask me how. I can’t even figure out how to use Twitter for its intended purpose.

Urban RP: A roleplay focused primarily on PoC (person of color) characters in a city setting. Often uses musicians such as hip-hop or rap artists as faceclaims.

UTP: Up to player. An acronym used in skeletons to indicated that part of the bio can be chosen by the applicant.

Verse: Short for universe. A character’s world or timeline.

WID: What I do. A list or page on a help blog that lists what services the blog offers.

X-kit: A browser extension that’s popular within the RPC. It works to make tumblr usable again every time the staff creates a new bug and calls it a feature.

#rph #rpc #roleplay help #rp help #roleplay terms #roleplay 101

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renaroo · 7 years

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Double Time (13/24)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence Pairings: Tuckington, Chex Rating: T Synopsis: [Hero Time Sequel] After the events of Hero Time, the city and Blood Gulch are prepared for the true return of superheroes in a big way. But while Washington is attempting to adjust to a new relationship and a new living arrangement, the call of new heroes and a new mayor mean major changes for his professional life as well as his personal one. How will the balance of values fare when his new partners come to test everything he’s made of.

A/N: I am running out of things to say in these intros because they’re coming far too close together and I’m used to making 50% of my notes an apology for how long it took to get the chapter out. There are pros and cons to regular updates. Hopefully for you all, more pros than cons!

Special thanks to @analiarvb, @secretlystephaniebrown, @washingtonstub, @icefrozenover, Enmuse, Yin, and @notatroll7 on AO3 and tumblr for the wonderful feed back! I truly appreciate it more than you know.

Team Felix

Wash couldn’t even remember when was the last time it was him sitting in a waiting room in anticipation of news about someone else. He was willing to wager it had been a fairly long time, though. And he was not exactly pleased with his own apathy at the circumstances.

Fortunately, he wasn’t alone with his thoughts or too long because the door was kicked open and revealed both mayoral candidates in wait.

“What the hell is going on!?” Kimball demanded.

“And are you alright, dear Washington?” Doyle added more softly.

Blinking some, Wash settled back in his seat. “For once it’s not me laying in a sick bed so I’m going to assume that I’ll pull through,” he responded flatly. “Not so sure about my... backup.”

Kimball was by far the most reactive, throwing up her arms. “What the hell is going on in that borough of yours?” she yelled. “First it’s basically off the map for the past ten years, suddenly you inform us of its electoral capabilities and all we’ve gotten is complaints about teenagers exploding things, disrupting of the peace by some vigilante gang, and now the two superheroes that we have turned this city’s attention toward as a unifying force are blown to hell on its streets!”

Doyle put a hand to his chin. “In truth, it’s beginning to seem as though learning about Blood Gulch has been far less advantageous to anyone than previously ignoring it.”

More than a little peeved at the attitudes on display, Washington narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps ignoring these issues and an entire population was beneficial to the people who might be responsible for helping to fix the areas, but it’s far from helpful to those of us trying to live and improve Blood Gulch or any other inner city borough like it,” Wash reminded them sharply. “And don’t you two have an emergency election to worry about appeasing voters with? Voters like the people in Blood Gulch?”

They stared at him.

“The reason no one knows about Blood Gulch is that it has a zero-point-zero-zero-two percent voter turnout to begin with and, so far as we can tell, no town hall activity,” Doyle explained.

“Resources aren’t going to be going toward somewhere that doesn’t want to be active,” Kimball agreed.

Wash squinted at them both. “At this point you two are going to be co-mayors forever.”

“God no,” both said at the same time.

Just as Wash was working around what to say next to the mayors, the door was kicked in again. Except the doorway then almost immediately became clogged as four teenagers attempted to cross through it at the same time.

“Ow! Watch where you’re stepping!” Jensen whined.

“Tell Palomo to stop swinging his elbow into me!” Bitters snapped back.

“That’s not my elbow,” Palomo informed them only to spur more struggling.

“Do not -- ghk -- worry, friends!” Andersmith called out heroically. “We can work through all of this if we just keep trying together!”

They pushed more and, of course, had no progress in attempting the same thing again. They then erupted into petty squabbling that was giving Washington a nauseous wave of secondhand embarrassment on top of all the other issues going on in his life at the moment.

He looked instead to the mayors and waved his hands dramatically toward the teenagers. “You summoned the teenagers I’m training to come here? Why? There’s literally no reason for it.”

“That would be because you’re being shortsighted,” Kimball argued. “These children are the future protectors of this electoral map.”

“City,” Doyle corrected.

“Exactly,” Kimball nodded.

