#graduating means i get to dust off my drawing skills

[pinkeoni]

YOU'RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THESE DICE MAN. THEY HAVE TWENTY SIDES BRO.

#pinkeoni art #my art #mike wheeler #byler #<- target audience #not my fav but eeehhhhh #pov you are in hawkins wrestling and the wierd gay kid is flirting with you by talking about dice #graduating means i get to dust off my drawing skills

[theheartsmistakes]

Any Other Name: Chapter 2

“Cordelia!” Her mother called up the stairs in a fake, chipper voice that held undercurrents of irritation Cordelia knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with their company. “Our guests are here. Why don’t you come down and help me set the table for dinner?”

If she took to yelling up the stairs at her rather than walking the staircase or sending her father to come and retrieve her, she must be considerably uncomfortable.

“I’m coming!” said Cordelia so no one could come after her and find her kneeling on the floor over a removed floorboard with a secret letter in her hands.

Quickly, she folded the paper, stuck it back under the floorboard, and pushed the wood plank back into its place before pushing herself to her feet and brushed the dust off of her hands. She grabbed her black cardigan from off the bed and threw it on as she twisted the knob and opened the door and nearly walked right into Augustus Pounceby.

A small shriek escaped her as she fell back against the door frame, cursing in Persian, and clutched her chest.

Augustus smirked. The last time she’d seen him he had an impossibly round face, buck teeth, and a lisp that made it difficult to understand him. They’d been twelve years old at the time, but she didn’t think people could change so much in five years. He’d lost the roundness of his youth, grew several inches, and his teeth were a normal size. His dirty blond hair was cut short at the sides, long on the top, and perfectly coifed with products. He wore a black button-up t-shirt with the buttons done up to his neck, over dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white trainers.

His smirk turned lascivious as his eyes roved over the length of her body, lingering on the bits her dress left exposed. She fought against the urge to close her cardigan around her.

“Pounceby,” said Cordelia by way of greeting. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude and a bit creepy to lurk outside of someone’s bedroom door?”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder into Lucie’s bedroom. “Your mother said that you’d give me a tour. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the infamous London Institute.”

Cordelia unceremoniously closed the bedroom door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, the movement made her step closer to Augustus. “No one’s ever invited you in before?”

“It wasn’t a matter of being invited,” said Augustus, not moving an inch to provide some space between them. “I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside of this place with those demon-blooded Herondale’s living here. You can still smell their taint all over this place.”

Cordelia shoved her shoulder into his chest as she moved around him, fighting against the urge to also knee him in the solar plexus while simultaneously breaking his nose with her elbow. Her father probably wouldn’t appreciate her getting Pounceby’s blood all over the floor and he’d most likely make her clean it up, so she decided against bloodshed for tonight and keep things— cordial.

“Allow me to give you a tour then,” said Cordelia pointing to the walls as she walked towards the stairs. "This is the hallway and these are the--" She looked over her shoulder and realized Augustus wasn’t following her.

“What’s down this way?” He asked, nodding towards the other end of the hall.

She hadn’t bothered to wander farther than Lucie’s old bedroom. It felt wrong like she needed an invitation to go farther. There were two more doors at the end. One used to be a study and the other had been James’s bedroom.

She’d only ever been in there once the last time her family came to London for a visit. Lucie had gone on a trip to Paris with her Aunt Cecily, but James stayed home due to some punishment after an incident that happened at the Academy. James never told her and she never asked. Not that she could have, from a young age she was so enamored by James that she often found it difficult to form coherent sentences when she was around him. He was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. With his raven black hair, always unruly and curling at all ends like it’d been worked and shaped by the wind and his eyes, like golden flecks of sunlight framed by thick dark lashes. She remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, and he always smiled at her.

They spent that entire week reading, wandering around the Institute, pretending to battle each other with the baguettes Tessa brought home for dinner. It'd started as the worst summer of her existence and ended as one she would never forget.

Warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory of it. “There’s nothing down there. Come on, they’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

“The men are talking in the old, stuffy drawing room,” said Augustus as he turned on his heel and walked leisurely down the hall. “Come on, Carstairs. It’s your house now, you can do whatever you want in it.”

“I want to go downstairs and help my mum set the table,” said Cordelia, crossing her arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait just a moment,” drawled Pounceby. “Isn’t this goat eye's old bedroom?”

Cordelia glared. "Who?"

"James."

Cordelia bristled at the rude name he'd given James. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“My interest is peaked is all.”

“Some infatuation of yours with James, Pounceby?” smirked Cordelia. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered, but somehow I doubt you’re his type.”

Augustus put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked.”

Relief swept through Cordelia. “That’s settled then. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Why is it locked?” Augustus tried the door again. “What’s in there?”

“How am I supposed to know. I did just tell you I haven't been there." Cordelia dragged her feet as she came beside him to try the door herself. It was, in fact, locked. “I’ll tell my father about it at dinner and he can find the key, or something.”

Augustus narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you hiding something in here?”

Cordelia’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“It was no secret you were a Herondale and downworlder sympathizer,” he said with a sneer that once again made Cordelia want to shove his face into the wall. “Is there a reason you don’t want me going in here?”

Cordelia’s empty hands clenched around the fabric of her cardigan to keep from swinging out against her will. “If you want to look stupid for claiming that my father has anything to hide from the Clave by dragging them away from their drinks to come up here and open a door that’s obviously been locked from the inside, only to find that it is as empty as all the rest?” She stepped aside so there was room for him to go around her. “Please, by all means, be my guest. I was really hoping for quality entertainment tonight and to see the look of disappointment on your father’s face will be well worth the wait.”

Augustus held her gaze for just a moment longer before he released his grip on the door and walked past her, whispering the word ‘bitch’ in a volume that was just loud enough for her to hear.

She’d been called worse.

When he was far enough down the hallway, she gave the doorknob another attempt, but just as before it wouldn’t budge.

Curious, she thought and tucked the anomaly away for a later time.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, there she is!” Her father said as Cordelia descended the stairs. Now with the lights all burning in their sconces from the wall, casting shadows from the chandeliers, they gave the Institute back some semblance of the warmth that Cordelia remembered when she would visit. It still felt odd without any Herondale presence; she half expected Will to come bursting through the door in a rage about the city traffic and Tessa to follow behind him with her genuine smile.

But the front door remained closed, much to Cordelia’s dismay, as she slowly sank from the last step.

“Cordelia, you remember Inquisitor Bridgestock?” said her father with a tight smile.

Cordelia looked to the tall man standing before her. He always reminded her of a toad with his round face, bulbous eyes, and thin mouth. He even had a rather large wart at the start of his right eyebrow.

“Well, Elias, what a beauty your daughter has become,” said the Inquisitor, folding his hands in front of himself, not even bothering to shake hers, because why would he? Perhaps he thought her dainty little hands couldn’t withstand his masculine dynamism.

She fought hard not to roll her eyes at her thoughts and plastered a smile across her face. “Oh yes, I remember him well.”

“And our new Consul, Marcus Pounceby?”

Her eyes shifted to the man standing beside the Inquisitor. He did offer her his hand, and when she placed it into his smooth palm, she could not feel a single callous on his fingers or palm. It made her wonder when the last time he trained, or patrolled, or held a weapon for that matter. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. A European custom and she was in Europe, but it still made her feel uneasy, small. At least, he wasn’t trying to kiss both of her cheeks like the French, which she didn’t mind, it just all depended on the person. Lucie and James’s cousin Anna was privy to that custom and with her, Cordelia didn’t mind it in the least.

“My son wouldn’t stop raving about you when he learned about your arrival,” said the Consul. “He spoke of your bravery, your skill, we are very lucky to have you back in England. He graduated from the Academy with top marks and has shown himself to lead a powerful squadron of Shadowhunters. You should speak to him about going out on raids together. He can show you around town.”

Her eyes flashed to Augustus, standing beside his father, looking rather bumptious. When she didn’t say anything for a good long time, her father nudged her with his elbow. “That would be delightful.”

She’d only used the word delightful possibly twice in her life. It tasted like poison coming out of her mouth, but it did its job. They both looked pleased with her which made it all the more difficult not to vomit on their shiny oxfords.

Only her father, who was attuned to her sarcasm and indifference after being the victim of it for sixteen years, noted the tone of her voice.

“Where is your son?” inquired the Consul.

“He stayed in Tehran to oversee the Institute until the new family moves in,” said her father. “He’ll be joining us just as soon as their settled.”

“Excellent,” said the Inquisitor. “Another student of the academy that succeeded with top marks. We could use him on the streets while this issue with the Downworlders is in effect and in meetings regarding demon and downworlder business. He had some dealing of his own with the Herondale boy, did he not?”

Cordelia looked to her father for an answer. She knew Alastair and James went to the academy at the same time and didn’t necessarily get along. Then some incident happened that resulted in James’ expulsion, but she didn’t know what that had to do with Alastair. He never told her even though she asked him nearly a hundred times.

Elias shifted a step so he stood closer to Cordelia. “Alastair only spoke of how troubled James was.” His eyes flashed to Cordelia. A warning and a plead not to say a word.

“Yes, well, with the filth that runs in that family’s blood it is no wonder he was capable of causing such a disturbance. He shouldn’t have been accepted into the academy in the first place,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock.

Cordelia bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Elias?” asked Bridgestock.

Elias breathed through his nose and straightened his shoulders. “Of course. Now that we’ve all been reacquainted, why don’t we move this discussion into the dining room. Sona has been slaving away in the kitchen for the better part of our move-in day to make this dinner special. Cordelia, please go help your mother.”

Cordelia gave them a half-hearted curtsy and dipped out of the entryway towards the hall that led to the kitchen. Upon noticing her angelic energy, the lights in the sconces along the walls flickered on with several distinct clinks and filled the space with a subtle glow. Cordelia put her hand on the swinging door that led into the kitchen where her mother, with a large ladle in hand, poured some kind of broth over the sliced pork chops lined neatly on a silver platter.

“I can’t do it,” said Cordelia as soon as the door swung shut again. “They are absolutely incorrigible. They called the Herondale’s filthy.”

Sona set the bowl of broth down on the crowded counter and started to pull the leaves off from a sprig of thyme. “You already knew they felt this way, Cordelia. This should not come as a surprise.”

“Yes, but to hear them say it out loud makes my skin crawl.” She picked up the serving fork and stabbed it into a pork chop. “I can’t even say anything to defend them. I just have to nod my head at all of their slurs. I might as well be stabbing my friends in the back.”

Sona wiped her hands on the cloth hanging over her shoulder as she turned to Cordelia. “Your friends know you, they know your truth, and they would want for you to protect yourself. If the situation was reversed and it was our family that had been banished, what would you want from James and Lucie?” After a moment, when Cordelia didn’t answer, Sona continued, “I knew Tessa well. She was a good friend. I know that if the situation was reversed, I would want Tessa to protect her family.”

“She was a good friend?” Cordelia emphasized the second word without looking at her mother. “Maybe I would want James and Lucie to protect themselves and not be banished like me, but I know I wouldn’t want them to stop seeing me as their friend.”

Sona opened her mouth and sighed. “Cordelia—“

“Let’s just feed the monsters so they can leave.” Cordelia picked up the platter of steaming pork chops and started towards the swinging door, leaving her mother to look as dejected as Cordelia felt.

Once in the dining room, still decorated in Tessa’s elegant taste with gold and white herons flying across the wallpaper with holly in their beaks, Cordelia set the platter of pork onto the center of the mighty oak table. The chandelier hung low with sphere-shaped crystals that cast rainbows across the walls when the light from the large arched window at the west side of the room hit them. The table was set for only six people tonight with Elias at the head closest to the window.

Cordelia had no choice but to sit beside Augustus, as all the other spots had been taken.

Sona followed in after her, free now of her emerald green apron and kitchen towels, carrying a plate of scorched rice and another plate of fresh-herb Kuku-- Cordelia’s favorite. A twinge of guilt went through her as she noticed the plates of comfort food her mother had prepared for no one else, but Cordelia.

“Sorry about the wait, gentlemen,” said Sona as she placed the food on the table. “I hope you’re all hungry and wish to expand your palettes. These are all dishes from Tehran. We thought you might like to experience something from our home.”

Augustus looked at the green pie-shaped dish placed directly in front of him as if it might come to life and attack him.

“It’s called Kuku,” said Cordelia, serving herself a large piece before anyone else. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s green,” said Augustus and looked to his father for help.

Consul Pounceby just laughed. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for us. We would have been happy with fish and chips or a nice shepherds pie.” He forked a piece of pork onto his plate with a small helping of scorched rice.

"What kind of pie?" asked Cordelia with a mouth full of Kuku.

“I thought it might be nice to have something from home for our first night here,” said Sona.

“It’s looks wonderful, darling,” said Elias.

The conversation took a small reprieve as everyone ate their meals. Metal forks clinked against plates and ice rattled around in glassware in the silence. Marcus Pounceby chewed with his mouth open and took a particular fondness to the Kuku, though his son took one bite and then refused to acknowledge it again. Inquisitor Bridgestock proceeded to take a drink of his wine after each bite to clear his throat. Cordelia felt a brief sense of satisfaction at the light sheen of sweat that coated his brow after having a piece of pork.

“We’re not used to such flavors here in England,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock, dabbing his face with his napkin. “It’s quite exotic.”

“I may have gone a bit heavy handed on the peppers,” said Sona as she soaked a piece of her pork in the sauce. “Can I get anyone some water or milk, perhaps?”

Cordelia forced herself not to laugh.

“Milk?” inquired Marcus. “Does that help?”

“It does,” said Sona.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bridgestock patted his distended stomach. “I’m quite finished as is. If I drink a glass of milk you’ll have to roll me out the door or call my wife and have her come drive me home.”

“How is Mary Beth?” asked Sona. “It’s a shame she couldn’t come tonight. I did look forward to seeing her again.”

Another easy lie from her mother. The last time Mary Beth and Sona met, Sona couldn’t stop talking about what a deplorable know-it-all with questionable moral Mary Beth was and how the Bridgestock’s may have not been the best family to adopt the young Ariadne girl. To go from such strong feelings towards the Bridgestock's to inquiring about her as if her absence was missed surprised Cordelia. Her mother’s ability to be so languid never ceased to amaze her.

“She’s well. She simply didn’t want to be present for a bunch of Clave talk.” Bridgestock wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not when she had a previously schedules game of bridge with some of the other wives. You should go sometime, Sona.”

Her mother’s tight smile was all Cordelia needed to know. She’d been invited to a few bridge games and attended one thinking that at least Tessa would be there and she’d have someone to talk to, but when she got home Sona looked exhausted and explained that all the women at the bridge club did was gossip, smoke, and drink expensive wine. There was not one game of bridge to be played. She then went into a rather hilarious impression of the Inquisitor's wife, with her pinched face and animated hands that may have been slightly exaggerated, but had even Alastair snickering.

“Perhaps when things are a bit more settled,” said Sona and took a long drink from her water glass.

“That reminds me,” said Marcus as he placed his napkin on the table, “we’ve interrupted your move in day. We apologize. We’ll get out of your way just as soon as we finish some business with Elias. Should we retire to the study, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” said Bridgestock as he rose from the table. “There is much to discuss regarding this Downworlder business. We’ll need to brief you on some of the changes we’re making regarding the laws and how we are expecting those on patrol to be our inforcers. We’d appreciate your opinion on a few of these matter before we hold the official Clave meeting in two weeks.”

“Uh, yes,” said Elias as he stood from the table too. “Cordelia, would you mind helping your mother with the dishes and then come and join us—“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said the Inquisitor. “Our talk will just bore her. We can explain everything to her at the official meeting with the rest of the Clave.”

Elias’s grip flexed on his dining room chair. “My daughter will be one of those patrolling the streets of your city. I would like for her to be prepared and understand what is expected of her.”

“Kill demons and any downworlders that dares to step out of line,” whispered Augustus under his breath. “Not much else left to understand.”

Demons can take the shape of many things, she thought. Even privileged, annoying boys.

She might be able to plead her case against the Clave if she were to accidentally stab him.

“It will all be explained at the meeting,” continued Bridgestock. “Until then, Cordelia will not be allowed to patrol alone and will instead train with Augustus.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the pinched look that took over her face. Her mother nudged her underneath the table before anyone could see her.

The men filed out of the dining room, leaving their half-cleared plates of food for Cordelia and Sona to clean up. They piled the dishes and separated the silverware in silence before carting everything back into the kitchen.

Sona turned on the faucet over the deep bucket sink and held her hand under it waiting for the water to warm while Cordelia continued to bring plates in and set them on the small island.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock that stood in the hallway each time she passed it. Only two more hours and she could find Lucie. Finally, there would be someone she could speak freely about all of this to and not constantly be shut down; told to smile, and bear it.

The large hand steadily clicked on, but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

A/N:

This chapter does include some artistic license. To make it relative to the times, I changed it from James having to stay home from a Paris trip due to being expelled from school rather than being sick with the Scarlet Fever.

I also made up Augustus's appearance. It is not canon. It's just how he looks in my head.

Also I have no clue what Inquisitor Bridgestock's wife's name is so I'm calling her Mary Beth.

Comments and hearts are ALWAYS appreciated!

Next update comes out in two weeks: May 28

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #cassandra clare #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #lucie herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs

[boymeetsweevil]

MBD - 04

Grouping: Reader x Yoongi

Word Count: <8k

Summary: Three lessons to be learned: 1) don’t read the comments. Ever. 2) Baking will never let you down. 3) Don’t tease Yoongi.

Warnings/Themes: Angst?? Heavy doses of body image and related unhealthy behaviors, low self-esteem, cyberbullying? May be triggering for some. Some suggestive content. A jealous Yoongi.

part 0, part 1, part 2, part 3

A few more days pass through your break from work. Yoongi stayed with you the morning after coming back from the club to help you nurse your hangover, but he’d been in the dorms and studio since then. This left you with extra time on your hands.

In that time, you visited your best friend and your cousin who both lived deeper in the city, a mere hour’s ride from your apartment in the outskirts. You also got ahead on some work despite the fact that your boss gave you strict warnings about fully enjoying the break after seeing how hard you worked on the project for the quarter. But eventually you ran out work you could do and had nothing left but Netflix and the internet.

As it turns out, being alone with the internet ends up being a horrible set of circumstances. Curiosity and boredom get the best of you, and you find yourself breaking a cardinal rule.

You google Yoongi to see what pops up and get recent news about him being spotted with a lady friend. You know better, but optimism pulls you in and you’re opening up one of the articles. Apparently a fan that snuck into the VIP booth snapped a picture of you dancing with him at the club you went to a few days prior. Yoongi looks handsome with his bare face half obscured by his mask and a soft expression as he looks at you. But you let out a raspy gasp at your picture.

The only good thing about the photo is that your face is turned away from the camera, leaving your identity barely undiscovered. But your neck is coated with sweat, gleaming under the club lights. In the picture, the dance-move you’re doing is frozen, awkward and contorted, your body looks all wrong. With the powerful camera flash, you can see all the spots on your clothes where sweat had accumulated, all the spots where your amateur makeup skills failed. There’s no grace, no elegance, no dignity afforded to you in the photo.  It’s not the first time you’ve seen of yourself in a random pap site or careless photos. But it’s by far the worst one you’ve seen.

Like a magnet is drawing you there, even though your stomach already feels like shards of ice are forming inside it, you break a second cardinal rule. You read the comments.

It’s amazing that she feels comfortable looking like that when there’s a literal GOD standing next to her. I could never do that. I wouldn’t even leave the house

Why is something like this allowed when there are much prettier girls to pick from?

I don’t think Yoongi would be stupid enough to date this girl, the picture probably just makes it look like they’re together when they’re obvi not

actually I think this is the same girl in that ##0524 photo. Look (image01) same hairstyle and earrings. I think she just turned into a blimp...

Guys plz be nice u don’t know this person. Maybe she has a really great personality

so? This is what she gets for trying too hard to cling to Yoongi

Yo it’s prolly cuz she’s rich. You see those leggings? I didn’t even think they made them in that size but they’re from that brand IU wears. And they’re like $250 :0

She wasn’t even that pretty before this but now I REALLY don’t get it. Yoongi~~ there are skinnier girls who would suit u better

Load 675 more...

You slam your laptop shut before fumbling for your phone. Breathing levelly, you’re the picture of eerie calm with the exception of the way your hands tremble. You pull up your text messages to text your best friend when you stop yourself. While the company knows that you’re dating, you’re not allowed to disclose any information about Yoongi or the relationship to any third parties. To the public he’s still single despite his dating clause having expired long before you even met. And there’s no way to explain what you’re going through to your friend without bringing up your secret boyfriend’s stardom.

So who can you turn to, you wonder. You can’t tell your friends. You can’t tell your mother either. As much as you love her, she’d spill the secret in minutes out of well-meaning pride. And there’s no way you can tell Yoongi.