“It is thus important for them to be up to date on any new information you and -- bless his poor soul -- Felix can give them about the current enemy who continues to defile and destroy public property,” Doyle explained.

“And to know what they’re putting on the line every time they put on those garish costumes,” Kimball noted.

Wash pulled a frown and squinted at them. Suddenly feeling extraordinarily uncomfortable in his skintight suit. “Garish?”

Doyle smiled uneasily and waved his hands passively. “Certain looks are not for everyone, of course. Our senses of style not being what yours are, of course--”

The teenagers were still struggling which was more than enough excuse for Wash to raise to his feet and shake his head. “Forget it,” he advised to the mayors. “I really don’t like where the conversation is going.”

He then walked closer to the entrance and snapped his fingers right in front of the kids’ faces. It got their attentions almost immediately.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Wash snapped at them. “What’s the first thing I tell you to do before every practice? Every drill? Every talk?”

"Um,” they all echoed at once, though at least they seemed to stop struggling.

Andersmith cleared his throat and looked over everyone else’s heads. “I believe, that what you are consistently telling us is to use our heads.”

Washington felt some relief and sighed as he crossed his arms. At least one person seemed to be listening to him. “That’s right. Thank you, Andersmith. So let’s try doing just that.”

“Got it, Sir!” Andersmith said, backing away from the group and flexing in that familiar way that caused his body to become solid metal.

For a moment, it simply left Washington blinking in confusion before Andersmith lowered his head and began the charge. Horrified, Wash raised up his hands and shook his head. “No no, wait!”

It was too late.

Andesmith collided with the three other teenagers, sending them flying into the waiting room on top of Washington, and even knocking into the mayors. He then stood proudly as the only unscathed member of the group with his hands on his hips. The self satisfaction was pouring off of him.

“My word,” Doyle huffed underneath the pile.

“I see your training is going well, Washington,” Kimball said more harshly, pushing people off her as much as she could.

“Progress is what’s important, no one else seems to get that,” Wash mused mostly to himself before seeing Jensen and Palomo’s offered hands. He blinked before taking them and allowing himself to be helped up. “I suppose the next logical step would be to ask you four why you came down here in such a rush, wouldn’t it?”

“You kidding?” Palomo asked, nearly bouncing on his feet. Something that, considering the fleshiness of his costume, he probably truly shouldn’t have done. “The big fight was all over social media!”

“Big fight?” Wash asked, brows furrowing. “But there weren’t cameras around.”

“Oh my god, you are such a Silver Age hero,” Bitters groaned.

“Everyone records everything on their phones these days, Mister Washington,” Jensen reasoned. “There’s no way something as epic as a rematch between you, Felix, and Locus would go without being recorded and posted everywhere immediately.” She then turned toward Bitters and crossed her arms. “Also, Antoine, I would be doing a disservice to actual fans everywhere by not pointing out that given his age and the relative late start he had on the Freelancers, Washington is obviously from the Bronze Age. It’s very well documented on the superhero wiki. The only official source for superhero information.”

"Everyone, be quiet,” Wash ordered. Once all sets of eyes were on him he pointed accusingly at Bitters and Jensen. “Just how old do you think I am?”

“Um,” both teens hummed at the same time.

Wash opened his mouth to further press the matter when the poor, battered door was kicked in again. He threw up his hands. “Does no one respect public proper-- Tucker?”

Just as the words left his mouth, Tucker shoved past everyone and threw a hand over Wash’s mouth. “Shhhh!” he growled, looking around the room through his sunglasses. He had a hoodie up and tied tight like a complete dork and was wearing a thick coat even though it was summer.

The latter detail probably explained why his hand was so sweaty.

“Okay, enough,” Wash grunted, pulling Tucker’s hand off his mouth. “What are you--” he then looked over Tucker’s shoulder as he heard honking and cooing from the doorway. “Why are both of you here right now!?”

“Because you keep trying to die and it used to be funny when it was just cars that were after you but now it seems like explosions have it in for you,” Tucker explained. “A-K-A I was worried.”

“First off, explosions have it out for everyone, I don’t happen to be special in that department,” Wash pointed out. “Two, how the hell does everyone know about this already!? Where is this video supposedly on... the youtubes.”

Tucker literally did a full body cringe. “Youtubes? Oh my god, Wash, that’s so sad.”

“Silver Age, that cements it,” Bitters muttered loudly enough for even Wash to hear.

“I don’t know about Silver Age, but definitely a silver fox,” Palomo stage whispered back, leading to a level of discomfort that Wash had not realized he was capable of around teenagers.

“Regardless of what everyone saw, I’m fine,” Wash assured everyone.

“Duh. We know,” Bitters groaned.

“We did all see the video,” Andersmith pointed out.

Washington looked around the room and slowly put everything together at last. His glares stopped at his boyfriend. “Are you telling me that all of you aren’t here to check on me but actually here to check on Felix?” he demanded.

An uncomfortable silence only occasionally interrupted with a cough took hold of the room.

Washington stared at them all as the realization slowly dawned on him. Then he couldn’t help but look more than a little betrayed. “Wait? Does everyone in here like him more than me?”

“No!” they all said far too quickly.

“Felix has just been working so hard on building up superhero relations with the government behind the scenes, even before we got in contact with you,” Kimball tried to explain in what passed for her as a gentle tone.

“And he’s so cool!” Palomo quickly added.

“He offered to help me with my powers,” Jensen explained,

“And give me some pointers,” Andersmith continued.

Junior just gave Washington an expectant look. That cut the superhero more to the bone than anything.

“Ouch,” Wash said out loud just before Tucker punched his shoulder. “Double ouch?”

“I came here for you,” Tucker informed him. “But... yeah, I’m worried about the only guy who seems to be around saving your butt lately, too. I mean, if he’s in the hospital bed this time, it’s going to be you next time. And I’ve had more than enough of that for a while, thanks,” Tucker said, making a point to still wave his arm in the brace.

Washington exhaled quickly, and almost stubbornly. “You’re all right. And that’s why I’m here, too. I owe Felix, and being a superhero isn’t a competition, it’s a trust between you and every other person who seeks to do the right thing,” he explained.

“Glad to hear you say that, Wash, tickles my little heart,” Felix’s cocksure voice said from the hospital door.

“Felix!” more than half the room cheered, heading to where he and Doctor Grey were standing.

Felix’s grin still managed to be unbearable to Wash, but he tried to let it go. After all, the man had been injured on account of him -- on account of telling him that Locus was stalking Wash’s neighborhood without him even noticing.

“Because if this was a competition, I think we all know who’d be winning,” Felix continued to joke, but his eyes never left Wash for even a moment.

That was more than enough to make Wash squint suspiciously at Felix, even while Tucker yanked on his arm again.

“You sure you came out of all that alright?” Tucker asked.

"Kind of,” Wash said lowly, so that only Tucker could hear. He then looked intently at his boyfriend. “Can you show me the video everyone’s talking about? Because there were things that happened in that fight that have me asking a lot of questions I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer to or not.”

Tucker let his sunglasses slide down his nose enough that Wash could get the full effect of his eyebrow raised. “Yeah, I guess,” he replied suspiciously. “What kind of questions do you have?”

“I want to know how I ended up on the other side of the street just before that explosion happened, and I want to know why said explosion wasn’t as bad as it looked,” Wash explained. “And I want to know why Felix seems to be doing more behind the scenes than he apparently wants me to know.”

Rolling his eyes, Tucker sighed. “You’re just so against equal opportunity for people to save you for once, aren’t you, dude?” he asked.

“No!” Wash defended. “Tucker, I’m trusting you, aren’t I?”

“Pfft, yeah, but you’re also sleeping with me so I’d hope some trust issues weren’t working their way in there too much,” Tucker joked, pulling out his phone. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to pull up a video. Where’ve you been for the last ten years?”

“It’s not that I don’t... Forget it,” Wash grunted. “Let’s just see how far this rabbit hole takes us...”

#writing #rvb fic #RvB: Double Time #RvB: Hero Time #Tuckington #Agent Washington #Vanessa Kimball #Donald Doyle #John Elizabeth Andersmith #Charles Palomo #Katie Jensen #Antoine Bitters #Lavernius Tucker #Tucker Junior #Felix

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ggdbcheaponline-blog · 5 years

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fatecaster · 6 years

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7 Stunning Tarot habits to make divination more effective - Reblog

Find the original blog post at: http://ift.tt/2AVJg4K

7 Stunning Tarot habits to make divination more effective

Are you new to tarot? Do you have a deck of tarot cards that you’d love to use but find that your efforts haven’t exactly brought you the results that you’ve wanted? Perhaps you’re frustrated with your tarot sessions and are wondering if there’s anything you can do to get clear and concise readings. I understand where you’re coming from. When I first began reading tarot, my own readings were muddy, inconsistent, and generally unhelpful. I honestly didn’t know what I was doing and I was ready to give up! Thankfully, I didn’t. Instead, I learned a few tarot habits that resulted in effective divination readings, not just for myself, but for friends. Over the years, I’ve learned even more tricks that have made reading my deck the best part of my day. These are the habits that I’m going to teach you. You’ll find that everyone’s cards have a personality of their own, but with a few practices, you’ll learn how to use yours. You may even uncover your own tips! Let’s get started so you can begin using your cards with confidence.