Taking a deep breath in through your nose, you hold it for as long as you can before shoving a pillow over your face and screaming.  All that’s left to show for the few minutes you spend screaming is the fact that you feel about 1% better and your now-hoarse voice. But the relief doesn’t last. The relief leaves room for heat to rise on your skin. Annoyance fills all your empty spaces. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and feel more anger.

Maybe you just aren’t working hard enough and people can just see that. Maybe you just aren’t being productive, you haven’t earned your spot yet. You hop off the bed and look around the room, almost frantic in your search for something to work on and actually improve.

Start with a deep clean, you tell yourself.

Two days later when Yoongi comes over, you’re still in the process of purging your tiny apartment.

“What’s all this,” he kicks gently at the garbage bags full of clothes littering the walkway to your bedroom. You jump at the sound of his voice, having forgotten that he mentioned coming over.

“I’m just doing some tidying up. I started with towel folding videos on YouTube and ended up realizing I have a hoarding problem.”

“I don’t think having dust bunnies under your bed counts as hoarding, but okay.” He searches for some space on your bed to sit in. The duvet’s surface is also covered in a mixture of old clothes and little knick knacks you’ve had since before you graduated college. “I didn’t realize you had so many clothes.”

You watch him pick up a spaghetti string top that you hadn’t gotten around to sorting yet. He gestures towards the two trash bags full of clothes on the floor.

“Put it in that one,” you point to the one furthest from the bed.

“Is this the donate pile?” He folds the shirt almost neatly and places it on the top of the other items with a sympathetic pat.

“Uh, no.”

“Then what is it? Looks like you already have everything you’re keeping,” he peers into your stocked closet.

“That’s actually the...inspiration pile,” you explain quietly.

“What?”

“It’s the stuff I'm gonna keep as motivation for me to lose weight.”

“Oh,” you’re surprised to see what looks like faint disappointment in Yoongi’s eyes as your words register. “I mean...makes sense.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean that’s one route you could take.”

“Is there another route?”  You turn to face him fully from your spot on the ground with a confused smile. The shoes you were organizing lay unattended.

“Well, you could not lose the weight,” he shrugs.

You avert your gaze to the ceiling, as if the true meaning of his words will be scribed there. It sounds as though he’s suggesting you don’t try to get back down to where you were before the huge project your boss assigned you, but you figure that can’t be it.

“I just mean that you could donate these,” he points at the clothes in the inspiration pile. “Some of them look like they’re brand new—I’ve never even seen you in them. And you could just get some new clothes.”

“You mean like ones that fit me now?”

“Or like before.” He shrugs. “Your style was nice, I don’t know why you changed it.”

“It changed because nothing I had before fits now. So I have to wear this other stuff.” You’re talking about the shapeless sweaters and the monotonous greyscale pants.

“You don’t have to.”

He makes a valid point, but it’s a small one. Besides, there’s something else you’re digging for. “So you really think I should buy bigger clothes?”

“Yes,” he says, like it’s so simple.

“Okay...but these clothes are supposed to be there to motivate me to lose the weight. If I just get a new wardrobe, that’ll mean the motivation is gone.”

“Okay,” he draws out the syllables while waiting to hear what your point is.

“That means I’ll stay like this.”

“What do you mean ‘like this’? What’s wrong with that?”

Your fists clench at your side as you think back to the photos of you in the club. And the comments from the netizens all saying roughly the same thing. With the puzzled way he stands there and looks at you, you feel another wave of frustration rise up. Did he really not see what was happening? Was he really going to make you say it?

“Hey,” he peers down at the veins rearing against the skin of your hands. “I mean it. What’s wrong?”

He gets up like the discussion is about to go somewhere but his phone ringing loudly with the little jingle reserved for one of his producer buddies stops the conversation in its tracks. You take this as a moment to shoo him out your place before your head explodes. Yoongi looks conflicted, he truly does. Still, he answers the call dutifully and gives a few affirmative words to assure that he is going to be at the studio soon and is ready to work. The call is short, but the mood is still tense like an angry, trapped breath.

“I have, like, 5 more minutes before I have to go—”

“You know what? Never mind. You’re clearly busy with studio stuff and I’m...busy too.”

With steely eyes, you take the clothes he was trying to help you with and add them to your own pile. He picks up the few things he brought with him in his brief visit and eyes you like he wants to say more. His gaze lingers over the sides of your face like a regretful touch and you turn to the side to shrug it off.

Another beep from his phone shatters the gossamer thin atmosphere further. He sighs and pulls his phone back out before hunching his shoulders.

“Can I use your laptop to check my email really quickly before I go? They just sent me a file and I can’t open it on my—”

“Yeah, yeah, just take it with you. I don’t need it,” you cut him off and wave a hand in the direction of your computer.

He looks almost upset when he gathers your laptop in his arms with the rest of his things, but doesn’t push the issue any further. The air is too tight for anything, even a genuine goodbye. Your throat is sore with oncoming angry tears and you just want him out.

The door shuts behind him softly, in place of the usual goodbye kiss. You wait until you know he’s gone let it all out.

*** Yoongi opens your laptop when he’s in the back of the car taking him to the studio. It takes him a minute to remember your password, but he logs on with minimal difficulty and the last thing you were looking at pops up obediently.

The rest of your break from work passes without a visit from Yoongi again. It’s not a coincidence. It’s because you turned your phone off for 48 hours and even after you turn it back on, you mute all other notifications and only look at it to check your work email and tell your friends that you’re ‘unplugging for a bit’.

In that time, you get all your clothes sorted. You burn through an entire fitness-based podcast series.  You declutter your whole apartment. But there’s still an unpleasant buzzing under your skin that doesn’t go away. Even with the reintroduction of at-home cardio and the shady water fast you did that promised a lifted mood and a loss of 2 pounds.

Then you’re home from work one day, and you find yourself pacing all around the rooms of your place. You’re fed up with bottling things up, but you don’t know what to do with this knowledge. Yes, it’s nice to realize that everything you’d been chasing wasn’t worth the torture you put yourself through, but you can’t seem to get any further. So you try baking. And when that doesn’t put you at ease immediately, you break down and call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up immediately. Part of you is surprised because he’s been working on new mixtape stuff and when that happens he’s usually unreachable. But another part of you isn’t surprised because, to him, you dropped off the face of the earth after a near-argument and he’s still technically on break from promotions for a little while longer. There’s no reason not to be answering the phone. In spite of all this, his tone is a tentative mix of concern and relief that has you blinking in confusion before curtly telling him you wanted to talk at your place.

He arrives in a defensive cocoon of layers and squared off features. Only one of the two he sheds at the coat rack by your front door before going to find you in the kitchen, just finishing shoving dozens of muffins into the oven.

“Hey,” he says after clearing his throat to make his presence known.

“Hey.” You turn around and remove the oven mitts you’re wearing. “We need to talk about some things.”

“I know,” he chuckles humorlessly. “I saw that shit on your computer.”

Your brow furrows in thought as you recall the last thing you used your laptop for. Recollection comes eventually. Briefly you wonder if Yoongi read past the top comments. If he gave into the urge to comb through every single one to satisfy morbid curiosity. You nod.

“It definitely has to do with that.”

“Fuck what those people are saying. You don’t need to change or to—to keep an inspiration pile.”

At that, you groan. Your fingers tap on the countertop impatiently. “Can you please stop saying stuff like that?”

“What? That you’re perfect the way you are?” He spits.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“Why wouldn’t it be true?”

Frustrated tears well up in the corners of your eyes because while you get that this isn’t an issue he’d ever have to worry about, part of you still don’t understand how he doesn’t get it. He’s trying so hard to be a good, romantic boyfriend that he doesn’t even see how much he misses. It’s supposed to be comforting, you’re sure, but it only infuriates you.

“Because I don’t fucking match you like this!”

He jumps at the sound of your raised voice, eyes wide. “Match me? What the hell?”

“You heard me,” you mumble.

“Yeah, I fucking heard you, but it still doesn’t make any sense. You’re not signed to some stupid contract, you’re not mandated to do anything with your body.”

“Haven’t I, though? I signed that fucking non-disclosure agreement after all. And I get a fucking angry call from your PR agents every time I show up in your pap photos, even though my face is never in them.” At this point you’re pacing again. This time it’s in tight circles in front of your fridge. “You said it yourself, you saw those awful comments. You saw how mad people get when I don’t show myself in just the right way. Those fans ripped me apart, Yoongi.” Your voice cracks and you curse yourself for being an angry crier. Crossing your arms around yourself, you try your best to beat back the tears.

“So you’re going to let a few fans tell you how to feel?”

“A few fans?” You’re close to laughter. “Try six hundred comments on one photo. Six hundred comments about the person who isn’t even the celebrity. And then multiply that by the number of times someone’s caught me at an unflattering angle or when I was bloating or when I started gaining weight back for real. Do the fucking math, Yoongi.”

That shuts him down instantly. Immediately worry replaces the incredulity. “I—how many times has this happened? Is this not the first time?”

You sigh at his ignorance. “No, but this is first time I was dumb enough to read the comments.”

“Why didn’t you say anything the first time something like this happened?” Yoongi’s face is full of distraught guilt. It’s hard for you to look at.

“What do you want me to say? Did you really want to hear me say all this stuff about some of your fans? These are people that love you. And you love them.”

“I love you, too. You know that,” he whispers, voice raw with emotion.

You can only sigh again because you do know. He does love you. He loves you perhaps too much. At this point, it seems like he’s so infatuated with you that he can’t fathom that people would have issues with you. But he’s also so in love with his career that you don’t have the heart to show him the things you’re facing. The dissonance would be too much to add to his already-full plate. And knowing Yoongi, he might do something stupid and get himself in trouble with his own fans. You’d hate to be the cause of something like that in his career.

The oven beeps and you use that as an excuse to escape the way his eyes shine as he contemplates just how much he wasn’t aware of until now.

He leans on the doorframe to watch you pull out the muffins from the oven and drop them unceremoniously onto the stovetop. The muffins are perfectly golden-brown and give off a warm, sweet scent that fills the kitchen quickly. You stand silent with your back to him, shoulders rising with the careful breaths you’re forcing yourself to take.

“Do you still love me,” his voice is small when it floats over to you.

“Ughh,” you claw at your face with your oven mitts. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked you over if I didn’t. But...you have to understand that this is hard for me.”

“And what is ‘this’?

You turn and lean back against the counter, gesturing vaguely with a gloved hand. “This idol thing.” He tilts his head, not understanding. “I just mean that you have this amazing image because you’re out in the spotlight and I don’t want to sully that for you by...not looking like I should.”

“Why do you care about what other people think so much?”

“That’s so easy for you to say when people love you and you look like that. It’s different for regular people.” Your voice cracks once more as the shine lighting up your eyes breaks and runs down your cheeks. “It’s different because I’m already not deserving of you in their eyes. I can’t be regular and not look perfect.”

His hard demeanor softens at the sound of your sniffles and he comes to pull you into his chest, smoothing over your back. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“I know that,” you sob. “I know that there’s nothing wrong with me, but you’ve seen what people say on those stupid forums. No amount of self-confidence could protect anyone from that shit.”

“Can I ask you something,” he says softly after a few aching moments of listening to you try to rein in your breathing.

“Y-yeah.”

“Who are the most important people in your life?”

“Huh?” You look up at him with watery lashes and he wonders how you could ever find fault with what you see in the mirror.

“Whose opinion matters to you most?”

“I don’t know,” you rub wet cheeks against the fabric of his top and think. “My boss since he pays me, obviously. And coworkers, I guess. My friends, definitely. My family, although they’re pretty easy to ignore.” He snorts. “A-and you,” you add on at the end hastily.

He gives you a sad smile when you look up at him. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I mean...doesn’t how you feel matter? You just listed a bunch of other people.”

“Of course what I feel matters,” you say suddenly. You push back from him to clear your head. The tears have stopped flowing, though your cheeks are still wet. “I just can’t go through the world only ever hearing or caring about what I think. But I like myself, Yoongi.”

He nods seriously.

“Even if it doesn’t seem like it because I’m shy sometimes, or quiet. I like myself. But it still hurts to have people tell me they think I shouldn’t. I’m not the type of person who doesn’t react when people attempt to hurt me. That’s the part that hurts the most, I think. Knowing that it was their goal all along.”

“I get that. Or,” He purses his lips, “I think I do. I want to get it, anyway.”

You give him a weak smile because he’s cute, even in moments like this.

He squeezes your hand before bringing it to his lips. It’s not quite a kiss, just him brushing his lips against your skin while he talks. “But I still want to be there for you. And I hate that I could only guess when you were hurting.”

“I should have told you, but I was embarrassed.”

“Why would you be embarrassed?” He moves back to pull up a chair at your dining room table. His gaze is genuine and engaged as he looks to you for an answer.

“I’ve been dieting since the company approved us dating privately. This is the first time I’ve been...normal around you. I was worried you’d have this epiphany. That I’m not who you thought I was.”

“Do you remember the first night we met,” he asks all of the sudden.

“Yeah? You came to visit me at work and freaked my supervisor out. She still has that napkin you autographed.”

“That’s not the first night we met,” he shakes his head and chuckles. “We first met at my party. The one your cousin brought you to.”

“Oh, god. I hardly remember that, I was so drunk. I think I blocked it out.”

“You looked like this back then,” he smiles softly at you, memories of that night settling over the surroundings as they play out in front of him.

“Yeah, I know,” you nod softly, eyes averted.

“And you were so pretty that night too.” His gaze turns slightly salacious. “In that little shiny dress you wore—what ever happened to that?”

“You’re dumb,” you shove him with a simpering smile. He merely grins before pulling you slightly closer towards where he’s seated at the kitchen table.

“You still have it?”

“Oh my god, leave me alone.”

He leans into your space, making you duck your head to hide the way your cheeks flare up at his personal attention. Seeing you like this makes something coil in his belly. In due time, he thinks as he backs off. In due time, he’ll really give it to you. But in the meantime he behaves and doesn’t do anything more than intertwine your fingers together.

“I’m donating the clothes from the inspiration bag,” you mumble into his hair.

He pulls back and is careful to keep his face neutral. “Yeah?”

“I did a lot of thinking. And I realized that I don’t think I can say I really like myself if I keep forcing myself into this...mold.”

His brows furrow, lips pouting prettily as he focuses on following your train of thought. “So, what does that mean now?”

“So, this is me. For a long time probably, unless something major happens. I’m telling you so it can sink in. This is your out.”

“Okay,” he stands up from his chair slowly. Large, warm hands come to cup your face tenderly. “And this is me telling you I don’t want an out.”

“Okay,” you breathe out a sigh of relief so deep you don’t know where it came from.

“Glad that much is worked out,” he says before planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Can I have a muffin?”

You roll your eyes but go and get a plate from the cabinet. He watches you carefully as you hesitate at the oven before gingerly putting two muffins on the plate. When you return to the table, you mumble something about just wanting to see if they came out good and he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a bite of one of your rare instances of culinary genius. He lets out a moan that makes your eyes widen and you take a bite before nodding to yourself.

“Just open a bakery already,” he says with a semi-full mouth and reaches out with grabby hands until you get the message to leave your chair. He pulls you into his lap and you try not to feel too self-conscious as you settle your thighs on top of his own. His hand lands on top of your lap casually, large hands splaying out on top to squeeze affectionately at the softness he finds there.

You worry you’re cutting off the blood supply to his legs but he sits happily with you in his lap and even kicks a little rhythm out while finishing his muffin. You get up and he snags the untouched part of your muffin before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

There’s a stream of messages in the group chat asking about his whereabouts and what he wants to do tonight. He answers that he’s with you and the other members all complain about how long it’s been since you visited them. Jungkook even tells Yoongi to bring you over to his place since they’re having a small kickback with just themselves and your post-break workload is still light. He purses his lips and asks for a raincheck, not wanting to push you into being on just yet.

***

A few days pass and the messages get more and more annoying as the other members whine about not having seen neither Yoongi nor you in far too long. So during one of the last days of their break, while he’s trying to dictate a cookie recipe to you, he breaks down at the 13th ping from his phone in a short period.

“Do you want to come hang out with me and the guys tonight?”

Normally if you’re invited over, you jump at the chance because you love getting out of your apartment and you like seeing Yoongi in his element with the people he’s closest to. But you don’t jump on the invitation now because it’s been so long since you last saw the guys and you know that you looked different then.

“I don’t know,” you fold toasted almonds into the cookie dough.

“Why not?”

“You know why,” you sigh. “And as nice as they are, I don’t really want to deal with the ‘did you do something with your hair’ or ‘wow you look so different’ comments.”

“They’re not gonna say that, they’re not total assholes. Look, if anyone says or does anything stupid, I’ll rip them a new one and take you back here.”

You purse your lips while you think it over. “And then will you stay the night?”

“If something stupid happens, I’ll cancel my studio appointment and stay over,” he smiles at you, eyes crinkling. “I’ll tell them we’re on our way now.”

“I can’t leave now,” your hands flutter up as you go from 0 to 60. “I’m a mess, I need to—”

“It’s just the guys. There’s literally no one there worth impressing. I would know.”

“Fine,” you groan. “Just let me change. I’m covered in flour.”

In your room, you find yourself unsure of what to put on. You no longer have any of the clothes you used to wear when you needed to feel like you objectively looked good. But you do have the gorgeous leggings Yoongi gifted you. You switch out your current shirt for a cleaner one and slip on a pair you’ve become obsessed with.

Yoongi punches in the code to the front door of Jungkook’s apartment while you hold the tin of cookies you made. Your fingers slip against the container due to having grown a bit clammy on the ride over. It took a heinous amount of time to wrap them in a way that would keep them warm all during the ride across the city. And now you’re nervous despite the fact that Yoongi sensed it in the car and hurled reassurance after reassurance at you.

But when Namjoon pulls the door open and greets both of you with a smile and a hug and no weird looks, you let out a tiny sigh of relief.

The guys crowd around you after Yoongi announces that you baked. Hoseok mumbles to himself about Yoongi hiding you purposefully so he could hoard your baking and takes two cookies for good measure. Jungkook says thank you politely before splitting one with Jimin. Taehyung takes two for himself and Namjoon and tells you ‘welcome back’. While the rest of the members snack, you count off the remaining sweets in the container and realize you didn’t give any to Jin.

The oldest member is standing in the hallway, drinking from a glass of water and scrolling through his phone when you find him. He must not have gotten the memo that you arrived, so you make your presence known by softly clearing your throat.

“Long time no see,” you smile at Jin.

He peers at you over the rim of his glass for a few long beats and you work to keep your smile natural. You can’t help but worry that he’s looking at the way you’ve has changed since he last saw you, chiseling away at the outside to see the familiar you he knows underneath.

“I guess it has been,” he finally says when he drains his glass. He leans back to rest his back on the wall. “Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, um, they’re just some cookies I made today. Yoongi had been bugging me about making them and I gave some to the others. I just thought I’d see if you wanted any.”

“I’ve always liked your baking.” He reaches out and plucks a cookie from the tin. A second later half of the cookie is gone. He chews thoughtfully.

“This is a new recipe, so I don’t know if it’s as good as it could be. I haven’t had much time for experimenting in the kitchen with work up until now so they might be—”

“I can only imagine how good they were when they first came out of the oven,” he finishes the rest and cuts your rambling off.

You stand there, oddly nervous, while he chews. When he finishes, he watches you fiddle with the lid so the cookies don’t get stale.

“Something’s changed about you,” Jin says finally, his eyes moving from your hair to your toes. You nearly drop the tin in your fumbling, and cringe from both the comment and your clumsiness.

“Yeah, I... gained some weight recently,” you blurt out in the hopes that it’ll be less uncomfortable if you’re the one to say it. But it’s not.

“Hmm,” Jin’s eyes rove over you more thoroughly, making you stand ramrod straight. “I don’t think that’s it. It’s something else, I think.”

“Oh. Well I don’t know, then.”

“What’s going on,” Yoongi’s voice creeps into the mix.

When you turn your head, you’re greeted with the sight of Yoongi in the doorway. He looks comfortably settled against the doorframe, like he’s been there for a while. His gaze isn’t directed at you, but at Jin, you realize. A quick glance back shows that they’re both looking at one another.

“Nothing. We were just talking.” Jin shrugs before walking over to you. A hand on the small of your back brings you with him and up to Yoongi.

Yoongi fixes Jin with a narrowed stare. “The guys were wondering where you both were. They want to play a game together.”

“We were here. No need to worry about us.”

“Well, why don’t you go in and tell them that? I’m gonna speak with my girlfriend.”

Jin gives him an amused smile before giving you a two-fingered captain’s salute and heading to the living room. It might have seemed dorky if anyone had done it, but you marvel over how cool he makes the gesture look. Yoongi turns to you then and takes in your distant expression.

“He didn’t say or do anything to make you uncomfortable, did he? Jin sometimes is a total asshole.”

“No, he—well, he said I looked different.”