What You Will Need

Before we get started, remember that all of these tips are meant to help you; if you find that one of these tips doesn’t work for you, move on and give it a try later on. There is no right or wrong way to read a deck. Trust your instincts. Another thing you’ll want to keep in mind is that divination is intuition, and specifically, your intuition. If you’re distracted while reading or frustrated, you may find that your reading will mirror your emotions. This is normal, but being aware of it will help you to become more effective at readings. These tips are meant to be practiced on a daily basis, some more than others. Because of this, you may find that your readings become more effective the more consistent your practice is. Some may work straight away; in that case, congratulations!

What you will need to practice these tarot habits

A deck, preferably new

Patience

A daily journal for writing down your impressions and the card spreads you’ve done

A quiet place to work, free from distraction

You’ll notice that I recommended using a new deck. What I mean by this is a tarot card that only you have used for readings. A secondhand deck will also work, but you may find it necessary to do several cleansings prior to using it. This is because the energy of the old owner may still be on the cards.

I have never used a secondhand deck, but I have heard from friends that they work just fine after a good cleansing or two. I believe, however, that using a deck you bought yourself is the best path forward. Connecting with the aesthetic of the deck and the symbols are important, so find a deck you love.

A daily journal to record your readings isn’t necessary, but for new readers, this will be of immense help. We’ll talk about that in a minute, but for now, just know the journal can just be a piece of paper or a spiral notebook; it doesn’t have to be fancy to be useful.

The Habits

Again, these tips are to help you in your journey; if one doesn’t work, try another. Most advanced readers do all ten, but this is your deck and your divination effort. Choose what makes sense to you.

1. Have Multiple Decks If you’re serious about your practice, you may want to decide whether or not to have multiple decks. One set could be used for reading for clients, one could be reading for yourself, and one could be a meditation deck. While three decks aren’t necessary, it could help in focusing the intention of the deck. Most readers, myself included, have two decks: one for ourselves and one we use to read for other people. If you read for others, try having a dedicated deck for that alone. Then, purchase one for yourself to build up your own practice.

2. Decide Whether Others can Touch Your Deck

Effective divination requires positive energy. Your readings should come from a place of compassionate intention. For this reason, you’ll want to decide if other people, family included, should be allowed to touch your deck. Energies can transfer from people to decks. If someone is having a bad day, or a client is in a frustrated mood, that energy could embed itself in your cards. The only way to remove it, then, is to do a full cleansing. Decide now whether you want to take that risk or if you want only your energy on the deck.

3. Do a Daily Draw

The fastest way to learn how your deck works is to do a daily draw. This is a practice in which every morning after you’ve meditated and have focused your, you draw a single card from your deck. It may reveal how your day is going, what your intention should be, and more.

Daily draws are one of the most effective tarot habits for all readers. Not only will you learn the deck, you will also get messages that perhaps you didn’t know where there. It’s also a very simple way to get into the habit of reading every day which will help you bond with your deck.

4. Keep a Journal

Journaling is one of the most effective habits we can give you. That’s because you’ll have a written record of the work you’ve done with a deck, which can lead you to a deeper reflection of what the cards mean. It also gives you space to write down your thoughts and look over your journey. A journal doesn’t have to be fancy; it can be whatever notebook or binder you have lying around. Every time you do a reading, note the time, the cards, and your mood. When you look back in your journal, you’ll be able to form an understanding of your deck and how your emotions can influence your readings.

5. Always do a Short Cleansing Before and After Reading

We’ve done a whole article on cleansing before on this blog, but for the purposes of this tip, we’ll keep this brief. Cleansing your deck before and after you read, even if you’re just doing a daily draw, is critical. That’s because whatever emotion you or your client is feeling may be imprinted on the cards. Cleansing them away means you start every reading fresh. A short cleansing is simple: all you have to do is shuffle your cards in your hand while laying down your intention for a new start for your deck. That’s all you need to do. It takes a few seconds and your deck is ready for the next session.

6. Start Small

It can be tempting to do large and elaborate spreads when you first start reading, but it can get confusing fast, even if you’re familiar with your deck and the symbols. It’s best to start with small spreads until you’re confident in your ability to interpret your cards. Small spreads are usually no more than three cards. This allows you to focus on the cards, their symbols, and what they mean. It also lets your intuition guide you through the cards without distracting you with too much information.

7. Pay Attention to Wayward Cards

When you’re shuffling your deck, pay attention to cards that fall out of the deck, are facing you in the deck, or generally pop out at you. These are wayward cards, ones that are using your intuition to call out to you. These cards can have a message you need to know right now or may have special meaning for you. If you’re reading for a querent, it may also be a message for them. Take a moment to acknowledge the cards before proceeding, because the answer you or your querent is looking for may already be present.

8. Look For Missing Cards in a Spread

If you’ve progressed to larger spreads and you find that major or court cards are missing, pay attention. This might mean that the deck is telling you something important, such as something integral is missing in the situation. In many cases, missing cards can provide the solution to a problem. If you’re already reading larger spreads, you might be aware that an element could solve the situation. Pay attention to see what element or court card is missing. Your intuition will tell you the answer to the question you’re seeking.

9. Learn What Your “Sure Thing” Cards Are

Over time, you’ll notice that certain cards in your deck have consistent and accurate meanings. While it’ll take practice to understand these cards, you may find that they show up every time you do readings on similar situations. Every deck is different and your intuition plays a large role in sure thing cards. However, if you keep a journal of all of your readings, you may notice patterns. Keep these in mind when doing readings, because these cards can show you the truth of a situation.

10. Keep a Clear Head

Perhaps the most important habit to stick to when reading is to keep a clear head. Your energy could have an impact on your deck. Because of that, your readings may not turn out the way you’d hope.

The best way to combat this is to try to center yourself before every reading. This may mean meditation, having a cup of tea, or listening to relaxing music. Whatever grounds you, do it before you read. You’ll have a better chance of doing an accurate reading if you’re focused and relaxed. Getting into these habits is a good way to begin your journey of learning to read the cards. You want to make sure your divination efforts are effective, both for you and your clients. For me, and for most readers, the fact that habits are available and easy to implement can be so helpful.

Surprise! We have 3 more Tarot habits for you that can make your readings more effective. Drop your email address down below and get the full article with 10 stunning Tarot habits for free in a PDF.

Conclusion

I hope you enjoyed reading about these habits, and that you commit yourself to keeping up with at least a few of them. If you have any comments or suggestions, we’d love to hear about them in the comments below. And if you have suggestions we left out, be sure to tell us! Happy reading.

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The post 7 Stunning Tarot habits to make divination more effective appeared first on Free Online Predictions.

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fenedhiss-blog · 7 years

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katherinekayi-blog · 7 years

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6 Ways Well-Intentioned People Whitesplain Racism (And Why They Need to Stop)

February 7, 2016 by Maisha Z. Johnson

If you’re a woman, queer, trans, and/or gender non-conforming, it’s probably not hard to imagine. Just think of one of those days when you’ve gotten too many unsolicited comments on your appearance, too many requests to “smile,” too many strangers who feel entitled to your space, time, and image.

So you’re venting to a friend, when along comes a man to explain that these strangers were just trying to be nice, and you “need to learn to take a compliment.”

How would you feel? Insulted? Pissed off? Like you wish this guy would stop assuming he knows your own experience better than you do?

You’re probably saying yes. There’s a good chance that you’re saying, “This shit happens to me all the time, and I wish it would stop!” And you might find comfort in knowing that there’s a word, mansplaining, to describe the common and frustrating occurrence of men interrupting and explaining things to women and people of other genders.

I’ve been there, too.

And unfortunately, just as frequently, I’ve had white people try to explain racism to me, a woman of color. There’s a word for this phenomenon, too – whitesplaining. It’s incredibly frustrating to share my experiences with racism, only to have a white person try to speak over me about it – and often by belittling how racism hurts me.

If you’re white, you may have whitesplained without realizing it. To understand whitesplaining, now picture yourself in the following situation.

I’m venting about my day, and I tell you I’m angry that a white neighbor told me, “I don’t even see you as Black.”

Would you reassure me that my neighbor meant well? If you do, don’t be surprised if I’m just as annoyed as you would be if a man tried to explain your experience with street harassment to you.

Usually, signs of whitesplaining include a condescending tone and a paternalistic assumption that a person of color doesn’t know enough to accurately articulate their own experience.

The term doesn’t apply to every instance when a white person talks about racism, just like mansplaining doesn’t apply to every instance when a man talks about gender oppression. But whitesplaining is a result of the power white people hold as part of the dominant culture in the US. So recognizing when it’s happening is one of the everyday ways you can help dismantle the oppressive system of white supremacy.

Like with other forms of privileged explaining, including mansplaining, people who whitesplain have been conditioned to believe that they’re somehow more qualified to speak about a marginalized group than a person who belongs to that group.