“Do you want me to beat him up,” he steps forward to rest his hands on your shoulders. “Because I can, just say the word.”

“It’s really okay. He said it wasn’t just the weight. That it was something else.”

Yoongi’s lips thin as he tries to look for some other message in your words. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“It probably didn’t mean anything bad. Just let it go.”

Yoongi nods but takes both your hands in his to kiss them. You lead the way to the living room, feeling a little more like you can handle the night. There’s not much space with all seven members and you. You end up seated away from Yoongi, on the couch between Jungkook and Jin.

Somehow you get roped into playing some Mario game with two teams. You don’t know anything about video games, but you listen to Jungkook’s instructions carefully when you get one of the controllers because he’s one of your teammates. You’re not very good, though. Jin, your team captain, eventually has to maneuver his hands over yours so your character does the right thing.

“You sure you didn’t change your makeup style or something,” Jin asks during one of the rounds where you’re supposed to be playing against Hoseok.

The question takes you by surprise and you turn toward the sound of his voice only to realize just how close he is when he’s acting as a gaming coach of sorts.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Dunno,” he doesn’t look at you while he converses with you. He’s watching the screen with a hawk-like focus. “You just look prettier than I remember.”

You stutter around nothing, not sure what to say. In the end you settle for saying nothing, though you do spare Yoongi a glance. His gaze must have already been directed at you because you make eye contact immediately. Knowing that he’s probably just making sure you’re having an okay time, you give him a thumbs up and attempt to make Kirby spin on the large screen in front of you.

The night stays that same level of odd. No one else does anything out of the ordinary, barring Jin. He’s strangely attentive even after you get the hang of playing enough to take full control of the controller. After that point, he still slings an arm across the back of the couch, which makes full contact with your shoulders because of how tightly packed you all are on the couch. And when he wants your attention, he makes a habit of brushing his hand down your arm and sometimes leaving it there.

You figure you just don’t spend enough time with Jin to get used to him. But you’ve seen enough interactions between him and the younger members to know how touchy-feely they are with each other. Maybe you’re just enough of an extension of Yoongi to be included in that touching. So you try your hardest not to question it. It’s just nice to know you've been accepted that much and you start to lean into the touch like you would with your own friends.

Soon enough you’re taking part in the high fives that melt into hand holding when you score a goal.

‘Quite a feat for a beginner’, Jin tells you.

Yoongi watches from across the room as your face lights up once again from Jin’s praise. You look like you’re having wholesome fun and the urge to interrupt that is what kills him. But what kills him more is the way Jin’s thumb strokes gently against the curve of your flank as he gestures to something on the screen while Jungkook takes a turn with the controller.

He didn’t think he was the jealous type, but when Taehyung orders pizza one painful hour later, Yoongi’s come to the realization that he’s much more selfish than he knew. Jin whines until you let him feed you a bite of the pepperoni pizza on his plate, knowing you’re too nice to say no. You think this is run of the mill behavior, but even Jimin raises his eyebrows at the display before peering at Yoongi’s furious profile.

The last straw, though, is when Jin wipes a trickle of grease from the corner of your mouth and waits until you’ve turned your head to say something to Jungkook before sucking the residue off. At that, Yoongi stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the empty box that was near his knees.

“It’s getting late,” he answers the curious stares watching him trudge over to you. “We should head out now if we still want to get back to your place at a decent hour.”

“Oh,” your eyes are wide, “You don’t have to. I know you wanted to do your thing in the studio tomorrow. I should be fine on my own,” you hint back to the promise he made to stay over if the night was a bust.

“I changed my plans already, so I’ll go later in the week. Come on, let’s call a car and go.”

“I can drive you guys. I brought my car,” Jin offers suddenly. His arm is back to resting behind your shoulders. And because his fingers are close enough to graze your shoulder, they do.

“You really don’t have to,” Yoongi bites out. His stare is potent with silent accusation.

“Yoongi, why not? Jin’s place is across the bridge from mine. It actually makes some sense, and I was getting kinda tired. If we wait for a car, I might not be able to get up early enough to go to that brunch spot you mentioned.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jin claps his hands with finality and gets up from the couch before extending his hand out to you. Much to Yoongi’s chagrin, you take his hand like it’s a genuine gesture of chivalry.

Jin somehow manages to get you to sit up in the passenger’s seat with him, leaving Yoongi to fume in the backseat. Occasionally Jin’s eyes will meet his in the rear view mirror and they’ll crinkle with impish amusement before returning to caressing your silhouette.

“So,” Jin says once he gets on the freeway. “Is our Yoongi treating you good?”

You laugh because you don’t see the game at play. “Of course he is. He’s the best boyfriend I could have asked for.” Yoongi’s resolve softens momentarily at your sincere tone. “I love him, even when he gets weird like tonight.” That comment has Jin cackling.

“You know,” he says once his laughter dwindles down, “I actually had the flu the day of Yoongi’s party. The day you guys met.”

“That explains why I didn’t actually see you there. I remember everyone else being there, though.” You gaze wistfully out the window. “I was too shy to talk to any of you guys then.”

“That’s okay. If I had been there, I would have talked to you.”

“That would have been a fun night, I bet.”

“Yeah,” he makes sure Yoongi’s looking in the rearview mirror. “Who knows how close we’d be today if I hadn’t gotten sick.”

Yoongi’s cheek nearly bleeds with force of his teeth gnawing on the inside. If he could, he’d reach forward and throttle Jin. But he’s driving so that’s not an option.

The torture doesn’t last much longer because about 10 minutes later you’re directing Jin to the parking garage of your apartment complex. The goodbyes are annoyingly drawn out and Jin manages to invite himself to brunch the next morning. All the while, Yoongi stands behind you, dying to get inside and away from the eldest member.

Finally, the door gets slammed shut before Jin can say something stupid about seeing you both tomorrow. Yoongi gives the door a smug look and then turns to catch a flash of your eyebrows raised in amusement. His eyes narrow and he approaches you slowly as you shrug off your layers in an almost too mundane way.

“What’s so funny,” he drawls. He attempts to peer at your face only for you to keep whipping it away every time he gets too close.

“Nothing,” you turn and give him your back while you smooth over your already made bed. “It’s just interesting watching you with Jin. I never really get to see you guys together.”

“What’s interesting about it?”

Yoongi starts unbuttoning his own outer layers with painstaking care, giving you ample time to twitch under the weight of his gaze. You fight to keep a smile from sneaking onto your face, but it’s too hard and you let your lips turn up in a little grin. He can’t see it, but he can hear it in your voice.

“You’re just cute when you’re mad.”

A muscle in Yoongi’s jaw jumps.

“You noticed that I was mad, huh?” He shirks off his jacket roughly, sulking in his subtle way. Luckily—or perhaps not luckily—you’ve come to recognize it well.

“I did.” Your voice is high and steady as you remove your sweater, leaving you in a soft and worn t-shirt. “I’ll admit it was entertaining. A little bit.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

“I mean, I don't know what you were mad about. But I could tell it wasn’t about something serious.”

He merely nods and watches you fidget. You peer at him through the side of your eye and see him meticulously undoing the clasp of his watch. From the way he moves slowly through the process of undressing for bed, you can tell something’s coming.

“Let me ask you something, then.”

“O-okay.”

“Is Jin still your favorite?”

“Are you kidding?”

You have to stop hunting for pajamas at your dresser and turn to him to see if he’s in fact kidding. But he looks dangerously serious, and you have to fight to keep your eyes from rolling.

“That’s what this is about? All this sulky Yoongi is because of that?”

“Just answer the question,” he shrugs his shoulders lightly.

Supposedly he’s calm and collected and not jealous, but his eyes are sharp as they zero in on you. Easily, he pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on. The steps he takes toward you are measured and slow. You still find yourself holding your breath as he comes to sit benignly on the bed across from you. It’s something he does sometimes when you’re getting dressed or undressed. Because ‘he likes the view’, he usually says. But tonight it makes you grab the first thing that you find out of your pajama drawer so you’re not leaving your back vulnerable.

“Of course he’s not my favorite anymore. I haven’t felt that way since before we got together.”

“I was just wondering.”

“Yoongi,” you sigh and pull the old t-shirt off to replace it with a sleep shirt. “When you asked me who my favorite was half a year ago I didn’t realize you were flirting with me. And I didn’t really know much about the group either.”

He nods like he thinks what you’ve said is completely reasonable and you stuff your legs through some of your yoga pants roughly. When you finish, you’re still standing defensively on the other side of the room. He looks up at you and beckons you over without a word. You feel compelled to move forward. Unsure of what would happen if you didn’t humor him.

When you’re finally approaching the V of his parted legs, he motions for you to sit next to him on the bed. You do.

“You know,” he begins slowly, “You looked like you were having a great time tonight.”

“Oh,” you blink. “Yeah, I was having fun. Even though it took a while for me to win a round. And even then I think Hoseok might have let me win.”

“Was Jin a good teacher?”

“Yeah, he was a good teacher.”

“I bet he was. He had a good student. He looked like he was enjoying himself.”

“Maybe,” you tap your finger on your chin pensively. “It didn’t seem like he hated having to show me how to play.”

“No, trust me, he was enjoying it.” Yoongi’s tone dips audibly, and you stop yourself when you realize what he’s implying.

“God, Yoongi, stop it. It wasn’t like that. He was just being nice.”

“I’ve known Jin a long time. I know what he looks like when he’s flirting. It started as soon as you walked through the door.”

“That’s crazy,” you mumble. But then you think of all the lingering touches and glances again and it clicks. “He...he was probably just trying to rile you up. Jin likes to mess with people sometimes. You’re always saying that.”

Yoongi pins you with an odd look. It’s partly amused, partly pitying. Then it turns cold. “You know, Jin’s been sweet on you since I first introduced you. The first night you met, he told me he used to date someone who looked a bit like you when he was younger, before debuting.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper again.

“You really didn’t know?” Yoongi leans in so the words practically brush against the skin of your cheek. “He was shoving himself all over you the whole night and you didn’t notice?”

You shake your head, at a loss for words. His hand finds its way to your opposite arm, pulling you closer to him.

“Hmm,” he hums in acknowledgment.

Then Yoongi’s lips are pressing gently to the skin of your neck. There’s a hint of something in the kisses that makes them feel a bit too heated to be chaste. At first you think it’s gratitude, but when you turn your head to meet his lips with your own, it’s clear that it’s not just that. His tongue snakes in between your lips, and you let it happen as you turn the evening’s events over in your memory.

“Yoongi,” you whisper between kisses.

“Hmm?” His large hands are splayed low over the swell of your back, a pinky finger just barely dipping under the waistband of your pants.

“I think I did know.”

“Huh?”

“I think as soon as he said that thing in the car—about being in your place—I knew he wasn’t just being friendly anymore.”

“Yeah?” he mumbles against your lips.

Taking you by surprise, he pushes deeper into your mouth until he’s stealing your breath. His lips are plush but insistent. And you’re conflicted. But suddenly he’s pulling away with a damp mouth and a firm grasp on your hip.

“You knew and made me sit through all that and then invited him to brunch in front of me?” He nips at your lax mouth. “That’s not very nice.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Don’t you think you should be punished, then?” When you pull away looking like he’s grown a second head, he shrugs mildly and like he didn’t just threaten to take you over his knee. “Or not. Your choice.”

#bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #yoonginetwork #hyunglinenetwork #btswriters #yoongi imagines #yoongi scenarios #yoongi fanfic #bangtan scenarios #bangtan imagines #bangtan fanfic #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic

[xrikix]

» Hiraeth Chapter 5 || Haikyuu AU

❝They will learn how to fly.❞ – an AU where the kids of Haikyuu characters grow their passion for volleyball and face their problems.

Starring our OC’s Hoshi, Minami, and Leo! (don’t worry they’re as fluffy as our babies from Haikyuu but sprinkle in more angst)

Read Chapter 4 Here!

Strike of Reality

“So, you have your club papers?” Dino asked as they walked to the gym together after school. Leo raised his hand, a piece of paper flapping in the breeze. 

“Right here and in perfect condition!” 

Leo looked around Dino, “Where’s Katsuki?” 

Dino gave a hearty sigh, “Being a dumbass. He left his paper somewhere and went to go look for it.” 

Leo chuckled, “You sound like my sister.” 

Dino looked away, chuckling with amusement, “I literally met her last night.” 

Leo shrugged, “You guys would be the bestest of friends.” Immediately realizing what he said, the thought of them being friends didn’t sound too welcoming. “Actually nevermind, please don’t become friends.” 

“Why?”

“Because,” Leo whined, “you two would gang up on me and that would suck.” 

Dino busted out in laughter as Leo watched him with a pout on his face, “It’s not funny! Having to deal with one Minami is enough.” 

Dino’s laughter died down and he returned Leo’s comment with a smirk. They quickly began to walk towards the gym. 

The door opened to the joyful smile on Kousei’s face, “You two have your papers right?” 

They nodded and Kousei tilted his head towards the coach, “Just give them to Coach.” 

The two entered the gym to see the net set up and the team practicing their serving, balls flying through the air. As they approached coach Ukai, he looked up from his clipboard, “Oh! Hey boys. Here to give me your papers?” 

The boys smiled while handing him their papers, Leo asked, “What are we doing today?” 

“We’re gonna do some quick 5v5s for a warm up and to see where your levels are at.” Leo faced the court as he watched his fellow members continue to serve, adrenaline coursing through his body. 

The gym doors flew open, as Katsuki entered the gym, panting. “Hey guys!” he said as he ran over. 

“Did you find it?” Dino asked. 

“Yup!” Katsuki responded, proudly holding up his paper. 

“Then give it to coach.” 

“Oh right!” The doors opened again, but with the arrival of a girl. She waved, “Hey guys.” 

Hikaru yelled from the court, “Hey Yoshe!” The team stopped serving and crowded around her despite her protests. “Can you guys not?” She spoke but with a smile creeping into her lips. 

Her eyes wandered towards the first years and walked towards them. “Hi! You must be the new first years. My name is Yoshe and I’m your manager.” 

Leo grabbed her hands, “It’s nice to meet you.”  She beamed a smile towards them and turned to the Coach, “What should I do?” 

Ukai chuckled, “You already know what to do.” 

She waved her hands around, “Yeah, yeah.” 

“Okay guys,” Ukai spoke as he looked down at the clipboard in his hands, “We’re gonna do a 5v5 just to see how everyone is doing.” He pointed towards the left side of the court, “Leo, Katsuki, and Dino are gonna be together. Ayama and Kise are gonna help you guys so start communicating. The rest of you guys are on the opposite side.” 

Leo inhaled, settling his nerves as he set his sights on the court. This was the game to prove himself, that he was capable as a setter. The words of Kageyama floated through his head, playing for Karasuno taught me that volleyball is a team sport. Your job as the setter is to draw out the maximum potential out of your teammates so that they can do their best every single time they jump to spike. 

Leo exhaled and walked towards his team as they chatted about what to do. “Um…” Leo spoke, cutting into their conversation. 

They stopped, “Something up?” Kise asked. 

Leo shook his head, “I just wanted to ask for your preferences in tosses.” 

Ayama peered at Leo, his face giving hint of his thoughts. “High please.” 

Dino nodded, “Me too.”

Leo grinned, “You got it!” and situated himself at the front besides Katsuki and Dino. 

“Hey,” spoke Katsuki. 

“Yeah?” 

“If I have to spike then could you set it a bit lower?”

 Leo nodded, “Of course.” 

Katsuki sighed out of relief, patting Leo on the back, “Thanks.” 

Turning to face the net, he stared at his seniors and how natural they looked on the court, their presence overwhelming with their years of  experience. Continuing to breathe heavily,  he felt someone tap his shoulder and he turned to see Ayama. “Good job back there.”

Surprised, Leo stuttered, “I-thank you?” 

Ayama’s compliment was straightforward and yet it fueled Leo more. Facing the net again, he met the cocky grin of Hisaki, “Well, well. I’m beginning to think this is a setter battle.” Squaring his shoulders, he responded, “May the best setter win.” 

“Okay Ayama’s side is going to begin,” Ukai yelled from the side, his eyes trained on the match. Yoshe was by the score board, ready to flip the numbers as they started to rack up points. Ayama raised his hands and slammed his hands on the ball, as it soared to the other side.

“I got it!” yelled Kousei as he swiftly bumped it to Hisaki. Smirking, he raised his arms and flicked his wrist down to the other side of the net. The sounds of the ball thumping on the ground followed the silence as 

Dino cursed, “Seriously, a dump? Right now?” 

Hisaki lightly dusted himself off as Hikaru slapped him on the back, their team complimenting him. 

Leo could only stare, replaying the last few seconds, he knew the ball was coming but didn’t expect it to fall in front of him. He looked down, with his hands in fists. 

“Don’t mind! We’ll get the next one!” yelled Kise. 

Ayama nodded, his knees bent and ready. Inhaling, Leo forced himself to look up as he saw Ryu warm up his serve. From the back, he threw up the ball high into the air, and ran forward, as his arms flying back and jumped. The ball whizzed past Leo feeling the force behind it. He could hear the shoes of Kise squeaking as he dove to get the ball. “Ready Leo?!” 

Collecting himself, his arms raised, he saw Ayama and Dino preparing themselves to jump. Glancing towards the net Hikaru, Hisaki, and Rin were ready to defend, all three at the center. Their arms were slightly raised as their eyes focused on the ball. Leo ran the different possibilities through his head. 

He could set towards Ayama who was towards the side, and maybe two of them would be able to reach him, but he knew that they were probably expecting that. Or he could set to Dino and make him face off all three, but he did have his height. The ball was getting closer and he processed the thoughts. 

Clearing his head, he glanced towards Dino and nodded. Dino, surprised, ran as Ayama began too.  

“Ayama!” yelled Leo as the ball was about to touch his fingers. 

Hikaru yelled, “Come on Hisaki! We can stop this!” 

Clear the way, clear the way. Leo saw Hikaru and Hisaki run towards Ayama, leaving Rin behind to defend the middle. Although his body was faced towards Ayama who jumped, he set backwards towards Dino who began to jump, his height overshadowing Rin’s who frantically jumped. 

“Damn it!” cursed Hikaru. The ball soared high through the air as it landed within Dino’s palms as he slammed it down. Ryu, trying to dive, fell short an inch, as it thumped against the floor. It bounced and rolled towards the side. Leo exhaled, his arms falling to his sides. 

Again, the gym was silent as Yoshe flipped the score from a 0 to a 1. Kise tackled Leo in a hug who stumbled forward from his force, “Nice job, Leo! Even I thought you would set to Ayama, but you didn’t!” 

Dino sighed, “A warning would have been nice.” 

Katsuki slapped his cousin on his back, “But, then that would have ruined everything!” Ayama walked up to them. Leo turned to look at him, realization dawned on him, “Oh! I’m sorry! I should hav-” 

Ayama shook his head, “That was smart,” and returned to his position. Leo grasped his hands, his fingers tingling from how the ball felt on his hands. Clenching his fists, he celebrated his mini victory as he returned his focus to the game. 

The games continued, but at the end Leo couldn’t beat the other team, although they were close to doing so. As they surrounded Coach, Leo caught a smirk from Hisaki but decided to ignore it. 

“Okay, good job today guys! That was a very good game.” 

Peering at his notes he continued, “The starting position is going to remain the same but with one change.” 

He faced Dino and Kousei, “Dino will be a better asset in the beginning. Is that okay with you Kousei?” Kousei grinned, “Yeah, anything to win. Besides, I’ve been practicing some new serves.” 

Ukai nodded, “Okay, well it’s time to clean up guys.” 

Hikaru smacked Dino’s back, “Congrats on becoming a starter!” Dino nodded, his mind elsewhere. 

Leo stumbled, his mind went blank. Hisaki walked up to him, “Better luck next time,” before walking away to help pick up the balls. 

“I-” 

“Leo, come over here for a sec,” Ukai called out. Leo gulped and walked over to Coach. 

“Are you disappointed?” he asked. 

Leo shook his head no even if every single part of him was screaming that he was, “No. I understand.” 

Ukai sighed, “What I gathered today from watching the two of you is that Hisaki just has a bit more experience. Yes, your technical skills are probably better than his but he knows when to initiate and what to do.” 

He faced Leo, “We’re gonna do what we did back when your dads were here. You’re going to be our trump card.” 

Leo raised his head, “What does that mean?” 

“When we’re in a sticky situation, we’re going to sub you in as a setter. Since you’re not a starter, most teams won’t know how to play against you so we can take that to our advantage.” Ukai continued, “Sugawara and Kageyama gave other teams a run for their money. People didn’t know how Sugawara played so he was hard to gauge.” 

Leo stayed silent as his words flowed through his ears. Ukai ruffled his hair, “Don’t worry. Next year you’ll be the main setter since Hisaki is graduating.” 

Leo blankly nodded, not quite following, “Excuse me,” he said as he left Ukai to go help out the rest of the team. 

Leo decided to leave early despite the confusion of Dino and Katsuki. He walked through the schoolyard, his steps barely making any noise against the concrete. The words from earlier came back to torment his thoughts. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his head hanging low. The night sky seemed to lose its brightness, as if it could sense his emotions. Was he not good enough? Did he not do enough? Did he do something wrong? Those words replayed in his head. A part of him knew he was being selfish, of course Hisaki is better, he did have more experience. But then the other part of him whispers that he deserved to become a starter. His entire childhood revolved around volleyball and he grew up with Kageyama teaching him, even Okiawa sometimes. He felt like he let his family down. He continued to walk mindlessly with his gaze wavering. He shook his head, he shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. Leo continued to walk through the silent night, trying to stay hopeful but, for some reason, he knew it was only going to get worse. 

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu AU #haikyuu fanfic #kageyama tobio #hinata shouyou #kagehina #OC #Anime OC #haikyuu oc #Karasuno

[sapphicsylvari]

The Rise of the Dread Fleet - Chapter 3: Siren’s Call

New chapter, yo! Currently, we’re kind of assembling the full cast, but i do hope you enjoy my scribbles regardless <3

@tyrias-library

On AO3

„What we need right now is support.” Snezz says. “There’s only three of us, which is no basis to build a crew out of. Which leads me to my next point.”

Him, Asha and Aurelia Sharpwit are sitting in the darkest, most remote part of the tavern, conspiring over ale and cheap food. A week has passed since Asha’s recruitment of both him and Aurelia, and he’d taken the time to get the kid washed and dressed in something that didn’t smell like death. Now that Asha vaguely resembles a human again, he can see a glint in her eyes he hadn’t quite noticed until now. By all means, she is still a scrawny teenager, but there’s a hidden fury, as well as an unexpected degree of intelligence behind her immediate first impression that leads him to take this whole endeavor seriously. She has her hands wrapped around her mug and listens intently to him, nodding occasionally.

“I didn’t come to Lion’s Arch alone.” He continues. “I brought a friend with me. We both left Rata Sum post graduation due to a lack of direction, but I believe that, if you let me do the talking, I can rally her to our cause.” “One additional Asura won’t make this a viable crew.” Aurelia comments. “That is true. However, my friend is kind of a… package deal.” Snezz smirks involuntarily, unable to conceal his pride. “She’s a necromancer.” “Minions, hm? Could definitely solve the issue of actually sailing a ship in terms of manpower.” Asha says. “I’m down. Let’s get your friend on board.” “Um, before we do this -…” Snezz pauses to take a long swig of ale. “She’s, uh… a little bit eccentric. Trust me on this matter. She’s worth it.” “I’ve agreed to follow a random human girl and a guy that comes up to my kneecaps into battle. I don’t think eccentricity is going to scare me off now.” Aurelia says, with a low growl in her voice. “When do we go?” “Tomorrow morning, first thing. She’s probably asleep by now.” Snezz states and looks up at Asha by his side. She’s staring into her half-empty mug, brows furrowed. He elects not to ask for her approval in addition to Aurelia’s, and waved to the barmaid instead, to get a refill for his own drink.

 Morning rolls around much too early for Snezz. Him and Aurelia had spent a long time in each other’s silent company last night, but regardless, both of them meet Asha in front of the tavern they’re staying in – on Snezz’s bill, of course.

“Ready to go?” he asks them and only gets mumbled responses; Asha simply takes a few insistent strides forward, and Snezz clicks his tongue. “Right. This way.”

The unlikely trio weasels their way through narrow alleys into one of the cheaper residential areas of the city. Snezz stops them in front of a small, worn looking shack in the corner of the street, steps forward and knocks on the door, the entirety of which rattles under his fist. He sees Asha tilt her head curiously before the door opens a crack.

He holds his breath, as the horrid smell of putrefaction assaults his senses and leans in to peek into the dark interior. “You brought friends.” States the occupants matter-of-factly. “I did.” Snezz replies, speaking fast to avoid inhaling too much of the stench. “This is Asha, aspiring pirate Captain, and our friend, Miss Sharpwit. Can we come in-… or can you come out?” The door slams shut, Snezz hears a few nondescript clattering noises, then the door opens again, wider this time. Out steps a tiny Asura, even smaller than him. She’s completely black in complexion and hair, her vibrant green eyes and lighter, freckled rodent nose being the only features to be immediately discerned. She’s dressed in simple, rather dirty clothing, her apron stained with several fluids Snezz doesn’t even want to attempt to identify. She blinks up at his companions. “Why’d you bring them?” she asks, staring intensely at the two. Asha and Aurelia exchange a glance.

“We need your help.” Snezz tells her. “I’ve joined them and we want to steal a ship, then go out and make our living on the Seas. But we’re critically understaffed. I know that you can amend that.” Her gaze flickers back to him. “Piracy?” “Yes.”

She steps forward to face Asha, who immediately takes a step back, due to the woman’s rather fragrant presence. “I want a private laboratory below decks and access to any dead matter we encounter.” She demands. “Uh, I mean, sure? I can arrange that.” Asha fumbles, quite taken aback by the demand. “Good. I am joining. Call on me when you need me.” With that said, the steps back into her shack and slams the door shut.

A good ten seconds of baffled silence pass before Aurelia speaks up. “Well. You weren’t kidding.” “I wasn’t.” Snezz agrees. “She’s a good person. She just doesn’t do well with, uh… living people.” “What even is her name?” Asha asks, as the group turns to leave. “She left so abruptly.” “It’s Liamu. Don’t worry about her. I’ve known her all my life. I can vouch for her.” Snezz draws a deep breath. “With her help, we can crew a ship, but more help is always a good thing. We should all hit the road and see what we can organize.”

Asha stops in her tracks and taps her chin. “Actually, you two go do what you want. I have an idea.”

 --

 Asha looks over her shoulder, making sure she isn’t being followed, before kneeling down by the water. “Raya?” she calls out, in a hushed whisper-shout. It takes a moment before she sees the salmon pink shimmer of scales passing under the surface of the harbor basin, then Raya’s pale face becomes visible in the water, not breaking the surface, but close enough to speak.

“I need you to find somebody for me.” Asha leans down, her nose almost touches the water, and she whispers to Raya, who blinks slowly at her, then vanishes back into the depths. Asha rises back to her feet and dusts off her coat. It’s probably better not to tell her developing crew about Raya just yet. There needs to be more trust, more bonding before she can safely let them in on her secret little friend, without scaring them off.

--

 Cariyen’s exit from Vaixx and Raxxi has been rather undramatic. Both had been very understanding of her decision to leave, and even given her a rowboat to get back to Lion’s Arch shortly after their departure, so she can find her own path without them.

It shouldn’t take longer than a few hours to make it from Bloodtide Bay to Sanctum Harbor, according to Cariyen’s predictions. And then… what then? Cariyen doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go home to. She wouldn’t have joined a pirate crew if she had been able to return to the Grove, not after her brother had gone missing. She’d attached herself to this little girl after years of living half-alive, only functioning as her role on the ship. And then, even that little girl was taken from her, killed right before her eyes.

It’s a heavy mixture of guilt and grief in Cariyen’s heart, as she rows her little boat toward the city, almost on autopilot, reflecting upon the events that transpired. She knew the entire time. How Asha had suffered under her father. And while she did support her, she did not do enough. Asha was just a child, it had been just a matter of time until she’d snap and something horrible would happen. Cariyen can’t shake the thought that she could have prevented it, done something, anything, taken the girl somewhere safe, away from this environment…

Her thoughts are cut short by a heavy rock going through her boat. She pauses, heart skipping a beat, gaze flickering around to seek the source of the turbulence. Cariyen sits frozen, her hands gripping her oars tight as she listens for any telltale sign of an attack. Krait, Risen, hostile Hylek, marine predators-… no, she’s too close to shore for that.

She has no time to consider her options, as another heavy hit against the boat’s rump instantly capsizes it. Cariyen barely has time to hold her breath before she is plunged into the water. Her years of sailing experience immediately tell her to swim upward and surface, but she feels and iron grip around her ankle, preventing her from moving. Panic sets in, and she begins channeling magic in her left hand, only to be interrupted by something that is clearly a humanoid hand gripping her wrist and dragging her to the depths. Asha’s desperate thrashing in the water is the last image before her inner eye, then her consciousness fades.

 Cariyen had not expected to survive this mysterious attack, much less to hear the voice she hears when she eventually awakens. “Grenth’s grace, Raya, I told you to find her, not almost drown and kidnap her!” “I apologize. I am not good at convincing people to follow me. I thought this to be the easiest option.” “You could’ve-… ugh. Whatever, she’s here and she’s alive. Did anybody see you?” “I took the long way around. I was quick.”

Cariyen groans and rouses, forcing her eyes open. She’s in a room, laid out on a cheap bed, next to a small firepit crackling to her left. “Ah, you’re up.!” Asha Gaets says and sits down by her side. “Sorry about the… journey. Raya has no, uh… social skills.” Cariyen’s head spins, but she forces herself to sit up and face the girl. “How-...?” she croaks, throat raw with seawater. “Long story. Raya saved me and I made my way to town.” She explains, which clarifies very little to Cariyen, and gestures to a nude woman, crouched like a lurking tiger in the corner of the room.

The Sylvari looks from the strange woman to Asha, then lurches forward and embraces the girl. “Hey, hey.” Asha soothes her, helplessly patting her back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should’ve-.. I could’ve done something, I-…” “Hush, it’s fine. It’s okay.” Asha struggles and Cariyen releases her from the hug. “It’s not your fault. You were the only one who ever helped me on that rotten ship.” Asha puts her hands on Cariyen’s shoulders. “I’m just glad to see you again.”

Cariyen wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and nods slowly. “I am too.” She whispers. “Asha, I… I can’t believe you survived.” “Trust me, it took me a while to realize too.” Asha grins from ear to ear, nothing like the broken soul Cariyen remembers her to be. “I told my friend Raya to find you, because I didn’t think you’d stay in the fleet after my death. Sorry about her methods. She’s used to drowning people.”

Raya makes eye contact with Cariyen, who feels her blood run cold when she glares into those empty eyes. “Siren.” She gasps. “I apologize.” Raya says. “I did not believe you would agree to come with me if I had asked.” “Don’t worry about her. She’s a friend. She saved my life.” Asha assures her and Raya nods. “She speaks the truth. I mean you no harm.” She confirms and Cariyen rubs her temples, trying to process all of this.

“I’m actually assembling a crew myself. Got a few people already.” She conchalantly states. “I’d like to have you on board, too.” “I-… yes, of course, but…” “Awesome. I’ll let you rest here. Don’t worry about the room, my new friend Snezz pays for it.” Asha gets up and gestures to Raya, who promptly rises and climbs out the window. “They don’t know about her yet, so if you could keep that little secret, that’d be great.”

“I... doubt anyone would believe in anyways.” Cariyen manages to articulate in her confused and weakened state. Asha grins at her. “I’ll organize you some food. Sit tight, will ya?”

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fanfiction #the rise of the dread fleet #my writing #pirate saga

[ask-de-writer]

DARING DO and the ADVENTURE of the X'IBIAN VASE! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 18 of 21

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

Daring Do

and the Adventure of the X'ibian Vase!

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

And

Carmen Pondiego

Cover Art by

Doctor Dimension

52630 words

© 2015 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Writing begun 08/26/15

All rights reserved.  This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge.  I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.  

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Daring Do, the matter cleared up, sat with the others to eat.  “After dinner, we will go into Hong Wa.  We need to see if the ancient palace is still standing.” Sehang Shu thoughtfully suggested, “I have been inside before, Doctor Do.  Little enough remains standing except for the ancient Tower of Wisdom and the Library at its base.  The library is empty, though.  The Chineighese invaders of a thousand years past, emptied it and burned what they did not take.”

Over in the ROT camp, Tyranny angrily hurled down a dry, stale crust.  He demanded, “Why don’t we have any decent rations left?”

Robber silently held up a mirror to him.  Overthrow pointed out, “We sent you to get us rice and dried vegetables.  You bought the bread and cheese instead.  If we don’t have decent rations, it is YOUR fault.”

Robber took his dried crust of bread and crumbly dried out cheese and put them in a small pot with some water and steamed them over the fire.  It made a gooey mess but it was softened and edible.  Overthrow, seeing the success of Robber’s effort, did the same to his.

Tyranny petulantly snapped, “Fix me some!”

Robber hoofed over the pot and pointed to Tyranny’s bread, laying in the dirt.  “Here.  Fix your own.  I don’t know what you did with your cheese but all that you need to do is boil the crust until it is soft.  Save and drink the water, we have none to spare.”

“That crust is all dirty!”

“And WHO threw it down?  Not us.  Eat it or not at all.  We have locked and secured all of the remaining provisions to protect ourselves from your foolishness!”

Over in Daring Do’s camp, their small stove was now cooled, the ashes saved in an airtight tin and all was put away except for the cups that they were using to savor the warm tea against the chill breeze of the desert.

They got up and walked away toward the ruined gates of Hong Wa.  They left no scrap of anything behind.

Robber watched them go toward the ancient ruin of the city with some real interest.  “They have stopped short and are taking some sort of measures, Overthrow.”

Tyranny, without asking, took the binoculars and sneered, “They are just getting out one of those little telescope things that surveyors use!  Now they are setting up some sort of table, too!  Why don’t they just go to wherever they need to get for their clues to the tomb?”

Overthrow nodded to himself and replied, “It is likely that is precisely what they are doing.  Finding some starting point.  Mapping these fallen gates might be a part of that.”

Robber nodded slowly.  “It might be that.  It could be that they are mapping the condition of the gates for another reason connected to their specialties in Antiquities.”

Daring Do was drawing careful reference points on the paper sheet secured to the map table.  Sang He, on the theodolite, was calling out angles and elevations as the rest of the herd, except for two armed guards, held vertical poles with graduated slides that they shifted up or down to Sang He’s command. Daring Do’s notes on the map sheet grew, as did a drawing of site, incorporating the measures that she was given.

Soree was detailing their work in drawings and notes.  Jeremy was studying the wreckage of the gates intently, and making some notes of his own.

Both he and Soree were consulting with Daring Do at the map table frequently. Often, what Daring Do was working on underwent revisions as a result. After a while of this work, the map table was moved to the middle of the city’s northern wall.  The obviously skilled survey continued.  By early evening, they were back around to the starting place.  

They all began to work on a new drawing with rising excitement.  Every one of them was pointing out features on the surveys of the outside walls and the new drawing, of the aerial view of the city, began to take shape.

Robber, maintaining a respectful distance, listened in on the discourse. Tyranny tried to barge past him to get a look.  The Senior Partner picked himself up out of the dust and sand as Robber withdrew the hoof that had tripped him.

Robber pointed to three drawn swords in the hooves of angry looking dromedaries and suggested, “You could thank me for saving your life.”

Over at the map table, the swords sheathed, the dromedaries and the ponies were working something out with mathematician’s sliding rules and swift addition and subtraction.

Robber felt himself vindicated when he overheard, “Oh, subtle!  No wonder that nobody has ever found it!”

Tyranny picked himself up from the dust, sand and small stones that the wind left behind.  Robber pulled back the hoof that had tripped him.  “No, Tyranny.  Do not go to try and find out what they have found.  In case it has not penetrated, they were perfectly serious about not sharing anything with us.  That is what they mean by sharing only the path. They nearly killed you only a few hours ago.  If you stick your nose into this, it is likely that they will go ahead and do it.”

Over at the map table, the observant Sehang Shu slid her sword back into its sheath.  She observed, “So it lies on a line from the auspicious South window of Wisdom’s personal quarters.  Wisdom, weeping in the painting is the second guide point.  That has been seen before by others.  Her location in the Weeping Dragon painting has been dug to a visible crater!

“Your insight, Doctor Do, was in realizing that the city walls are not truly square.  Extending the East wall and the West wall give a far different point along that line.  There is a modest hill there, too.”

Daring Do smiled.  “Right.  Wisdom was cunning enough to use the whole city as a marker in placing the tomb of its founder.”

Soree and Jeremy looked on in something like awe. Reading about finding a major discovery by subtle clues is one thing.  Being there and helping it to happen is quite another.

Daring Do turned unfriendly eyes to the trucks and their occupants.  Nodding to herself, she suggested, “We have our evening meal due soon.  It is also nearly time for you, my friends, to get your drink and perhaps some food.  The South Gate is well cleared because your dromedaries have used that opening to get to the Well of Hong Wa for generations.

“I suggest that we leave those three to their own devices for now and move our camp to the South Gate.  That give us all access to the water of Hong Wa.”

Sang He nodded and gave the ancient, long abandoned, city a sad stare.  “It is a shame that Great Wells of Hong Wa no longer have enough water to serve any fixed community.  For us, this would still be a good place to live, were there water enough.”

All of their gear packed compactly away, Daring Do and her friends set out around the aged stone and mud brick walls that once guarded the seat of an empire.

Robber watched them go.  Tyranny was climbing into the driver’s seat of one of the trucks when Overthrow grabbed him and cast him down.  “You idiot! If you try following them without permission, those rifles of theirs will not only kill you, they will destroy our trucks!  We need them to get back to civilization when this is over!”

Robber stirred their fallen leader with a hoof.  “Besides, we don’t need to follow them yet. Not only has Daring Do promised us access to the Heart of Discord, she has promised that we can help to dig for it!  Let them go.  Perhaps, they will cool off towards you if you give them time.”

Overthrow slammed and locked the truck doors.  He rummaged the enraged Tyranny and removed his keys.  He looked about at the scattered trash and destroyed guns.  Shaking his head, he pointed out, “If we do not clean up this mess, our license to be here states that we can be put to five years at hard labor.”

Overthrow began to break down the MT81s and prepare them for re crating.  Robber started picking up the empty shell casings and stowing them in a biggish bag that had once held rations for them.  Besides the shell casings he was picking up the scattered parts of the links that originally held the ammo and allowed it to feed into the weapons.

Looking up, Robber snarled, “Get off your useless ass, Tyranny, and start picking up the camp trash!  I don’t want to spend five years at labor because YOU are to dumb to follow license instructions!”

Tyranny snapped, “I am the leader!  You do the menial task!  Besides, once we have the Heart of Discord, none of that crap will matter!  We will be kings of the world!”

Overthrow sourly finished sealing the gun crates and observed, “We both doubt that, Tyranny!  After your many massive bungles in translating ancient X'ibian, we do not believe that the ritual can possibly work.  We are only going through with it because it is our only chance to avoid the ruin that you have caused us.

“You are no leader!  You have only led us to total bankruptcy.  We are so bankrupt that we will need to find an Equestrian Embassy and use a Royal Benefice just to get home!

“Get to cleaning up or don’t eat dinner!”

Around on the other side of Hong Wa, Daring Do, Soree and Jeremy were happily tucking into their rice and vegetables, fixed with a sweet/sour sauce. They were watching as Sang He and her herd, deep in the ruins, were pulling up big fabric buckets of water from the ancient well.  They wasted hardly a drop as the thirsty dromedaries drank their fill.  At the last, they filled up the water bags for their friends, the ponies and horse.

They paced out of the city, passing under the still standing arch of the Great South Gate with dignity and grace.  Setting aside their burdens, they took up their guns.  Three stayed behind and four set out into the apparently empty desert.

Daring Do explained, “The nomad dromedaries have secret places where they find browse while in the desert.”

Jeremy nodded, “That makes perfect sense.  The three left behind are not only to guard us, but to keep us from following.  What we do not know, we cannot tell.”

Sehang Shu nodded gravely, “I am glad that you understand, Jeremy.  Here in this desert, such knowledge can be the stuff of life or death.”

Soree brought a box out of her luggage.  As she opened it, she asked, “Mahjongg, anyone?”

Daring Do was far ahead on points when the first four dromedaries returned, around midnight.  Sehang Shu took her leave, returning her counters to the bank.

The next morning found Jeremy sleeping along side Sehang Shu and the others all returned.  A quick breakfast, and the whole expedition was on the way to see if a certain hill hid the legendary lost tomb of Im Farst, first Emperor of the ancient X'ibian Empire.

Robber, watching them go with binoculars, from a hidden location, nodded to himself.  “The tomb is three days walk from Hong Wa.  No wonder that nopony has found it!  It was three day’s walk for a dromedary, not a pony!  Look at how fast they are going!”

Tyranny, past angry at the mutiny of the others, belly still grumbling from the loss of his dinner, grumped, “So they walk fast?  How does that signify anything?”

Overthrow chuckled, “And you can claim to be any sort of leader?  Nopony looked in the right place because it was further away than anypony expected! Just like you, they assumed that the distance was as the pony walked, not as the dromedary paced.”

Tyranny, now feeling humiliated as well, snapped, “You could have let me have some breakfast, at least!”

In an acid voice, Overthrow pointed out, “We will, just as soon as you do your share of the camp clean up.”