That’s why there’s no equivalent like “blacksplaining.” When a Black person talks about race with a white person, they don’t have the same institutional power as a white person who belongs to the dominant culture.

And that’s the problem with whitesplaining. It’s not just harmlessly discussing racism, but implicitly acting on racist ideas that say that people of color are ignorant and wrong, even about their own experiences.

You probably don’t think you’re motivated by racist ideas when you whitesplain – just like men don’t have to hate women in order to participate in everyday sexism like mansplaining.

For instance, you might think you have a perfectly good reason for telling me my neighbor didn’t mean to be racist. You’ve spent time with her, and you’ve never known her to be racist, or you can tell she meant to compliment me by saying she doesn’t see me as Black.

But while these well-meaning reasons for correcting me feel true, it’s also true that you can act on subconscious, implicit biases leading you to dismiss what I have to say because I’m Black.

If you don’t believe whitesplaining is wrong, then you’re missing how the motivation behind whitesplaining is influenced by white supremacy. So let’s unpack the most common reasons why whitesplaining happens, to examine why it’s so misguided.

1. You Think I’ve Got a Fact Wrong (‘Actually…’)

For many people, it’s tempting to speak up when you encounter a fact you believe is wrong. Correcting someone seems pretty straight forward – so does it really relate to racism?

In certain cases, it does. And if you’re a white person talking with a person of color about racism, it’s best to keep this possibility in mind.

Because of white supremacy, many white people – especially white men, who are also influenced by patriarchy – have been conditioned to speak over other people and dominate spaces.

This begins as early as elementary school, when white and male students get more positive encouragement like being called on more often, even when they’re not raising their hands.

If you’re used to being affirmed for sharing your thoughts, you might feel entitled to share them even when – no offense – you have no idea what you’re talking about.

And then you might do one of the most irritating forms of whitesplaining – assuming a person of color just doesn’t understand what’s going on.

I’ve experienced this too many times when white folks believe they know more about what I’ve been through than I do – through secondhand information or just their own wild guesses.

For instance, when I tell someone that saying, “I don’t see color” erases my identity, they often dismiss my complaint with any of number of reasons they didn’t mean to hurt me.

Believe me, I’ve heard them all: “Actually, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just trying to say we’re all human. I’m trying to say I don’t see you as different. I’m trying to treat everyone equally.”

Try as they might, they’re not going to achieve equality by taking a “colorblind” approach. Explaining that you have good intentions doesn’t erase the impact of invalidating my racial identity and implying that seeing my Blackness is a bad thing.

Talking with me about issues that affect my community means you have limits – you don’t have a lifetime of firsthand experience.

So it’s simply a sign of respect to give me the benefit of the doubt and trust that I can find the words for my own experience.

There’s nothing wrong with clearing up information if you come across something you believe is incorrect. But approach the situation with some humility. Ask questions to figure out why there’s a difference between what I’m saying and what you believe is true.

You might find that your information is wrong, that I interpret it differently, or that we’re on the same page, but I use different language rooted in my experience. And you’ll probably learn something new.

2. You Think My Feelings Are Wrong (‘Be Objective, It’s Not That Bad…’)

Have you ever felt like a person of color was being “oversensitive” when they got upset about racism?

If you try to tell me I shouldn’t be emotional about a racial justice issue, then I already know you don’t understand that issue. Because emotion is a natural response to oppression – and having someone judge how I feel about it just makes me feel worse.

For example, take microaggressions – small, subtle incidents of racism often done by people who don’t know they’re being racist. An example is someone telling me, “You’re pretty for a Black girl.”

It’s not the most egregious expression of racism, so you may wonder, “What’s the big deal?”

I’m upset, you’re confused, and the difference between our reactions isn’t just a matter of my being “oversensitive.” It’s a matter of privilege: You can learn about racism through secondhand sources, while I’ve directly experienced racism my entire life.

So it’s not up to you to decide what I should be offended by. Save your whitesplanation if you want to explain why I’m overreacting to a well-meaning compliment (which isn’t a compliment at all) by cringing at “you’re pretty for a Black girl.”

After I’ve dealt with microaggressions on a daily basis for so long, it’s just cruel to expect me to minimize my feelings about racism.

But wait – do my feelings make me biased? Maybe you want to have an “objective conversation,” a “rational debate,” without emotions getting in the way.

Like so many whitesplainers, you believe what you say is important because you have logic on your side. Objectivity is an understandable goal, but think about what it means to believe you’re the only one who can bring “reason” into the conversation.