Out in the desert, Sang He led the party wide of an invitingly easy looking patch of bare sand.  Jeremy and Sehang Shu paused in their colloquium on the merits of different types of weapons in small unit engagements. Jeremy pointed to the sand patch and asked, “Why are we avoiding that area, Shu?  It looks easier to go across it.”

Pleased that Jeremy was using her given name, she replied, “It would indeed be easier, Jeremy.  There is only one reason to avoid it.  Sand Lions.  They are not too common, fortunately.”

“I have never heard of them, Shu.  What are they like?”

“They have a smooth skin that is pretty tough.  Their jaws are lined with many sharp fangs.  They lie in wait, just under the sand and feel for the vibration of prey.  They then burst up out of hiding and race down the prey.  They are always voracious.  Rarely, one will lurk in among rocks or some other such place to ambush their prey.”

Jeremy nodded, watching alertly about as they passed the large sandy area. “Um, Shu, you did not mention how large the sand lions are.”

“True, Jeremy.  They average about the size of you ponies but can run a good deal faster, especially on sand.  They are very well adapted to the desert life.  They are a light to medium brown in color to better hide in the desert sands.”

Jeremy nodded.  “I see.  A carnivore like that could be quite dangerous.  I am glad that your herd is so well versed in things like this.  That could have posed a real danger to us.”

Shu nodded slowly in time to her pacing.  “It still is a danger, Jeremy, at least until we are well past the sand area.”

They passed the last of the sand uneventfully around noon of that day. Daring Do pointed out, “This desert is not as empty as it appears. Among other things, somewhere there is enough plant life to support a herd like Sang He’s.  The recent reminder that there is enough prey to support creatures like the Sand Lions shows that amply as well.  Besides the tomb of Im Farst, this desert is a place of many secrets.”

Soree made more notes in her journal.

The party came suddenly to the very brink of a nearly unseen precipice. Standing close to the edge of the cliff allowed them to see, exactly on their line of march, a small hill.  On the windward side, it was bare, windworn sandstone.  The downwind side made it almost drop shaped.  In the low sunlight of the late afternoon, it could be seen to be partly surrounded by symmetrical ripples in the windblown earth.

Daring Do nodded to herself.  After a careful examination of the ancient structures, hidden by ages of dry, dust and sand filled wind, she pronounced, “I think that we have found it.  Behold, the tomb of Im Farst, first Emperor of X'ibia.”

Soree dismounted to get a steadier brace as she carefully drew the first picture of the tomb of Im Farst ever made in the modern age.  Only the low light made it possible to even see it as a structure built by intelligent beings, ages past. It was a sobering thought that if they had been earlier in the day, they could easily have missed the signs of the ancient works.

Sang He pointed out, “As much as was put into this tomb, according to the old inventories, there has to be an easy way to get down this cliff. Unless, of course, it has fallen to some natural disaster.”

Jeremy pointed to the South of their position.  “Shu, do you see what I think that I see?”

She thoughtfully took out a telescope and focused it.  “That is the way down, Jeremy.  It only has one tiny flaw.  I can make out at least two traps from here, in this bad light.”

Daring Do grinned at the news.  “Very good, Sehang Shu!  I think that we will camp up here, perhaps closer to the road-head but up here.  I will want the best possible light to try getting past the surprises that were left for the unwary.”

Soree tended the camp stove, fixing dinner while the dromedaries looked on. The top of the road down was not far off.  She kept glancing over at it, her brow furrowed.  At last, she ventured, “It has been over three thousand years since the road down to the tomb was built.  It cannot have had any maintenance for at least a thousand years, since the Chineighese conquest.  How likely is it that any of those traps still work?”

Kanya Ama spoke up, “We helped Doctor Do to make the survey of significant sites.  In surveying over 1500 major tombs nearly as old as this, we found only two that did not have traps that were still functional.”

“I see.  Thank you, Kanya Ama.  Did you disarm any of them?”

Shocked, the dromedary pulled her head back on her long neck.  “Absolutely not! They are among the priceless antiques in the tomb and need to be most carefully conserved and inventoried!”

Soree grinned.  “I had no idea what I was letting myself in for when I decided to study Antiquities!”

Daring Do put in, “It is often that way, Soree.  Ponies and others are thinking of the quiet museum life, not what goes into the field work to get things to the museum.”

With the coming dawn, they saw Daring Do flying out over the site, clearly making sketches as she flew.  She returned to the expedition shortly.  Laying out her drawings and checking them against Soree’s from the previous evening, when the light was from the opposite direction, she pointed.

“There.  On the Auspicious South side, is the original entrance.  I am glad that we will have the help of ROT in digging it out!  It is pretty well buried!”

Sang He, brows raised in surprise, asked, “You were serious about letting those vandals help us?”

Daring Do’s lips skinned back from her teeth in a mirthless grin as she replied, “Who better to find the entrance traps?  Besides, Eris herself asked me to let them try their ritual.  It should be fun to watch – from a distance!

“Besides that, I saw them approaching in their trucks while I was flying.”

Sang He, counting slowly, muttered to herself, “Let me see, the Darkling’s tomb had how many … You are wise and subtle, Doctor Do.”

The peace of the desert was interrupted by the distant roar of the trucks’ mage/tech engines.

Sang He and Sehang Shu watched the trucks charging toward the cliff edge with total interest!  The sudden squall of brakes as Robber and Overthrow realized, almost too late, that they were in danger caused several of the herd to clap hooves in delight!

The trucks skidded to a stop only meters from the edge of the cliff!  They carefully reversed and backed away to a safe distance before parking.

Robber got out of the cab of his vehicle.  He was visibly shaken by the near disaster.  He came directly to Daring Do and asked, “How do we get down there?  I assume that the tomb is down there somewhere.”

Sang He, showing that she had some trace of respect for Robber, if none at all for Tyranny, gave him the bow of one of higher station and replied, “There is a causeway to the bottom that still survives from ancient times.  We have, so far, located seven potentially deadly traps on the causeway.  We are still conducting our survey at this time.”

Overthrow, holding Tyranny back physically, suggested, “Can’t you jam or destroy them as you locate them?”

He had wit enough to realize that he had somehow suggested something totally wrong.  Daring Do and all of the dromedaries of the herd were staring at him in total shock!  Soree frowned for only a moment before adding her disapproval to the rest.

Jeremy thought for a bit longer before pointing out, “No, we can’t.  The idea has already been suggested.  The traps are an important part of an ancient site.  They must be carefully documented and preserved, if possible.  They are among the priceless antiquities of the complex.”

Tyranny would not stay shut up.  “How likely are they to work?  They are THOUSANDS of years old!”

Baring her lips in a smile that never reached her eyes, Sehang Shu waived towards the top of the causeway and invited, “Please precede us.  Thus, you will show us how age has rendered them ineffectual.  Or not.

“If any of them DO work, after all of this time, we will take careful notes of what kills you.”

Tyranny, almost to the top of the causeway, stopped cold.  Craning his neck, he stared down the empty seeming stones of the antique path.  “I see no traps.”

That brought an amused chuckle from Jeremy.  “A trap that you can see easily would only be used to steer you to the one that you DO NOT see!  Daring Do and these dromedaries are experts in this field. Sehang Shu told me of seven, but I personally only find six.”

Shu gently took Jeremy’s shoulder and led him to a vantage point.  She extended a hoof downward.  “There.  See them now, Jeremy?  In the sand between the tomb and the foot of the causeway.”

Jeremy stared for a moment.  Nodding slowly, he commented, “So that is what they look like.  Very well camouflaged.  Thank you for showing me, Shu.”

Soon the party began to work their way down the old stonework.  Daring Do was leading the way, pausing now and again to mark particular stones.  “Do not step on these, whatever you do.”

Robber yanked Tyranny back, fractions of a second too late!

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#DARING DO AND THE ADVENTURE OF THE X'IBIAN VASE #Part 18 of 21 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

[yasbxxgie]

Kehinde Wiley on Self-Doubt and How He Made It as a Painter The artist behind Barack Obama’s presidential portrait talks about developing his skills at a junk store

By age 12, Kehinde Wiley had a reputation in his Los Angeles neighborhood for being a talented artist. Teachers at his school recommended him for a program during which he spent the summer of 1989 in Russia with 50 Soviet kids and 50 other Americans, creating murals, learning the Russian language and culture, hiking, swimming, and picking mushrooms. “It was a strange, magical time,” he recalls.

Wiley went on to study art at the San Francisco Art Institute and Yale. He now has a studio in Brooklyn, and Barack Obama chose him to paint a lively portrait of the former president that now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.

I recently spoke with Wiley about traveling to Nigeria to meet his father for the first time after having painted portraits of him for years, dealing with criticism, and the importance of slowing down. This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.

***

Lola Fadulu: What was your mom’s work schedule like?

Kehinde Wiley: My mother, while raising six kids, had a number of small-business activities. The most prominent one in my memory was sort of like a junk store.

She would be away, in the earliest years, much of the day. Then she would be around more in the late afternoons, evenings. When we weren’t in school, we would be around the shop, and I remember learning Spanish dealing with a lot of the customers there.

Fadulu: Aside from learning Spanish, was there anything else you learned from those times you helped out in the store?

Wiley: I think I learned a sense of making something out of nothing, trying to dust off old items and seeing some level of value in them, recognizing that no one is going to help you.

Fadulu: Did your mom have any particular field or industry that she wanted you or your siblings to go into?

Wiley: Well, I remember as kids, we all had different passions, and she encouraged all of them. My twin brother and I would be going to art school as kids because there was a free program that allowed us to get off of the streets of South Central Los Angeles and spend our weekends studying art.

I remember my mother wanting me to go into preaching. She was taken by the fact that I was quite successful at some oratory competitions. She was going through a particularly religious fervor at that point in her life, and she encouraged me in that direction.

Fadulu: At that point, were you thinking about turning art into a career, or was it more of a hobby?

Wiley: In the beginning, it was much more of a hobby, and much more about just having an outlet for creative energy. Only later did it start to have real personal consequence.

Fadulu: When did that start to change?

Wiley: I was 12 years old. Russia was one of those programs that was a free program. It was an opportunity for me and 50 other American kids to go off into what was then the Soviet Union, and to study art in the forest outside of what was then called Leningrad, and is currently called Saint Petersburg.

We created a series of murals, and we had language classes and cultural exchange. And we would hike off into the forest, pick mushrooms, and swim. It was a strange, magical time. It allowed my sense of what was possible to blossom, at that very important age.

Fadulu: Did you know that you were a good artist when you were 12?

Wiley: Of course. That was my one bit of power in the world. That was the thing that got me positive attention, as opposed to so much negative attention that was coming at so many of my classmates at the time.

Fadulu: Would you consider helping your mom out in the store your first job?

Wiley: It was definitely my first job. I remember thinking about all of those bags and bags of clothes, and trying to figure out how to sort out different colors, and different types of fabrics, and how to organize things in terms of style and age. I remember looking at things that to me seemed like junk, but with a little bit of TLC, a coat of paint or something, is repositioned as something that people are willing to spend good money on.

That was my first job as a kid, but it wasn’t really positioned as a job, because it was just what you do. You lend a hand.

Fadulu: So, what was the first job you had that was positioned as a job?

Wiley: I think my first real job was actually going to work for the art school that I used to go to as a kid. While I was once an 11-year-old student at the Los Angeles County High School for the Arts’ Summer Arts Conservatory, which was housed on the campus of Cal State Los Angeles, I was later as a high-school student recruited, at first, as a teacher’s assistant, and then later as a teacher to teach drawing and painting to youngsters. I was 17 and 18, teaching 9- and 10-year-olds how to paint.

Fadulu: Is that when you were beginning to think about a career in art?

Wiley: My first thought was that no one makes it as a painter. I was just looking around at the landscape of contemporary art, which was pretty dry in Southern California during the ’90s. There was no modeling for success when it came to a job in the arts.

So I thought that my best option would probably be in arts education. So when I went to do my bachelor’s degree in fine arts at the San Francisco Art Institute immediately after high school, I assumed that I would probably study art and become an art teacher. While I enjoyed it very much as a high-school student, I didn’t really have a burning desire to be a teacher. I just knew that that would enable me to support my art habit.

Four years of arts education in San Francisco, then going off to graduate school on the East Coast at Yale, opened up a whole new set of possibilities. And perhaps for the first time I started to glimpse what it might mean to launch a successful career as a painter.

Fadulu: And where did you catch those glimpses of those other possibilities? I know you said you were at Yale, but what exactly were you seeing?

Wiley: What happens there is that while I’m painting in the graduate art studios, I’m also taking trips into the city with my classes, and having conversations with artists in their studios. I remember having classroom trips to art galleries and seeing actual exhibitions I was excited about. Being in the class with professors who are working artists, the light slowly started to turn on, and that sense of imagining myself as one of those people.

But still, there’s a lot of self-doubt, and there was also a really tough regime of criticism that arts education put me through, which enabled me to develop a really thick skin, but also caused me to doubt whether or not I had the chops to make it as a professional artist.

Fadulu: How did you deal with the self-doubt?

Wiley: I think a lot of it was being able to recognize the relative nature of a lot of the arguments that were being made in large classrooms. One art object could give rise to five different arguments, and depending on who was the most convincing, the success or failure of that art object would announce itself. It became increasingly obvious that it had very little to do with the art, and more to do with the environment in which the art was being consumed.

I had a strong sense that this school was an immense place to learn new ideas and histories, but also a potentially toxic place in which you can get caught up within the incredibly specific politics that each school gives rise to, and lose track of the broader target.

Fadulu: And didn’t you go to Nigeria to reconnect with your dad?

Wiley: Well, I connected, period. My father and mother broke up before I was born. He returns to Nigeria, and I’m never to see him until I’m 19. So, 1997,  I just decide on a whim that I’m going to go find him. A lot of it was a lot of buildup, emotional buildup. This constant desire to see who your father is, and just to know that connection. I think on another level it was about pushing myself, and knowing what I’m made of, whether or not I’m capable of pulling something like this off. There was a lot of teenage bravado going on there.

There was this incredible curiosity as a portrait painter, just—what does he look like? I began going to different universities asking if they knew who this guy was. I knew that he studied architecture in America.

So I would go to universities and go to their architecture departments and ask if anyone knew my father, and that didn’t work. Someone finally said that I should go, based on his last name, to southwestern Nigeria, where I then went to the University of Calabar. And his name was on the door of the department. He was the head of the architecture department. And nothing’s been the same since. There was a series of paintings that I did shortly after meeting him for the first time, where I was just obsessed with painting him, getting that out.

Fadulu: Was that trip what you thought it would be?

Wiley: No, not at all. I had this illusion that there would be arms wide open, and music would be playing, and that I would quickly and quite easily recognize this lost side of my African ancestry. And in fact, it was an incredibly difficult and exhausting process to find him. And by the time we did find each other, there was that strange moment of trying to figure out what each other and who each other was. What were my intentions as I showed up? What were my feelings toward him? It was incredibly complicated.

I think I was a bit naïve to think that all of those emotions would just simply be resolved by seeing him. In fact, it became much more difficult to come to terms with the feelings of resentment and abandonment than I had anticipated.

Fadulu: You said you became obsessed with painting portraits of him.

Wiley: There were a number of those that, to this day, I can’t find, because I sold off so much work as an undergrad. One of these days, I have to track this stuff down.

Fadulu: What was going through your mind when you heard from Obama about his portrait?

Wiley: Well, there was never really any point where I had the job. I heard they were considering a number of artists for this, and I was welcomed to be interviewed as they were down to a smaller group. But there was never any point where I just knew, until I knew. Back in 2016 even, I was in the Oval Office, incredibly nervous. And I was interviewing with the president about this potential job, still not knowing what it was going to be, but just feeling incredibly grateful for having been invited to have the conversation.

So every step along the way, it just became more and more real, and more and more possible.

Fadulu: So what was the interview like?

Wiley: Of course the president wanted to know what it is that I would bring to the picture. I spoke really honestly about what excited me about him and me being involved in this historical moment: the sense in which we both share that story of having African fathers and American mothers. That sort of journey to find the father, that yearning to try and create some sort of internationalist presence in our work.

I spoke about the possibilities, allegorically, of telling his story in a painting. And so what you end up with in that painting are some amazing botanicals that are visually captivating, but they also nod toward certain flowers that are prominent in Indonesia, certain leaves that are prominent in Hawaii, the state flower of Illinois, the flowers that are most commonly seen in the grasslands of Kenya.

All of those strange, forest-like spaces are behind him and pushing up and forward. Those were the things that I was discussing as a possibility, and I think that it must’ve set something right.

Fadulu: You said it became more real as you went through the process. Were you working at all on it before it was official?

Wiley: Oh, God, yeah. I had gone to photograph him, and that wasn’t quite right, so I went back and I photographed him again. There were months of just trying to figure out how to artificially create this type of image on the computer and approximate what it would look like, and then start doing studies and see what it looks like in the actual paint. It was a long time coming. But in the end, it was all worth it.

Fadulu: Those months of trying to figure out how to create it—were there any big lessons from that?

Wiley: Just slow down. The more important the portrait, the more nuance the likeness has to have, the slower you have to get. So I had to get smaller brushes, really concentrate on just doing small passages per day, rather than trying to do broad strokes. And so it was a very different type of painting. You can feel it, almost, when you look at that painting, it's a much more contemplative piece. But I got very familiar with his face.

Fadulu: How did you feel about its reception?

Wiley: Well, he told me, “This is what I do, I’m used to the national spotlight, the global spotlight, but you’re new to this, so get ready. It’s gonna be a big deal.” And boy, was it ever.

I’ve never seen a work of art go viral that way and become a global sensation. And, of course, you’re dealing with the culture wars, and powers and principalities, and the Republicans and the Democrats. It did come as a shock to see that people would get so excited as to start sending death notices and threatening letters and all of this.

It’s surprising, but when seen in the proper context, when seen as a type of cultural signpost, when that painting is seen as what it is, which is a moment of celebration for him and his high-water mark within our culture, then you recognize it’s bigger than you are.

#kehinde wiley #national portrait gallery #art #black art #black artist #black artists #the atlantic #interview #interviews #lola fadulu #south central los angeles #los angeles #barack obama #portrait #portraits #self-doubt #self doubt #painter #painters #black painter #black painters

[studyinglola]

hi guys!! It’s me, lola. I know I haven’t been posting on here as much or on my instagram (@studyinglola go follow me) and the reason why is a simple fact: I am in a gap year. I had been following 2 studies and I dropped out of both of them because of some reasons. The biggest one of the last one was: it wasn’t what I was seeing myself do in a few years. And because I’ve been overcoming my own issues and I’m trying to find my inner peace and love!!!! I discussed with my parents and we came to the conclusion that I am going to have a gap year. So without further a do: 

here are some tips and advice, if you want or going to have a gap year!

First of: I am european. I have no idea, I am a chasing in the dark in the whole school system of America or wherever sometimes. The only thing I can say or give advice for if you want to have a gap year in college: talk with your supervisor, a teacher or anyone who can help you or give you advice. The thought of a gap year can come sudden or you can be thinking about it four month’s before your next school year. Know what you can do and try to figure it out with your school.

If you’re coming out of high school: CONGRATS ON GRADUATING! Not everyone is going to college or university right away! At this age, and in this climate we’re living in, I don’t expect that a lot of us know what we really want to become when we get older. Or what kind of job we want to have for the next 40 years. So that’s okay. No pressure from me. 

But let’s get to business. You can’t sit around for a whole year doing nothing. You will get lazy, your health will fade and your stanima and muscles will decrease. You can have off days, when you can chill, watch your favourite series, eat some junk food and pamper yourself. But don’t do it every day! 

You have a whole year, to think about what you want to do. Explore the internet and try to find jobs or stuff that excites you or try to find stuff what you’re good at and enjoy, so you can put that to use in a job, and try to find a major or college course for.

You can get a job! A job or past experiences look good on a resume (if anyone is interested I could make a resume example or tips just message me). You can add your skills you developed over there as something you have learned and can put to use, because every company loves a multi-functioning person. Go job hunting and have fun in it! You don’t need a 9 to 5 job, just as long you are doing something!  

If you are already working, and you are doing to to pay your bills; ask the manager or someone if there are any programs you can follow to learn new things and get higher up. 

Volunteer! Ask around, help shelters, go visit older people in the nursery home and give them company! It also takes up some time of your day so you’re doing something!

Sport! Excercising is healthy. It keeps your muscles flexible and at work, it can make you happy and you can work on a schedule or habbit! For example: I only ran once a week. Saturday at 11 a.m. I ran 5 to 8 kilometers on a bad day and 15 kilometers on a good day. It was my drive that wanted me to run more and more. It made me happy I did it and also because I did it in the morning, I had enough energy for the rest of the day and still had my day left! Some simple examples that won’t (if you’re doing it for the first time or want to try it out) cost much or no money: Jogging (running), yoga, jumping rope, bootcamp off a youtube video or try the ‘workout at home’ video’s!

find a new hobby! Hobby’s can include bullet journalling, studying, reading, drawing etc. but also being active, and moving. Baking or cooking? you are moving around, using a lot of muscles and your brain. It is a good way to learn recipes and it is food!!!!

I could go any more into detail but those are a few examples!

This can be an issue for some people and I understand. In some way I can only say or give the advice is to not beat around the bush. If you are having a gap year and people will ask you about school and you find it hard to talk in depth about it; just say you’re doing a gap year to be sure of everything you’re doing. It is a good thing to be sure of things, and it is also a good thing to doubt. No person could make you feel bad about yourself, because you are trying to do what is right for you. Not for them. So if a family member is judging you, or you are scared to tell a friend. Just stay true to why you’ve done it. People will understand why you did it. And if they don’t, leave them be and don’t discuss it with them furhtermore.

I am in a gap year, and the ‘official’ school year is starting in September. For me that means I am going to find a 9 to 5 job. I already have a job, but I want to save some money and go do my own thing. But I also am interested to learn a new language; or just try! 

Self study can be very important. Most of the stuff is self study, even though we don’t recognize that all the time. You are the one that is going to class, you are the one doing your homework, you are the one taking that test, listening to your teachers or professors and keeping all that information inside your brain to put to use later or in situations you need! It is all you!! So you can try and study for yourself, if you still want to learn stuff. 

You have no deadlines, no stress, no homework (sometimes grammar) and no one that tells you what to do. You are your own teacher and that can be good sometimes. It is also a way to find out, how you can find your best way to study!

It may sound weird, but you are going to be lazy. You have no obligations; no school to wake up for, no tests to study for, no homework to make etc. The feeling of not having to anything will or can consume you. You will be finding yourself staring at your black screen, loading a new episode of riverdale and you see yourself with the bags under your eyes and hair that should’ve been washed three days ago. That is a problem we don’t want. Sometimes mental illnes can take you there as well. Not taking care of yourself that frequently, and all the stuff we know what happens and we go through. And it takes a big scoop of will power, to get out of your bed and do your stuff because honey: you can do this.

Here are some tips and tricks I’ve been applying:

Clean your room (or home if you still live at home or are on your own) twice a week. With that I mean: vacuum, mop, dust off the tables, cabinets and everything. Do the kitchen and living room one day, and the bedroom and bathroom the other day. Change your sheets, and take a shower after all that. Nothing beats a nice clean body and an amazing fresh made up bed.

Learn new recipes, or try to cook once a week instead of the person who does it most of the time. If you are close to go and live on your own and you know you can cook: try and watch your parent or person who cooks for you when they cook! Ask advice, ask why they do some things and get excited. Cooking can be great, and the fun thing is: you can always change it up. 

Have a ritual! You know those ‘my bedtime routine’ video’s people post on youtube. They do exist you know. But they go through the whole day. Wake up and be really awake. If you are still snoozing or won’t open your eyes, you won’t leave the bed. Set a timer, even on the weekends and let yourself get awake. Sometimes you need the time to really wake up in the morning, or just let your eyes wake up. A fresh wet towel can help you, a shower, coffee or water or tea. That is all part of the ritual of itself! That’s how you build up a ritual, one step at the time find out what can work for you so you can start the day off right and fill it in with examples of above!

Go do stuff with people! Sometimes people do have time when they are studying or going to college when you aren’t and that is just a simple thing that we call planning. My friends are all in their senior year and are busy with exams the upcoming year, and I am sitting at home. You will feel alone at some times, but that’s okay. If you know you can see your friends: DO IT! It will be fun, they miss you too! Go and get some luch, talk over coffee or have a sleepover in the weekend and tell them to bring their homework cause maybe you can help! Your parents of family can be a good way to get out of the house to do stuff! and I saved the best for last: if you have an animal that can walk on a leash; go out together and be each other’s best companions!

I hear a lot of people talking about traveling in their gap year or even wanting to travel the world. With all the travel inspo on instragram and all the people soaking up the heat in their boohoo dresses and half cut sunglasses; it can be a breather to know that not a lot of people travel in their gap year. 

Traveling can be very expensive, and if you don’t make money throughout your trip, it will end and you have the rest of your year left. Some can’t even get out of their state, country or continent. That’s not fun for some, but there’s no rush with seeing the world or wanting to see more and experience more. 

You can travel in your gap year, and that is also a lot of planning. You wan’t to go backpacking? Go ahead, I’ve heard Thailand is a great place to do that; Australia also if you’re not from there. Road trips through europe are very short because they can last for 10 days and you could’ve seen it all oops. But also America is good for road trips because it takes more time. 

Do your research, go find out whatever you want to see or visit; how much it costs and go work for it. It can be so satisfying to know that you did that on your own and you have the time to do it. You can go whenever you want if the time is there. But further more I don’t have a lot of advice on this but only that it is no requirment to do so. To travel in your gap year.

for more advice or just want to chat or talk you can always ask me a question right here 

#advice #tips #study tips #school tips #studyblr community #studyblr #studying #college #highschool #gap year #einstein #emmastudies #studyquill #notes #my advice #mine #bujo community #study community #study #self study #gap year problems #problems #studyblr advice

[bbbarneswrites]

Bucharest Diaries | THE LIBRARY

Bucky Barnes x Reader*

Summary: Snapshots of Bucky’s life in Romania. In which he meets someone when he least expects to. Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings 1,568 words

Notes: OKAY. I’ve been thinking about expanding this whole Bucky in Romania thing and I don’t know what happened today that this came out. It’s really corny though, LMAO. Any Romanian readers out here willing to help a girl out with some info, hmu! The poem down there is originally titled Poveste Sentimentală and both it and the book are written by Nichita Stănescu. Guess that’s it! Happy reading! <3

Tied to The Apartment Chronicles and Two Sides!

Pinterest | Spotify Playlist

Life in Romania is quiet. Dull. Repetitive, at times.

But even so, Bucky doesn’t complain about it. After the shitshow that his life has been, he’s thankful to be just another face in the crowd, just another body to bump against in the street. Despite the blood stained past, he’s content in rebuilding his life as just another random person.

(As random as he can be, that is. Somewhere deep down, Bucky knows this is likely to not last).

Getting settled in Bucharest had been fairly easy for someone like him.

He gets a job. Heavy manual labor, perfect and low-key, no paperwork needed but with fair pay. He gets an apartment. Small and old in a communist era apartment building but just enough for someone like him. No neighbors or tenants.

And then, with time – Bucky builds a routine.

Sometimes he works during the day. Sometimes at night. Sometimes he gets days off. The free nights are mostly meant for his journals. Re-reading them is a good pastime and it often sparkles his supressed memories. In the free mornings, he likes to sleep-in. To feel the softness of his blanket, watch the sun slip through the newspapers covering the windows of his place.

But It’s different when he’s got the whole day.

He can go to the market that stays two blocks away, visit touristic points that aren’t too crowded, walk around the Old Town and hide in the mass of people.

Or like today, pick a book in one of the local libraries.

Trying to look as inconspicuous as someone like him can be – because he might not be an assassin anymore but he still has a figure – Bucky walks from corridor to corridor, eyes silently scanning every book’s spines.

As he reaches the poetry section, he stops by a title. O viziune a sentimentelor. Though he normally wouldn’t go for a poetry book, the name catches his attention like no other did so far.

His fingers reach out for the cream colored book and just when he’s about to pull it out–

“That’s one of the best Romanian books. Ever.”

Bucky can’t help but freeze at the sudden appearance, hand tightly closed around the book, too startled at not hearing the steps after him.

You don’t seem to notice though, your input falling unasnwered in the empty corridor for a few moments as your attention diverges for a row of books in the opposite shelf, your hands trailing through the dust until finally picking up a bright red one.

The soft, whispered ‘a-ha!’ you let out is enough for Bucky to turn around.

Eyes trailing from your feet and up, he stops midway through it. It’s creepy and it might make you uncomfortable. He knows he doesn’t look like the friendliest of men. Between the white sneakers, lace trimmed shorts and white top that flashed a silver of your skin, Bucky doesn’t look up to your face.

Until you speak up again.

“It took me two weeks to read this book.” You mention to the book in his hands with your own, an amused smile forming on your lips as you roll your eyes. “The Romanian was a bitch to crack through.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything – feeling suddenly torn about striking a conversation or posing as an uneducated son of a bitch.

You don’t mind the brief silence, taking the time to watch him.

Even though the summer is just a few weeks away, he wears a heavy, maroon jacket. You know the gray top underneath is long-sleeved too. Black cap and black glove and jeans, brown hair brushing against the light stubble of his jaw. He’s tall and his broad shoulders are nothing but imposing.

If by chance you’d met him after a night-out in Old Town with your friends, you’d switch for the other sidewalk.

Right now, he looks somehow familiar. Despite everything, he manages to look soft as he finally talks to you.

“My Romanian is rusty.” He says, lips pursing for a small moment as he shrugs and clears his throat, blue eyes settling on you again. “It will be good practice.”

At the realization he speaks English too, you smile. And Bucky swears it lights up your face, the gloss of your lipstick looking more appearent as you do.

In another time of this life, he knows exactly what his old self would do. For the first time in months, he wishes to be like him again – easy with words and blessed with natural charm. To be the guy a pretty girl would give the time of her day.

He’s on the run but he’s not blind. He knows you’re pretty.

(Even more when you bite your lip. Not that he should be noticing all that).

“Then you should have this one.” You shake the book in your hand, cheeks warming up when his gaze lifts from your lips to your eyes again. “For practice.”

You hand him the bright red covered book and Bucky reads in worn golden letters. Poezii by one Mihail Eminescu.

When he looks up again, you have a smirk playing on your lips, fingers pulling another book from the shelf. A green one with similar golden letters. He can’t read the title, not even when you hold it against your chest and start walking backwards and out of the poetry section.

“This one is yours.” Bucky retorts, two books fitting easily between his metal fingers, lips quirking in an unexpected side smile. “I don’t mind waiting one more week.”

The words feel odd at the tip of his tongue – somehow flirty, almost feeling like an invitation, a plead.

And just before you turn around to leave–

“I don’t mind it either.” You tip your head to one side and raise your free hand, pressing a single finger to your smiling lips. “One week.”

An invitation that you take it.

One week that turns into two and then turns into three and soon it’s a month (and a half).

You become friends.

Bucky learns a lot about you in the short period.

He knows you’re an interchange student that switched the last year of your graduation to try your luck somewhere else. He knows you’ve been reading Romanian novels to improve your language skills because you’re terrible at it. He knows you like fashion and he always takes note on your clothes.

He watches – it’s a natural trait of the soldier – and he learns a lot about you in the short period.

Quirks, likes and dislikes, moods.

Bucky draws a line at friendship but it’s hard to ignore the feeling flaring in his chest everytime you smile around him.

You never ask anything about him. As far as it goes, he’s just an American man trying life in different country. Bucky guesses you might think he’s a veteran, a regular soldier with a backstory similar to many men that come back from war.

(He almost wants to be suspicious at your disinterest. But it’s you so he doesn’t).

His routine is a little less dull now. His days off are spent in the library and each time he comes back home with a new novel to read, often Romanian authors you’ve heard in your classes.

Sometimes his late mornings are replaced for early meetings, like today, as he watches you switch from tab to tab in your laptop, sitting in a study desk at the back of the room with books and papers all around you.

And between watching every little detail from you – to the little flowers in your pants to the glitter of your nails, Bucky frowns in confusion when you smile softly at the screen.

“Look at this poem.” You say quietly, turning the laptop screen to his direction with a knowing smile, your shoulder brushing against his as you rest back on the chair. “Nichita Stănescu.”

As he leans closer, words in Romanian come to him as easily as if it’s in English.

Then we met more often. I stood at one side of the hour, you at the other, like two handles of an amphora. Only the words flew between us, back and forth. You could almost see their swirling, and suddenly, I would lower a knee, and touch my elbow to the ground to look at the grass, bent by the falling of some word, as though by the paw of a lion in flight. The words spun between us, back and forth, and the more I loved you, the more they continued, this whirl almost seen, the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.

Ignoring his ridiculously fast beating heart, and how much the poem speaks to both of you, Bucky turns his head to you–

Already looking at him, with your lips miserable inches away from his own. And he doesn’t pull back. Maybe because he’s too startled. Or maybe because he simply doesn’t want to.

“It’s beautiful.”

You sigh and it falls right into his mouth. Bucky recognizes the poem from the book he got when he met you and he knows what it means, how it fits what you have, if there’s something to think of. He pulls back anyway.

“It  is.”

He doesn’t specify what but he knows you know by the way you look at him.

Bucky draws a line.

And he thinks everything will be fine – at least until the nightclub incident happens.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier fanfic #the winter soldier fanfiction #the winter soldier imagine #avengers #avengers fanfic #avengers fanfiction #avengers imagine #avengers one shot #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #the apartment chronicles #two sides #bucharest diaries #T #romance #fanfic #fanfiction

[azeher]

Since Voltron will be ending this year, do you think it will be too late to contribute making art for it now or once it's done? I know it's a silly question. I've been a fan and part of the fandom since it was first released but college took up most of my time that I couldn't even hardly draw. I'm graduating next year so I'll definitely have more time to do so and dust off my skills but the show will be over.

Well I’ve been in the fandom since the show first came out too and even so I barely drew for it before. Not because I didn’t want to. I would occasionally draw lil stuff or silly comics but those were like once evey five of months or so. It seemed like I always had to be rather doing something else, so I get you. Also, I spent most of that time trying to avoid the fandom. But because the show’s ending and because I simply got compelled to draw for it, now I just want to have fun. Not only there are so many cool and friendly artists contributing but truly the visuals and characters are so cool and detailed and basically pretty that once you start drawing for real, you just want to keep doing it.

In my case, I also find it very addictive to draw my fave.

Don’t feel like it’s a waste bc Voltron is gonna end soon. If you have the time, take it and have fun. Yes, most of the fandom is scary but there are so many wonderful ppl there too that will make sure you have an amazing time. Besides, I don’t think that just bc the show’s ending soon it means suddenly every fan content about it will dissolve into the nothing. Many will keep writing fics and drawing fanart and just expanding on it and if you ever want to move on, that’s ok too. Just, don’t shy away from drawing for something you like just because it ended/is a about to end.

Also, this show isn’t perfect but it gave me tons of fun so I’m really gonna miss it when it’s over. I think what I’m gonna miss the most are the VAs!

#anons being anons #asks #voltron #Anonymous

[themeggem]

Final Reflection

Ten weeks is almost up, a chapter in my life coming to a close. It’s funny, my cycle started when I arrived in Torquay and now as I prepare to finish up loose ends, my cycle finishes, a new one beginning  as I step towards a new chapter in my life. It’s like my body is ready to let go.

 The ‘end’ feels a little open, uncertain and exciting. When I’m asked where to next? I’m never really sure at first. My decisiveness flaring up perhaps. But it’s okay, it allows for a blank page, I have the opportunity to carve out my own way, while being open to possibilities. It feels liberating in ways, a freedom to take my own steps without the (sometimes strict) guidance of schooling and university. The best part about it is that I feel ready to spread my wings and fly. I’ve already began shaking off the dust.

Before diving into the journey, I wanted to thank and feel gratitude for Matty, who carved out time in his busy life to listen to me, to be present and to guide me throughout the internship. For having the patience as I became familiar with the new surroundings, activities and tasks. And for providing me with both the initial opportunity but also giving me the freedom to take the reins for B recertification and allowing me to input any ideas or recommendations. Importantly, Matty helped me to become more in touch with my intuition and my resistance, by allowing me to write honest reflections and motivate me to journal more frequently. The experience has been a gift, and it is something I will remember and cherish.  

The big ole’ Journey

Like most things in life, this journey came with its own ups and downs. I feel like I’m getting the hang of riding out these roller coaster of emotions and situations thanks to COVID. But more thanks to being present. I can better recognise the feelings that rise within me better than before. I used to be consumed by my emotions, but now I just see them as travellers sometimes stopping for a little while, but never moving in. By not attaching to my emotions, my observation skills both within but outside have heightened. As part of the learning process I wanted to simply observe more practical things, but also how others connect, and react to situations. It has been insightful and further sparked my drive to run my own business, and create stronger connections with others. Seeing the flexibility and the way you can balance your life in a way that nourishes your wellbeing seems so important and something I want to stay true to. Self care is vital if I want to thrive. 

Through observing myself, I have leaned in to everything B Corp! I enjoyed the structure and guidelines that came with the recertification process. It was very ‘heady’, repetition started to set in at times, but when I began to feel settled, new tasks and ideas put me in a new direction.

Taking the initiative to connect with B Lab excited me, it showed that I was pretty keen to be involved and wanted to take a deeper dive into learning what it’s all about. I want to continue strengthening this connection, inspired to join Melbourne’s B committee to further extend my network within the B Corp community. Something I am interested in doing is definitely B Corp consulting, it seems to be a growing movement and it aligns to my values and how I see businesses being key to transformation and change that is so vitally needed. It’s a goal I have in mind, and I will be looking at ways I can improve my consulting skills and gain a deeper understanding of the B Corp world. 

Opening my own business has always been an idea that lingers and nudges me in times of inspiration. I feel prepared to take the risk, it’s just understanding how to take the risk exactly, and who it will be with. 

The future is filled with uncertainties, I guess it always is. Covid in a way has smashed to pieces preconceived ideas of what steps I should be taking after graduating. It’s left an open book of opportunities and failures. I feel myself floating a little. This year sometimes feels like a weird dream. Everything stopped in its tracks. Every expectation pulled from under my feet. How am I supposed to ‘do’ life now? What does this mean for my life? It made me realise nothing was for certain. That what I do now doesn’t mean I’m locked in for life. You never are. It brings me a stronger sense of intention as I realise my core purpose is to be. To simply be. The rest is just extra. That in being you are already more than enough. So whatever you choose, It cannot truly define who you are. So I say only do what allows you to be. To be, authentic self. From there is where we may thrive. To be there takes a lot of courage, takes bravery. Sometimes I get so confused about who I truly am, the societal constructs that have been bestowed upon us cause us to morph and play roles to feel some sense of belonging. Sometimes it feels more comfortable to be in the roles, to accept what has been dealt. But then I do things that feel right and it brings me back home.

It feels right when helping others to be seen, to be understood and to feel comfortable in being themselves. It feels right when I can help improve how we manage our lifestyles and our impact on the environment, when awareness grows, when we feel a deeper connection to our surroundings and when we try to restore some balance. I stated in my goals earlier that I wanted to gain a clearer understanding of where I wanted to direct my passion, but I think somewhere in the depths, I knew all along… To discover with others how we might improve our fundamental connections to all beings. From rocks, gum trees and incredible oceanic mammals. These ecosystems are our existence. How can we live in better harmony? How can we use our minds, our ideas, or creations to repair and rebalance? How can we sit closer together and listen presently to others and the world that wraps around us?

Lately I have sensed a flare of creative energy, I want to paint, dance, draw, I want to create my own content. I imagine a business that changes the way we understand the story of our clothes, where my fellow humans are no consumer in my eyes but are connecting, working together towards a common goal in loving and nurturing our beautiful planet, using technology and industry as a force for good. Continuing to propel the sparked awareness of improved localisation as Covid meets us eye to eye. We needed each other then, and we need each other now if we are going to nurture and repair the damage that has been and is being done. I see freedom in running my own business, allowing my gypsy travel bug to flare, to carve out my imagination and bring it to life and to make my own money off my own back. 

I may be inexperienced, I do have many doubts, it feels uncomfortable at times. But I don’t see how I’m going to change, how I’m going to grow if I don’t step into the deep end and start learning how to swim. 

[buttons-on-shirts]

“i like him” || newt scamander

word count: 2361

summary: slytherin!reader x newt scamander

author’s note: okay, so i deleted “cliché” because i didn’t really like how it turned out. so i deleted it, and rewrote it.. and now it’s this! so if you like it, tell me :) . enjoy! (sorry for any grammatical errors)

“i like him.”

it wasn’t long before you realized you liked newt until he was expelled. you realized you had liked him for a year maybe. all those butterflies and nervousness; it was all because of him. those few months after the realization were excruciating. your friends made fun of you for liking a hufflepuff and you barely did anything to about your feelings.