The truth is that you’re just as biased as anyone else – your perspective is influenced by your own experiences and position of privilege. That also gives you a biased point of view on what “objectivity” means.

You’re approaching the conversation like a high school debate, as if this is just a harmless exercise in flexing our reasoning skills.

But when we’re talking about racial injustice, we’re actually addressing real issues with a negative impact on real people’s lives.

This isn’t the time to show off your debate skills just for the hell of it, or to play “devil’s advocate” when all you’re really doing is upholding the status quo. The phrase “the devil doesn’t need an advocate” comes to mind – since you’re siding with the dominant norm of white supremacy.

It’s tempting to wave around your “rational thought” that you think invalidates my feelings – but you’re not an authority on how I should feel about the issues that affect me.

3. You’re Concerned About My Approach (‘I Think What You Mean Is…’)

Whitesplainers are supposedly full of concern when they say I’d be better off, or a better advocate for racial justice, if I just said or did things differently.

For instance, have you ever felt the need to point out that a person of color was “generalizing” white people when they talked about racism?

If I say, “White people talk over me,” you might jump in with: “Not all white people. More people would listen to you if you didn’t generalize.”

And sure, I could amend my statement to: “Some white people talk over me. But not all of them. I know white people who don’t talk over me at all. And I’m sure the ones who do it don’t realize what they’re doing, and they don’t mean to be racist.”

Except there’s actually a problem with rushing to say that “not all white people” are part of the problem of white supremacy.

If I focused on reassuring every white person that they’re not personally responsible, then nobody would get the chance to examine how they might contribute – whether it’s by interrupting people of color, paying more attention to white folks who speak, or internalizing and benefiting from society’s messages that white people have more important things to say.

Your attempt to make sure I get the right message across may come from a good place. But the thing is – and do forgive me if this comes across as “generalizing” – people who whitesplain so often get things wrong, or at the very least, they miss the point.

It’s true that not every white person speaks over people of color – but blaming all white people for this phenomenon isn’t even the purpose of what I’m saying. If you don’t derail me to focus on protecting white people’s feelings, we could get to the real point of the problem – and what to do about it.

4. You Think You or Someone Else Is Being Falsely Accused (‘But I’m Not a Racist!’)

Speaking of derailments – when I’m talking about a racist act, I don’t have much interest in whether or not the person responsible is “a racist.”

If that sounds counterintuitive, then you could really use this clarification about addressing white supremacy: It’s not about identifying people as racists.

It’s also not about “bashing” white people – but you may interpret it that way if you’re feeling uncomfortable. And then you might whitesplain that people of color are “attacking” you for no reason.

When it comes to things like holding implicit biases and benefiting from white privilege, the question of whether or not someone is intentionally bigoted is completely irrelevant.

So you’re not under attack if a person of color is talking to you about race – not even if they’re calling you out for racism.

I remember one call-out in which writers of color let a white editor know how he’d contributed to racism in the publishing industry, and how he could do better.

Because it’s such a sensitive topic, many people interpret any mention of racism as a conflict – and this discussion was no different.

The editor’s friends immediately rallied to his defense, saying, “He doesn’t have a racist bone in his body!”

But nobody had even said this man was “a racist.” We simply pointed out that his actions had a harmful impact – and his being a good person wouldn’t make that impact vanish.

If you’re called out for racism and you take it as a personal attack on your character, you’re making the situation all about you – not the bigger picture of how all of us can take responsibility for our own role in white supremacy.

Your belief that someone “doesn’t have a racist bone in their body” can lead you to overlook the impact of what they’ve done and focus instead on their intentions.

In other words, you’re oversimplifying the issue, separating yourself from “the bad guys” and saying good people can’t possibly do something wrong.

Unfortunately, good people contribute to white supremacy every day – and if you can’t face the ways white supremacy influences your life, you’ll never be able to change it. That means you’ve got to stop focusing on your good nature and intentions, which has you prioritizing your feelings over people of color’s pain.

You’d have a much more positive impact if instead, you focused on addressing our very real, very valid concerns about how you’re contributing to our oppression.

So rather than whitesplaining the why of insensitive actions, try stepping back and listening to what only a person of color could tell you – how the actual impact of racist actions affect them.

If that makes you uncomfortable, it’s time to practice sitting with and learning from your discomfort instead of assuming that it means you’re under attack.

5. You Heard Another Person of Color Say Something Different (‘That’s Not What I Heard…’)

Listening to people of color is a great way to learn about racism. But please don’t just carry our quotes around like weapons to use against other marginalized folks.

Too many white people use this tactic to tell us that we’re wrong about racism – citing the Native friend who doesn’t mind cultural appropriation, or the Black celebrity who disagrees with Black Lives Matter protesters.