“but he’s a hufflepuff. and you’re a slytherin. i hardly think that you parents would approve.”

your parents were not the kindest of people, and always strove to keep their bloodline pure. there would be no relationship with anything other than a slytherin. no hufflepuff. no ravenclaw. no gryffindor. nothing. so this little crush of yours would not be welcome in your family, and you’d be marked as the black sheep of the family and wiped from the family tree.

newt was in a few of your classes, and he didn’t draw too much attention to himself. you had two classes with him; care of magical creatures and charms. charms was extremely boring if you weren’t doing actual magic, if you weren’t you were always trying to find some kind of distraction. somehow your gaze always drifted to a hufflepuff who sat a row above the person who sat across from you. he’d answer a question if he was called on, occasionally he’d raise his hand.

in care of magical creatures he was the most active. it seemed as if he were the most comfortable talking about creatures than he was around people. that was probably another reason you gaze was unconsciously drawn to him. he didn’t do much, but it was definitely enough that it got your attention.

he was quiet and didn’t say much to other people except for a girl called leta lestrange. she was infamous in slytherin and was sort of an outcast. whenever you saw them together, you’d always get this building anger. you couldn’t help but hate her a little. you were always confused when you felt it; why am i feeling this?

you didn’t know newt had been expelled until two days after. you had, of course, noticed that he wasn’t in the lessons, but you had assumed that it was just because he was sick. you were eating breakfast in the great hall, doing last minute homework when one of your friends sat down in front of you suddenly.

“(y/n), did you hear about that hufflepuff guy you like? what was his name again? normand? neville?”

“newt,” you told her, rolling your eyes. “what about him?”

“whatever. didn’t you hear? he got expelled. i’d expect you of all people to know this.”

“wait... he was expelled! why?”

“i don’t know. something about a endangering student’s lives or something,” she told you. “you should owl him or something.”

“no! i can’t do that. he probably doesn’t even know who i am,” you sighed. you’ll probably never see him ever again. “that’s a shame. i liked him.”

after you graduating from hogwarts, the feelings went away.. sort of. you started working in the ministry of magic which distracted you from feelings and anything outside of work. being an auror was a hassle and tiring; no one knew where grindelwald was which put everyone on edge.

sighing, you stood up from your desk and decided to walk around for a break. grabbing your old slytherin scarf and wrapping it around your neck. you apparated to a dark alley with a snap and started to walk towards the street. slowly, you made your way to diagon alley.

you zoned out out of boredom and didn’t notice the man in a blue overcoat in front of you. he was traveling the opposite direction, and neither of you saw each other coming. you both crashed into each other, almost sending each other to the ground before something caught you before you could fall completely.

you had closed your eyes to prepare you for the impact of your fall. opening your eyes slowly, you saw what was supposedly the man you ran into. the man cleared his throat and let go of your arm. “sorry, about that. are you, uh, okay?”

dusting off invisible dirt, you grinned up at him. “yes i am.” you looked closer at him, noticing something familiar about him. “do i know you from somewhere? i’ve seen you, i know i have.”

the man shifted uncomfortably, glancing from you, the floor, and to the case in his hands. “i, uh, i don’t believe so.”

“yes, i would hope so,” he smiled kindly. you nodded slightly and started to walk your original direction.

after a few seconds, you pretended to think for a moment. “oh! i know where i’ve seen you! hogwarts.” you shoved your hands in the pockets of your own coat. “you were a hufflepuff right? newt... something... i don’t quite remember, i was a slytherin though.”

“oh, uh. scamander. my name’s newt scamander. i remember you. uh, (y/n) (l/n), right? you, uh, were the captain of the slytherin quidditch team?” he asked, not looking at you directly.

you giggled, “you are correct. are you going anywhere right now? i was actually just on my way to diagon alley. would you like to join me?” newt shook his head, slightly looking down at the ground.

“i’m quite sorry, but i, uh, have to head to the ministry actually. got some business to attend to,” he smiled lopsidedly. his hair was just covering the top of his eyes, which since he was hunching slightly, it seemed as if he were looking up at you.

your shoulders drooped slightly (which didn’t go unnoticed by newt), but smiled anyways. “oh, i suppose that’s okay. i’ll see you soon then?”

it was a particularly slow day in diagon alley, and you were walking along the streets; window shopping. you went inside the pet store to look at all the new animals. out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man in a blue coat rush by the window. but when you went outside to investigate, there was no one you saw wearing a blue coat.

looking back at the animals, you couldn’t help but feel someone looking at you, but every time you looked around there was no one there. satisfied with looking at all the new animals, you began to walk down the street again. you were particularly distracted by something in a window and didn’t see the one brick in the road was sticking out more than the others. which caused you to trip and fall onto somebody.

after fixing yourself you looked up only to see newt again. who was flushed a bit and he was looking at you with caring eyes.

“oh, merlin! i’m sorry about that. me and falling around you seems to be a recurring event,” you said, smiling softly.

“which is an unfortunate way of meeting,” newt agreed. you raised you eyebrow slightly. he seemed to realize what he said and immediately went to explain himself. “well, i mean that it’s unfortunate that you’re always falling and-”

“it’s okay, newt. i understood what you meant,” you laughed. “i guess you could say that i’m falling for you, huh?”

newt immediately started to sputter out nonsense, not knowing what to say.

“i’m only kidding! don’t worry about it. i’m fine,” you told him. taking a deep breath and letting it out, you looked to the ground and back up again. “would you like to accompany me in a walk down the street?” he nodded, slightly. you smiled happily. “fantastic.”

you both walked down the street, saying nothing to the other. you walked slowly, hands in pockets (newt was holding onto his case tightly), and looking down at the brick below your feet.

“have you ever thought about having a pet, newt?” you asked suddenly, scaring him slightly.

you saw him look from you and down to his case multiple times. “uh, uhm... i-i, uh have thought about it, i, uh, i guess,” he stuttered. his grip on the case tightened and untightened a couple times. smiling mischievously at him, you understood what was going on.

“do you have creatures in that case, mr. scamander?” you asked him, jumping in front of him, and smiling up at him. “are you fantastically brilliant and have beasts and creatures in that case?”

newt froze, and you could have sworn fear struck at least three times in his eyes. “i-i, uh. what? h-how did you-”

“it’s my job, mr. scamander, to see everything and understand how people act. it’s a skill that i pride myself with,” you informed him. His eyes were shifting around at the few people around, making sure no one was listening.

quickly, newt took your arm and dragged you to an alley. he looked into your eyes, surprising you. “please don’t tell anyone about this. i’ve only got a few creatures so far, and i’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. it’s not exactly legal... yet.”

you laughed. “it’s fine. i don’t care. that’s not my department. would you please show me the creatures?” you asked him. eyes wide with excitement. you saw a smile start to creep up on his lips. his eyes were now shining brightly. he shyly glanced down at his hand, which was still holding onto your arm, the other tightly clutching his case.

“alright, uh, do you have any place where i can put my case? i don’t like leaving this anywhere busy,” he asked you, warily looking around.

“oh! of course. come on then. hold onto- oh.” you glanced at your arm, which newt was already holding onto. “as you were then.” you apparated to your flat before newt could say anything. it was a cozy little place; you liked it. “you could place that anywhere you like,” you told him, pointing to his case.

newt let go of your arm and nodded, placing his case in the middle of the floor. slouching down he clicked it open. he called to you from over his shoulder, “well, come on then.” opening it up fully, he stood up and stepped in the case.

you waited a few seconds before climbing in yourself. once fully inside you closed the lid and looked around. you were standing in the middle of a shed strewn with little trinkets and papers.

newt had taken off his coat and untied his bowtie. his shirt was untucked and he looked less put together than when he would in public. he was scurrying around, caring for plants and pouring things into flasks.

“I’ll show you them now,” he told you quietly. “be careful though, some of them aren't quite used to human interaction yet.” he opened the door and turned to you, smiling.

smiling happily, you walked quickly over to him and looked around. it wasn’t much, there was still so much empty space. but there were still so many different creatures that caught your attention.

“i’m studying the creatures; making a book of different traits of each creature. so many of them are misunderstood and treated as if they were dangerous. i’m trying to show the wizarding world that not all of them are harmful, and if they are, then my book will show them how to deal with them. i’ve only just asked the ministry for permission a week ago, but i’ve had these for about six months or so,” newt informed you.

“they're wonderful,” you told him. “i wish i could see you fill this place up even more. all these fantastic beasts and your expanding charm. it’s brilliant.” he shyly smiled at you, looking at his hands.

newt showed you everything. despite having few species of creatures, there was still so much to see. each enclosure you saw only made you more excited to see the creatures. newt started talking to you and you both told each other stories of what you’ve done over the years. you both laughed and joked around in the enclosures.

eventually, you both made your way to a small forest like area. you both sat in silence next to each other. “at hogwarts, i wasn't very interested in magical creatures. i only pretended to like it there because you were there,” you confessed, surprising yourself. your eyes widened, and tried looked anywhere but newt. your cheeks burned and tried to hide your face with your hand.

“what?”

“n-nothing. i didn’t say anything,” you stuttered out. looking away from him.

“right, uhm. i think i ,uh, need to go check on one of the beasts... the uh, demiguise...” newt told you. you could hear him shuffling to get up. you nodded, pursing your lips and looking at the ground in front of you.

you sighed, getting up and making your way back to the shed. you were going to get out of this case and never come back. you had just indirectly confessed that you liked him. and you couldn’t believe anything made you do that.

“(y/n)!” you were just about to enter the shed when newt called you. turning around you saw newt walking up to you quickly. he stopped right in front of you, grabbed your face and kissed you. the kiss was over as quick as it happened. although as short as it was a dream come true. it left your lips tingling and head all fuzzy. “i’ve liked you ever since hogwarts. i didn’t think you ever noticed me,” he told you leaning his forehead on yours.

you barely had enough time to register what he said let alone what he was doing before he took off running. you were smiling for the rest of the day. these feelings from hogwarts were finally able to come out.

you grinned happily at the direction newt ran off in. “i like him.”

“and that’s how you two got together?”

you nodded, looking at newt. he was trying to covering the bottom of his face with his hand. his ears were completely red and his face was almost beet red.

“yeah. it’s a bit strange, i know, but i like it. i especially like him.”

#newt scamander #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander imagine #newt scamander imagines #newt scamander scenario #eddie redmayne #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #hamilton fanfic #harry potter imagine #hufflepuff #slytherin #hp #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them imagines #imagine #imagines #scenarios

[cosmosogler]

hi guys. today cleo woke me up before 5 am. 

i had fallen asleep sometime after 1 so i was Not Happy. mom asked me what i  was doing up and i don’t remember if i actually responded or not. i let the dogs outside. wiley was a hassle to get back inside because it was kind of nice out. then as soon as i closed the door behind me and turned around diogi wanted to go outside, because she hadn’t wanted to go outside ten minutes previously. by the time i herded her over to the grass and blocked her off from wandering around the pool the sun was up. 

i went back to sleep even though my body was awake. i think i had craig dreams but they only made me mildly angry. i was mostly frustrated with the people around him. which has been happening in those dreams the last few times i’ve had them over the last, like, year and a half. 

then cleo woke me up by shrieking at 8, and also my alarm went off for some ungodly reason. i booted everyone else out of my bed and out of my room and closed the door. then cleo spent the next literal hour rattling my door and howling. i didn’t want to hurt her or anything, but i did want to cry. by the time she went downstairs to wake someone else up my alarm went off again. i slept in an extra 45 minutes despite the rattling starting up again sometime in the last 15 minutes of my “nap.” 

i was really too tired to do much today. i caught up on some comics, i watched a lot of not-video-game youtube videos, and i started looking up some resources for group-based activities around town. there was something that looked really cool that meets next tuesday... i think it’s all day, or in the evening, so it won’t conflict with therapy.

i had more pesto leftovers with mom. this time i let her start eating way before me so by the time i sat down her concert of disgusting vomit-inducing mouth noises was almost finished. in hell everyone communicates by chewing with their mouths open. the lip-smacking asmr videos make me want to scream and throw my computer.

i don’t actually, like, go and listen to them or anything. but it’s come up before.

sleep deprivation for this many nights in a row (5 i think? 6?) has reduced my patience level to approximately absolute zero. i was having trouble sleeping all year but the last week has been... something special.

i washed my siblings’ bed sheets today instead of dusting. mom wants me to wash all of the sheets every week. i don’t know if that’s really the most efficient use of our water, considering every advice site i’ve looked at has said something along the lines of “washing your sheets every two weeks is great, but once a month or so is also good.” 

maybe there’s no drawbacks to washing your sheets that often. i just don’t know how fast they wear out.

this is bad, but despite telling oz i was too tired to watch a movie, i sat and watched a really long critique of the bbc sherlock show in the late afternoon. i guess part of it was watching something that long by myself i didn’t have to also talk to anyone... 

about halfway through i paused to greet my brother and father as they had returned from their mud run, feed the dogs, and get some thai food with mom. i think i hurt myself trying to eat food that was too spicy... i felt really sick afterward and my stomach is still kind of grouchy with me. even though i am also hungry again because i wasn’t actually full when i stopped eating, i just couldn’t deal with my nerves disintegrating any more.

i keep getting spicy food hoping i’ll develop a better tolerance. i’ve got enough of one to tell different kinds of spices apart and appreciate different “flavors” of “OH GOD WHY IT’S SO HOT IT HURTS” and not get that sick. but the legendary Thai Hot seems to be forever out of my range. Double Thai Hot exists only in rumors. i saw jay get Double Thai Hot once. he caught on fire. and also cried.

i really love the soups that this place makes, but mom doesn’t like the very unique flavors so we didn’t get any. i wouldn’t have ordered the most spice that the cook is willing to give white people if we had gotten soup haha...

ehh, i boxed the leftovers for later. it’s not as good reheated, but i have a strong need for pahd thai and one sitting isn’t going to satisfy me.

oh yeah! around lunchtime i went out and blasted the dogs with the hose. i didn’t brush them afterward because there are five dogs and i didn’t want anyone to get sat on trying to get my brush’s attention. i didn’t take anyone to the mail box today though because it was over 100 even after the sun went down. even i didn’t want to walk the 2 minutes over to the mailbox.

and i maybe figured out what i’m gonna do with that gold bottle cap. i’m gonna slap it on a shiny magikarp and ship him off on the wonder trade. since it has a... less helpful nature (but not as bad as the other two) and no good ivs it will benefit the most from a gold bottle cap, which boosts all your stats to the maximum. all of the pokemon i am hyper training only need half their stats boosted. it’s not too hard to get 3 regular bottle caps, it just takes a while, especially if i am not using the fishing hole because i can’t be bothered to split my attention between film theory and watching my 3ds screen for a 1-second alert that i have to react to.

tomorrow... i gotta email my apartment complex or see if i can find the bed size myself so we can do the new sheets and stuff. and i gotta contact my relatives about my graduation party near the end of july. i think it’s the 23rd. and maybe i will check out one of the social activities available this side of town if i can find one that meets on sundays and is also interesting and/or small enough that it won’t be overwhelming. i would also like to maybe finish the owl picture since i have not worked on that in basically a whole week. and i gotta get this grody nail polish off my fingernails. it can stay on my toenails though because it still looks nice and is also maybe hiding a crack from when i accidentally stomped on my own toes while walking wiley.

it’s kind of weird but i make a very specific series of noises when i am hurt. i think being angry and then disappointed helps me get over the fact that it hurts a little more quickly. like when eve or diogi step on me with their claws, or when i bang my shin against a corner, or when i step on my toes and crack the nail. or burn my hands because the sink water is extremely hot for some reason.

i think... maybe tomorrow i will also try to do one thing from my to-do jar for the first time in over a week. i’ve done most of the major dusting so i will probably only need to devote about 5 minutes to that tomorrow. or maybe i could wipe down the window shades since the duster doesn’t do anything but kick up the dirt.

oh, also marisol is getting back in tomorrow evening so i can finally return her angle and hre devil. whiskey is a good boy. he likes to be picked up and cuddled with, and he is also the size of a small floppy pillow. and also he doesn’t SCREAM AT 4:30 IN THE MORNING WHICH IS A GREAT PERK!!!

it’s about 10 minutes early, but i think i am going to stop soon and get ready for bed. maybe i should take the dogs outside so cleo will wake me up at 6 instead of before 5.

one thing that just occurred to me is that i didn’t feel as depressed today. i mean yeah i felt extremely lethargic and nauseous and i had a headache for literally the whole day no matter how much water i drank. but i also just didn’t put much time into thinking about how bad i feel. i think that is about as good as it gets for me. i don’t know if that’s healthy or not though. since it might just be holding them in instead of dealing with them? i can’t tell if i am avoiding my bad feelings or successfully coping with them. tomorrow i might make some oatmeal cookies... our mixes and doughs are starting to creep up to their expiration dates. asher is getting back in about a week, so i will bake the snickerdoodles around that time. i will have to check for nuts in the mix though. like “this product was made in a facility that also processes nuts” or whatever.

i think maybe trying to jump back on the “doing things” wagon will help me go forward again. and maybe find a goal, since my first one of “learn better cognitive skills to deal with incoming anxiety” got smashed with the whole “you’re not working hard to get better” thing. i guess doing things isn’t working hard. but it keeps me in a better mood than not doing things.

i have ranked my goals in order from “short-term” to “realistically attainable at some point in the future when broken into smaller steps” to “life goals” to “optional bonus round.” well, i don’t really have a lot of goals to put into any of those categories, but i feel that it will be a useful ladder to use if i do find some goals to have. maybe that will help me draw a picture of “who i want to be” which will give me some kind of vague idea of what i should look like in the future? what philosophies are important to me? how do i want to treat other people? what do i think about these and these issues and what am i going to do about them? 

i will try not to overwhelm myself right away and just kind of pick things up as i walk by them for now. and i will keep doing a few stretches during the day. 

maybe, starting on monday or tuesday, i will put some time into trying to feel invested in my writing again. i still remember where a lot of “following that train of thought” needs to happen. after i get everything down for real this time i can start cutting unnecessary things out and making an actual next draft. that’s always the REALLY hard part for me. 

i think i could do that on tuesday. ask for some input from my therapist in specifically feeling more interested in things i create.

ok, now it is just after 12:25. i have now made full use of my allotted journal time and i feel like i maybe got somewhere with it which is nice. now i just gotta pick up all these beans and play the lottery.

[peachymess]

Do you like how Armin has been described on his Attack on Titan wikia page?

Altogether,I think it’s a very standard, ok surface description. It’s great for looking upsomething you’re unsure about, but I don’t think you get the depth of thecharacters from the wiki in general. And it might just be me, but I get a veryanime-leaning vibe from the site, so I don’t consult it very often. There is a point I want to make about Armin being an unreliable narrator, andI’m going to use this ask as my opportunity to touch upon it, but first, I’llnitpick on some other stuff I found, since you ask:

“Althoughhe appears to be the physically weakest of the 104th Taning Corps,his intelligence and strategic genius makes him an invaluable asset, especiallywhen paired with Hange Zoë’s mind,” the wiki says in the introduction. Well, Ihave two issues with this: the first is the claim that Armin appears to be theweakest of the 104th. This is why I say the wiki feels eerilyanime-favoring; in the anime, things are sometimes simplified, and we get theshortcut, gimmicky version of the manga. Its logic goes like this: “Armin isweak, his issue is inferiority due to that weakness, and he didn’t graduate topten. Conclusion: he is the weakest of the class.” But this isn’t necessarilytrue; top ten is the icing on the cake. Did they not see all the unnamed cadetson the training grounds? In the smartpass interview, when asked if he couldtake down Historia in combat, Armin didn’t even dignify the question with ananswer, he merely asked if he really looked that weak. And even if he came in absolutelast place – out of what, fifty cadets – it could be due to more than strength:it could be stamina, stealth, etc. Drawing such under-developed conclusions as“he is the weakest” is what I dislike with the anime, and the false narrativethat it pushes onto the fans until they believe it. They simplify thecharacters, and I think in Armin’s case, it’s the reason why so many walk awaythinking he is weak and useless, when in reality that description hardly fitshim.  

Secondly,the Hanji comment, to me, seemed absolutely unnecessary and out of place. Arminis an invaluable asset, period. He can’t be more invaluable by addingan extra component. Invaluable is invaluable. If they wanted to say that heworks well with the new commander, that point could find a much more naturalplace somewhere else in the text. Adding this to the very introduction ofArmin’s page, tells me yet again, that the fanbase has become misguided in howthey view Armin: he’s not a great add-on, he’s his own asset. He doesn’t giveother character an extra edge, he’s his own force to be reckoned with. All ofArmin biggest moments, greatest plans, most spectacular wins, were all productsof his own mind alone! Yet again, we’ve been fooled by the simplicity that theanime promotes: we assume that, as clever characters, Armin and Hanji are boundto be a dream team – because all smarties get along, right? To some extent,they do produce results together, but they aren’t very compatible outsidespitballing; Hanji spins on Armin’s input and leaves him in the dust becausethey prefer to run their own show, not even considering what part of it comesfrom Armin’s own skill to keep up. That’s their personality, and I’m not tryingto fault them for it, but why mention how well Armin works with Hanji, when thelatter doesn’t even recognize Armin’s skill for their own (as further shown inShiganshina, when Hanji did not so much as mention there being a dilemma worthconsidering – nor has expressed any sort of sentiment towards Armin’s contributionto the group ever since he was saved by Levi, if ever). Armin’s short period ofthrowing ball with Hanji is so insignificant to his person (and personality),that I feel like most anything else could be a better way of closing thatopening paragraph on him.

Anotherone: “Armin is rather short for his age,” the wiki page says. While shorterthan most of the other prominent teen boys of the story, Armin beingparticularly short is not something that has ever been given any significancein canon. I’m not saying he’s not short, but this wording makes it sound likeit’s a very prominent part of his appearance, which it isn’t. In your teens,you’re in constant growth, and hormones kicking in later than others’, isnatural. I looked up average height for 15 year old males (present time), andwhile he’s shorter than the average of 170 cm, he fit the average of a 14 yearold to the decimal. For one, it’s not unusual to be a late bloomer, and also, Ihave a theory that he might have been 14 and a half throughout the Trost arc: untilthere is explicit canon proof that Armin is the oldest of the trio (and bornthe year before Eren), he could very well have been turning 15 throughoutmost of the story so far; it’s never explicitly said that you had to be 12 to join bootcamp; as with many schools, perhaps you only needed to turn 12that year, meaning he could have been 11, going on 12 the year of enrollment. Thus,he could be fourteen and a half (and only half a year away from being theaverage height for his age) back in Trost. What’s more: humans have continuouslybecome taller on average. A hundred years ago, the average was considerablyshorter, as the average in the SNK universe could be. Regardless: while Armincould still be shorter than average, there’s absolutely a difference between“below average” and “rather short”. Again, this is an anime-worthygeneralization that skews his character to less keen consumers.

Now, on towhat I’m really here to talk about: “too timid to defend himself, Armin wouldoften need to rely on his friends (Eren Yeager and Mikasa Ackerman) to protecthim from local bullies.” We all know this to be true, right? Why? Because Armintells us so, repeatedly, through his own narrative. But what he feeds us – asboth narrator of the story, and as a main character with frequent innermonologs – is his own skewed perception of his childhood. If we were asked todescribe the trio’s dynamic back in Shiganshina, most of us would be inclinedto say something along the lines of “Eren and Armin would talk about theoutside world while Mikasa listened, and whenever Armin got picked on, his twofriends would have to come to his rescue because he was too weak to defendhimself.” But this isn’t entirely true, as rather: it’s an image with weightwrongfully placed on Armin’s uselessness – a uselessness he’s put on himself,and that nobody but him actually experiences. Let’s look at what Armin says vs.what the manga shows us: Armin portrays himself as a hopeless coward faced with his bullies. But in thevery first encounter we see him have with them, he talks back and stands up forhimself like a badass. In Eren’s flashback in chapter 83, it’s confirmed thatArmin never runs away from those bullies, and probably stands his ground thesame way he did in the first chapter. While Eren and Mikasa would beat his bulliesfor him, that’s not the only way to win or be strong – as Eren would agree,deeply impacted by Armin’s resolve as he was. Armin talks about how he was tooweak to fight for himself, and he selects the images of him crying on theground to emphasis this – so we’re fooled to see the same thing he sees – but that’san image that’s stripped of the positive aspects of him, because it’s hisimages. What we don’t see from his perspective, but that we see in the reallife encounter, as well as Eren’s flashback, is a strong-willed boy with witsto make up for lack of muscle. Does it not take just as much strength to standyour ground (and not hit back), as it takes to wrestle someone to the ground?

Somethingthat further drives home the point that Armin shapes the past to fit hisnarrative, is how he gives us the impression that the fist fights the trio gotinto were all for the sake of him. But that actually isn’t the case! Back inchapter 45, we get a description of the same past, through the eyes of an outsider,and I think you’ll find that it’s rather different from Armin’s way ofportraying it:

Rightbefore these pages, Mikasa and Armin muse on how sad it is that Eren alwaysseemed to run away from them. That, paired with what Hannes is saying, itappears that the dynamic was thus: the trio had each other’s back and weren’tparticularly fond of others, because others weren’t frond of them. Armin wouldget picked on and helped out by his loyal friends, but Eren would also be arowdy kid with a lot of energy, who ran off and got himself into trouble thathis friends would try to help him out of. As Mikasa seemed to be left behind aswell, I’d wager she was more calm and wished Eren would be less antsy. See?This is a dynamic that actually feels more – dynamic! It’s not an entireexistence focused on aiding a lesser human (Armin). Armin had his own struggleswhere others had his back, but that was only one third of this trio’sstructure. Yet, his issues blinded him, because he was too ashamed to look pastthem. So, as narrator, that’s the only third he’s able to pass on to us. We, asviewers, have done him huge injustice by taking it as proof. We’ve missed thepoint: this is what Armin thinks, and he’s wrong! We aren’t shown his skewed interpretationof his childhood to learn about his past, it’s shown to us so that we can seehow warped his self-image is – to see what he’s struggling with! Ultimately, sothat we can understand what a major feat it is to have achieved everything he’sachieved! Armin even says it himself early on: it was all in his head! Yet, the anime – and by extension, big parts of the fandom (and the wiki) –simplifies his character. They choose to go with Armin’s own accounts, and sowe’re continuously fed this (third of a) narrative that is unhealthy andincorrect, by way of excluding context. Armin was helped out by his friends –like everyone with good friends is – and so was Eren! That isn’t a detrimentalsign of weakness to Armin’s character – not until Armin starts telling us itis. Having friend who are willing to fight for you, doesn’t equal you beingweak and a burden. Our mistake is that we didn’t fact check. Coming back to thewiki, I’m not overly excited about them presenting it the way Armin does,because it adheres to the simplification and “no questions asked” approach thatthe anime has. But again, I know this, so I steer clear of the site,personally.

As a sidenote: in Hannes’ memories, Armin has barged into the midst of the fight and isholding back Eren, so it doesn’t appear that he was afraid of going hands-on ina non-violent way – further proving that him not being violent for his owndefense, was at least to some degree a conscious choice instead of a weakback-down).

Other thanthat, yeah, the wiki gives a pretty standard, ok surface description, if youneed a quick gloss-over refresher on Armin Arlert.

#ask #anon #armin arlert #sorry it took soooooo long to answer #snk meta #armin alert meta #meta

[monoshah]

A Man and his Journal

There once lived a man who owned far too many journals. These were filled with years of venting, loathing, and insight- all turned into writing. Some pages were filled with text, while some had drawings and poems. Regardless, everything written in those journals was about him and his life.

At age fourteen, he came back home from school, crying about getting bullied. Confused about what to do and how to vent, he turned to a piece of paper lying on the kitchen table. And, although the page was blank, his thoughts and feelings were in full form. Staring at that page, he thought about everything that had happened that day in school- the bully humiliating him in front of everybody and his failed attempt to defend himself. There was anger. A lot of anger. And so, he wrote, he wrote like the page was endless, like, every time he used his pen, the anger, fueled it with more ink. As if the page was his friend, someone who never judged, someone selfless who just.. listened.

Why are people mean? Why do we inflict pain on others? Shouldn’t we try to live in harmony? What did I even do to him? You know what’s worse? He tripped me in front of this girl I like. And.. she laughed. Is this what heartbreak feels like? Oh god, I’m so angry. What should I do? I can’t go complain. Oh no, that’ll just make things worse. Should I fight back? But he’s so big and I don’t play sports. Should I tell mom? No no, absolutely not. She’ll interfere. Oh God, is this what adolescence is like?

There was something magical about turning to the page during times of distress. More than anything, journaling his thoughts and feelings helped him showcase the biases and assumptions he had. Questioning them, watching them, being curious about them… the perfect recipe for what Socrates called “Self-Knowledge.”

At sixteen, after his first break-up, he turned to the page again, this time, reflecting on feeling lonely.

Why do I want to be with someone so badly? Am I “needy”? Or, is that human? It’s pretty clear why we broke up, we’re two different people. But, at this moment, I just feel so much pain in my heart. I feel alone as if no one understands me. But then, is that what love is? Do we love to feel less alone in the world? If so, I wonder how many people are in love just for the sake of it. How many new lives that love has created. If the purpose of love is to feel less alone, then, maybe none of us has the ‘perfect match’. Maybe ‘the one’ is just something marketers use to sell romantic comedies and greeting cards. And, relationships shouldn’t be all about feelings, maybe we should put our intellect up to this too. Maybe being in a relationship isn’t something we’re all born with, it’s something we should learn just like any other skill.

Turning back the pages, he went back to an entry he made six months ago, the first time he had a crush on his ex.

She’s perfect. Everything about her, every single thing- it’s like Jesus made her first. Her eyes, so kind and yet- so determined. Those few strands of her that always fall over and cover her eyes. I think I can stare at her forever and all my sorrows would just melt away. In fact, if violence had a chance to meet her, it would change.

Looking at it now, he giggled. Asking himself how stupid he sounded, the fact that he never even spoke to her before making the journal entry amazed him. It made him think about the nature of crushes- so unreliable and toxic. And yet- so sweet. He thought about how a few physical characteristics (which have nothing to do with character), helped him picture her character in his mind. How beauty can be so delusional.

This new shift in perspective is what helped him grow and get better.  

At twenty-one, as he approached his senior year of college, he decided to reflect on everything it had taught him. And, one thing, in particular, stood out to him- the delusion of passion.

Its funny, I chose my major because I thought I was passionate about it. Soon enough, however, that passion faded away and I asked myself if this is something I really wanted to do. So, I found another passion and tried that for two semesters. Again- passion faded away. Maybe I’m missing the target every time, or maybe, there’s no target. All our lives, we’ve been thinking that we’re all “born to do something”, and that, we should always be passionate about what we do. But, does passion help us get through the drudgery? No. Does passion stick around when there’s too much work? No. It just leaves. So maybe, there’s no passion. Maybe our job isn’t really to find what we’re passionate about, but, instead, to find things that interests us and then through that- make a difference in the society. Plus, to get better at anything, we need to push through the drudgery. Maybe the recipe for mastery is work, regardless of the nature of it.

This shift in perspective helped him diversify his interests, helping him learn more and get a richer experience.

The day before his graduation ceremony, his friends and him decided to go to a bar a couple of blocks away to reflect on the four years they spent together. As everyone around the table started talking, he opened his journal to flip and read the entries over the years. And, one entry, in particular, stood out to him. He wrote it after his ‘big’ calculus exam.

Ok, I’m out of the hall. It’s over. I can breathe and eat and sleep (since I haven’t slept for two straight days). Why did I do that though? I mean sure, this exam would majorly contribute to my overall GPA, but like- why did I not sleep for two fucking days? It’s sleep! How could I not sleep?! Am I that concerned about my GPA that I’d sacrifice my health? “But your GPA is going to get you jobs”, let’s assume that’s true. But, would you really want to work with such people? Who’d judge you based on how much of your health you sacrificed for profit? No. This makes me ask myself another big question- we spent so much time and money towards college, how can we make it beneficial? How can use these years to our advantage so that we can learn invaluable lessons, lessons about ourselves, about life & about careers.

Sitting there in that bar, he was happy he knew the answer now.

“What have you learned man?” his friend asked him.

Oh.. where do I start? Let’s see: - I’ve learned that simply getting admitted to college doesn’t mean anything. It simply means you have an opportunity to get better, to grow beyond yourself. - I’ve learned that education doesn’t have any boundaries. If getting admitted to college doesn’t mean anything, then similarly,  not getting admitted to a college too isn’t the end of story. Learning doesn’t need dollars, it needs curiosity and dedication. Books. Oh, yes- God bless the inventor of paper. - I’ve learned that college won’t teach you anything if you’re not ready to step out of your comfort zone. If you don’t attempt to engage in new (& safe) experiences. - I’ve learned some modern day virtues like following up, working hard, making decisions and most importantly- how to get up when we’re down in the dust - Most of all, I hope that tomorrow isn’t the last day we stop learning. And that true freedom is self-education

This set of reflection helped him stay grounded; to make sure a certificate on paper doesn’t make him get lost in ego.

Years later, after he had his own family, on his sons sixteenth birthday, his wife asked him: “what do you think we should get him? How about a car? All his friends have a car.” How would a car help him at this age of self-discovery? He thought.

And that’s when he knew what would, indeed, help him- the journals. He acknowledged the fact that unknowingly or knowingly, his son was bought up with biases. And, what better way to help him understand his thoughts and feelings that to show him a showcase of his dad’s?

He ran down to the storage, and after spending almost an hour searching for his work, he found it. Wiping the dust off, he put them on the coffee table and there they were- his thoughts, feelings, and reflections starting from age fourteen, up until twenty-four.

Somewhere in heaven, Socrates smiled.

[dragonscanbeplantstoo]

Oil & Sky: echoes from the trash

Something You Like

Maeva rubs at an itch on her cheek, probably leaving charcoal behind, and returns to the sketch in her lap. She is pressing hard, too hard, wearing millimeters off her charcoal as she works on a bit of shading. Some people say the eyes are the most difficult thing to draw realistically, but Maeva disagrees. Elbows are in fact, the most difficult body part to capture. There is something about the way light falls on an elbow, the crease versus the vein versus the muscle, which is deeply improbable.  She scribbles out the curve she has been working on and tries another, cross-hatching this time in short, dark strokes that turn her knuckles white. She presses so hard that her vine of charcoal snaps, scattering dark dust all over the page.

“Maeva?”

She looks up from her work, and finds her photography professor sticking his head out the office door. She raises her eyebrow at him.

“Sorry about the wait,” he says, “come in.”

With a sigh, she closes her sketchbook and steps into the cramped room. Technical-looking paperbacks line the walls, their shiny coverings peeling away, and the spare spaces on the shelves are occupied by cameras and lenses and further gadgetry Maeva can’t identify. Everything is black though, and mildly hideous.  

She takes a seat in the chair adjacent to his desk while he shuffles through a few sheets of paper. He pushes his glasses up his nose, and she knows what’s coming.

“Maeva, I wanted to talk to you about your final project. Did you have any plans for it yet?”

“Yes.” Maeva says. As in, she is planning to wait until the last possible minute to photograph a few macro shots of sand. She can use them later for a painting.  

“Hm.” He nods, paging through his papers again. “I ask because I have some concerns about what you’ll be turning in. Your midterm compositions were a bit…lackluster.”

If one of her oil teachers had used the word ‘lackluster’ in front of her, Maeva very well might have had a quiet aneurysm. But that isn’t the case here. Professor Cairn’s opinion of her is immaterial, because she has no intention of ever picking up a camera again.

“What would you have me do differently?” She asks.

“There’s nothing technically wrong with these. But as an expressionist, I expect more creativity from you. These are boring and formulaic. You can be more dynamic.”

“I don’t think I can.” She says. “I don’t particularly enjoy photography.”

His eyebrows hike up, not because he doesn’t believe a student infamous for her rigidity could hate photography, but because she admitted it to his face.  

He smiles. “Alright, let’s unpack that. Maybe we can find a way to spark your interest. What is wrong with photography? It’s a very versatile and accessible art form.”

“It isn’t art.” Maeva says. “It’s regurgitation.”

“Regurgi…tation?” He frowns at the gallery wall opposite his bookshelves.

Maeva looks at it too. He has a mix of everything up there, a display of all the things one can do if they learn to click the correct buttons between camera and editing application. Some are simply representations, a crisp shot of a landscape or an ice cream cone. Maybe the colors are brightened, or the image composited into something surreal, the seams of the images invisible. Again, good editing. It’s all very skillful. It’s all very boring.  

“I don’t think photography captures the world in a way that makes it seem prettier. We’re just replicating what the eye sees in a given moment.”

Dr. Cairn nods. “Tell me what’s wrong with that? What we see will always go away, so what’s wrong with capturing the color of a memory, or the shape of something we found pretty to begin with?”

“Nothing at all.”

“How about you do that then? Don’t think of it as making something new, think of it as capturing a thought or vision.”

Maeva sighs. Other people can do that, fine. But why should she need a photograph of something pretty, when she can simply draw it exactly as she saw it? She saw a pretty flower in the market last week, a chrysanthemum, and now she has a perfect white-charcoal rendition of it, so perfect she might as well have pressed it between the pages of her sketchbook.

“I can just draw it.” She says

“But that won’t get you through my class.”

“Apparently not.” She says. “Again, what do you want me to do?”

He sighs, “I want you to present me with something that is unique, Maeva. I want you to tell me something with your piece.”

“I don’t say things in art. Art is not for saying things.”

“Well, you’re going to have to learn, if you want to graduate. You are required to fulfill a three-hundred level photography requirement, and you have not done so yet.”

Maeva touches her temple, just lightly, with her middle finger. Of course she knows that, she’s heard it every term for the last two years—Ack courses, plaster, installation mediums—do more, or don’t pass. Do more, or the pile of acceptance letters to London and Dresden and Milan mean nothing. An acceptance to Paris would mean nothing. She returns her hand to her lap.

“I’ve completed every assignment to your guidelines.”

“You should know that ‘completion’ is not the standard at this school. Particularly for someone as obviously talented as you are.” Dr. Cairn laces his big-knuckled fingers together. “So, you have exactly six weeks to come up with something more, something that showcases your eye for color and light, something with movement and passion, or I will not pass you.”

“Okay.” Maeva glances out the window. “I still don’t know what to shoot to make that happen.”

Clearly frustrated, Dr. Cairn touches his own forehead, then hums. “I don’t know, Maeva, just…find something you like.”

Maeva is still chewing on that as she blinks against the sunlight outside. Her midterm compositions are full of things she likes. She just hadn’t liked taking photographs of them. It feels too easy, flat in the simplicity of adjusting the lens and pressing a button. Of editing her mistakes away. No struggle over the dimensionality of shading, or what color she needs to mix up for the lighting. No room to play with the image and make it more than what it is. She wishes she could ignore it. She wishes she could skip her next class and draw more elbows, but she’s missed theater too many times.

She can hear a piano before she even enters the music building, clanging out through an open window on the first floor. A headache threatens her temples, but the music has stopped by the time she gets inside, and the only sound in the dimly lit hallway is the shuffle and murmur of open classrooms. As she stashes her bag in one of the lemon-scented lockers, Maeva hears something new amidst the shuffle, something that makes her feel like someone has stuck a branding iron behind her ears.

“Music, Corin, music!”

“Oh, shit, sorry, sorry.”

Maeva turns her head before she can remind herself not to, and she is staring right at him. Corin isn’t looking back; he’s behind a music stand, sighing off into a corner of the room. He’s so full of good color. His skin is precisely umber, the same warm, orange-toned brown she has in her bag, and the sun is hitting him from the side, throwing bronze onto the high points of his face. It falls in dense bars across the sharp edges—cheekbones, brow bones, the corner of his jaw—and creates softer diffusions around his nose and mouth. He blinks, and she notices again that his eyes are a very different color than they had been that night. Blue, yes, but they are so much brighter now, a true cerulean without a hint of ashiness.

His professor barks a command, and there is the subtlest change in the light around his throat, breathing in without breathing out. Maeva should look away. She has the peculiar sense that if she doesn’t look away right now, she won’t be able to.

“Once, a lady was here; a lady sat in this garden, and she thought of love…”

It’s a beautiful voice, like all of the voices here. Big and round and full of interesting vibrations. He has a delicate way of moving to the music, and an indelicate look of bliss on his face as he sings the long lines of notes together. Subtle flexions of his smile muscles, a suddenly saucer-like shape to his eyes. He’s gesturing and singing to this classmate, that classmate, the professor, playing with them and with his lovely, flexible voice. Maeva doesn’t understand how the act of making sounds can so immediately increase his saturation, his vibrancy. She doesn’t like looking at it. She feels his cell phone number like a lead weight in her pocket. As if he knows, he looks up from his music, and catches her stare.  

“Her garden still looks the same, but,” Corin’s brows rise to his curls, creating the tiniest disturbance in his voice, “it’s a different year.”

Maeva’s shock rises up to meet his. She’s wide-eyed as long as he is, less than a second, before he breaks into a full-blown smile, a stage light aimed right at her face.

“Soon, the evening comes down,” he sings through it without missing a beat, “and paths where she used to wander whiten in the moonlight…”

Maeva glares at him, clutching her sketchbook over her chest. His smile only looks like that because his teeth are so contrasted against his skin. His eyes only look like pieces of a Monet sky because they are shining out from his black lashes. Stupid, pretty, color coordinated boy.

“Her garden still looks the same but,” Corin tilts his head at her, “yesterday is not today…”

The class applauds, startling Maeva out of her glare. She steps back, and Corin laughs. He laughs with fine lines under his eyes and a bubbly, metallic sound. Maeva can finally walk away. She breezes down the hallway, shaking her head as she goes. She keeps seeing the big smile, the glowing cheeks, and the eyes, the eyes, the eyes. No one would ever guess that Corin Olivier had been killing himself in the rain eight weeks ago.

And that, Maeva decides, is utterly terrifying.

#Oil & Sky #trashed chapters #writeblr #writers on tumblr #this does not reflect my personal opinion of photography #it is a wonderful art form