For instance, during Baltimore protests of the death of Freddie Gray, CNN’s Wolf Blitzer told activist DeRay McKesson, “I just want to hear you say there should be peaceful protests, not violent protests, in the tradition of Martin Luther King.”

Blitzer’s not the only one to take King’s words out of context to criticize police brutality protesters. This common trend shows exactly what’s wrong with using people of color’s words this way.

For one thing, Black people are not a monolith. We’re allowed to disagree. And your whiteness doesn’t grant you the authority to determine which one of us is right.

Because he advocated non-violent action, many people point to church-going, suit-wearing Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. as a symbol of how Black folks “should” behave – conveniently forgetting that King was assassinated for his beliefs and leadership.

Using King in this way also oversimplifies his life and his message – his words on riots actually show that he doesn’t condemn them as “misbehavior.”

He actually says: “As long as America postpones justice, we stand in the position of having these recurrences of violence and riots over and over again. Social justice and progress are the absolute guarantors of riot prevention.”

To understand violent riots, you have to understand the unjust conditions that create them.

And if you actually listen to people of color instead of exploiting our words to confirm your own biases, you can learn a lot more about our diverse experiences.

6. You Want Me to Stop Talking About Racism (‘You’re Being So Divisive’)

Let’s face it – there are several excuses for whitesplaining, from hurt feelings to so-called “concern,” but many people who whitesplain do it simply because they don’t want me to talk about race.

“You’re being divisive.” “We should be uniting.” “There’s no such thing as race – we’re all human!”

Whitesplaining is particularly dangerous when it’s used to shut down conversation and action against racism.

For instance, you might explain that you don’t disagree with the message of Black Lives Matter, but you think the phrase should be “all lives matter,” because that captures the fact that everyone deserves to be safe from violence.

This isn’t just a matter of harmlessly sharing your opinion about an issue of race. You’re spreading a perspective that comes from the privilege of being silent in the face of injustice.

There is an urgent need to protect Black people from a criminal justice system that doesn’t value our lives, and you’re dismissing a whole movement aimed at doing just that.

Right now, we don’t need your interrupting to remind us that white people matter, too. There are white people who have also been mistreated by police, and that’s not okay – but it doesn’t invalidate the fact that we need to address the racial bias that has people of color targeted by police violence at much higher rates.

It doesn’t change that people believe racist stereotypes about Black people as “thugs,” exonerate police officers who attack people of color, and find any number of reasons to blame the victim. It doesn’t erase this horrific example of institutional racism that treats Black lives like they don’t matter at all.

If you understood my life experience, you’d know why recognizing race and directly addressing racial injustice matters to me.

Here’s the Key to Avoiding Whitesplaining

Reading this all at once might give you the impression that avoiding whitesplaining is a complicated matter.

Holding back from correcting someone when you think they’re wrong, sitting with uncomfortable emotions when you feel like you’re under attack, stepping back when you think you could explain something better – all of this takes some self-control.

There’s one strategy that will help you figure it all out: Approach racial justice conversations with humility.

In all of these examples I’ve shared, white people think they’re telling me something that’s never occurred to me before.

But the thing is, I’ve heard these whitesplanations over and over again. None of them are original, and it’s a waste of my time (and yours) to do this dance again and again and treat them like they are.

It’s also arrogant and condescending to assume that you and I see things differently simply because you’ve got all the answers and I lack the capacity to understand my own experience.

It’s all a perfect example of what you’re missing when you think I need you to explain things to me.

Whether you want me to “calm down” so I get my message across, to clarify what I mean so I don’t hurt white people’s feelings, or to stop talking about race so you feel more comfortable, whitesplaining is not the answer.

Because regardless of your intentions, whitesplaining has a damaging impact – silencing people of color, shutting down vital racial justice conversations, and often spreading misinformation.

So rather than upholding an oppressive lie that says people of color need white saviors in order to have reasonable conversations, have some humility. Recognize that you don’t have all the answers, and people of color deserve space to be heard without white people talking over us.

Maisha Z. Johnson is the Digital Content Associate and Staff Writer of Everyday Feminism. You can find her writing at the intersections and shamelessly indulging in her obsession with pop culture around the web. Maisha’s past work includes Community United Against Violence (CUAV), the nation’s oldest LGBTQ anti-violence organization, and Fired Up!, a program of California Coalition for Women Prisoners. Through her own project, Inkblot Arts, Maisha taps into the creative arts and digital media to amplify the voices of those often silenced. Like her on Facebook or follow her on Twitter @mzjwords.

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